“Don’t you mean, Ms. Bryant?”
He rested his hand on my cheek. “Kelli,” he whispered.
I tried to move my head, but he used both his hands to gently hold it still. “Please, Kelli, don’t move your head. I don’t know how badly you’ve been injured.”
It was then I realized I hurt all over. I felt something wet and sticky on my face. The airbags all around me were deployed. That explained the jet fuel smell. I tried to reach up and touch my face, but moving my right arm caused pain like I had never felt before. I cried out.
“Please don’t move at all,” he pleaded again. He grabbed ahandkerchief from his suit coat pocket and used it to apply pressure to the right side of my head.
“What happened?” I managed to ask.
He applied pressure with one hand, while sweetly stroking my face with the other. He looked as if he were on the verge of tears. “A truck ran a red light, and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m so sorry.”
I was able to move my left arm, so I reached up and patted him. “It’s not your fault.”
“This whole thing is my fault.”
“Mr. Greyson, are you okay?” I thought I should make sure, even though I couldn’t see any cuts or abrasions on him.
He kissed my forehead. “Please don’t worry about me. Just hold still. The paramedics are on their way.”
“I think that crosses the professional boundary line, Mr. Greyson,” I couldn’t help but say it.
He chuckled. “To hell with the line, Kelli.”
I tried to laugh, too, but found it difficult. “I don’t feel very good.”
I could see the worry in his eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
Then, as if on cue, I heard the sirens, and suddenly there was a flurry of activity going on around us. I heard emergency personnel communicating with Mr. Greyson, but he wouldn’t let go of me. I was thankful for that. His presence was more calming than I would have thought.
From what I could tell, without moving my head, the truck that hit us needed to be moved and my door had to be pried opened. Once the paramedics got to me, they convinced Mr. Greyson to let me go. I missed his touch immediately, but that quickly gave way to panic as I found myself being placed in a neck brace and I heard talk of my face needing stitches. They also said something about a possible broken arm and a concussion. Once they finished their initial assessment, they asked me a series of questions: “What’s your name? Do you know what happened? Do you know what day it is?” I guess they were checking to make sure I hadn’t mentally checked out. I was able to answer each question satisfactorily, I think.
The paramedics carefully removed me from the vehicle andplaced me on a stretcher. I winced several times due to the pain. Once on the stretcher, Mr. Greyson came into my line of view. “Do you want me to call Amanda?”
“No,” I cried. “I don’t want her to worry.” I knew if she found out, she would come straight home, and I didn’t want to ruin the vacation they had all been looking forward to.
Mr. Greyson picked up my left hand. “It’s okay,” he said trying to soothe my emotional state.
I had never been in an accident like this before, and I admit, I was a little freaked out.
“Would you like to ride with your wife to the hospital?” One of the paramedics asked Mr. Greyson.
“Of course,” Mr. Greyson responded before I even had a chance to correct the paramedic’s false conclusion.
If I could have scowled properly, I would have. “Mr.—”
Mr. Greyson leaned down and silenced me by crossing way over the professional boundaries, and the worst or maybe the best part was I couldn’t move to stop him. His lips gently pressed against my own, making me forget for a moment I was in any pain. All I felt was our surreal connection. It hadn’t gone anywhere after all this time. His lips glided off mine before he pulled back to meet my eyes. “I think you meant, Ian.”
“Ian,” I repeated back without thinking.
I was wheeled away with Mr. Greyson, or Ian, or whoever the heck he was, holding onto my hand and following me. The jarring from loading me into the ambulance unfortunately made me moan in pain.
“Can’t you give her anything?” Ian asked.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bryant, we can’t until we know the extent of her injuries,” replied the paramedic.
I had to tell the truth. “His name isn’t Mr. Bryant, we aren’t even—”
