Falling
Authors: Jolene Perry
ALLING
By
Jolene Perry
To all my snowmachining peoples, the ones whose first rule is “more throttle…” You KNOW who you are…
(James, Josh, Rory…)
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.
Published by
Next Door Publishing
Copyright October
2012
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Somebody really should have told me that you can’t always get what you want. I mean, I know the saying is out there, but when you make it to twenty-two and have pretty much gotten everything you
really
wanted, it starts to feel like it was said for someone else.
There hasn’t been anything but scattered ends of driveways for miles. I flip on the interior light in my car, take the steering wheel in one hand, and check the directions again. Annoyed would be an understatement.
Go a long ways on this road.
“Wow, Katie, great description,” I say to myself.
I’m starting to get that itchy, creepiness in my chest at how I’m alone, in the middle of nowhere, in the pitch black.
If I get lost in St. Louis, I could end up in a bad neighborhood, but I know not to make eye contact, and my GPS would get me back out. If I get lost on the back streets of Alaska, I might never be found. My GPS doesn’t even recognize the fact that my car is on a road right now, which begs the question—who would
choose
to live out here?
Tonight is supposed to be the employee New Year’s Eve party for the hotel where I work—a week late, since we were all playing “host and hostess” on the actual night. Only at this rate, I’ll be lucky to make it to the party in time for breakfast.
My car skids to the left on the icy road as I take the right turn indicated on the map. I love my BMW, but it wasn’t made for driving on ice. And now I’m kicking myself for not riding with another Anchorage friend. My roommate, Leann, really wanted to drive with me. I’m looking around at nothing but trees and snow, trying to follow Katie’s directions when I reach a dead end.
“Crap,” I say out loud. I look over the directions again, and try not to think about how long it’s been since I saw another human being. The dark trees press in, despite their snow covering, and my unease grows.
I’d rather be mugged than run into a bear. Easy.
My mistake was only one turn ago, but I’ve been on this road for what feels like an hour.
I turn around, and head back the way I came, frustrated, annoyed, and eyes wide. After growing up in a big city, Anchorage can be stifling. I’m looking around now though, and Anchorage suddenly feels like a bustling metropolis.
Oh.
Now
there’s taillights. Where were
they
ten minutes ago when I was completely lost?
Two cars are pulled over to the side of the road. Well, “side” makes it sound like someone could get off the road, but the snow banks make that impossible. I slow down to pass them and look over, but quickly turn away when beady eyes are on me. Neck tattoo. Guess I did turn onto a shady street, even way up here.
I run my hand through my long, straight hair, feeling fidgety more than anything else. This is supposed to be a party, not a wilderness adventure.
What feels like thirty minutes, but is probably only five minutes later, I’m finally at the intersection where I slid and turned wrong. This road has actual traffic. If I turned right when I should have turned left then I need go straight. Just as I hit the middle of the roadway, the truck I saw a few minutes ago tries to swerve around me. I hit the gas to get out of his way and slide sideways.
Flashes of headlights swirl through my car as I spin backwards across the road. I hit the opposite side with so much force that I crash through the snow bank, down the incline, and slam into the trees. Glass breaks as the door pushes into my side, making me lose my breath.
I don’t have time to think, my whole left side throbs, and I don’t know how to get out of my car. Or even if I can. My fingers feel numb as I feel around for my phone but can’t find it anywhere. The pounding of my heart’s loud in my ears and my side hurts too bad for a deep breath.
I give another half-hearted push to the door, but it doesn’t budge. I must be wedged in. It’s too dark to see. I gasp for air, but the pain is slicing. Half of my face is now throbbing, and the throbbing continues down my whole left side.
As I try to crawl toward the passenger’s side, sharp pains take my breath away again and my heart goes frantic. I don’t think I can move to get out of the other side of the car. Not without help.
“Are you okay?” A male voice calls.
I feel something like relief that there are other cars out here and someone stopped for help. I try to yell back, but can’t take a deep enough breath to do more than whisper. I start shaking all over. The movement sends new waves of pain through me as the adrenaline leaves my system. I honk instead. At least he’ll know I’m not passed out.
“I just happened to be on my way home
,”
he yells. “You’re lucky I was here.”
My eyes close as I try to focus on the fact that someone saw me hit the ditch and is getting help. I’m taking shallow, even breaths and trying not to panic. Out the window is nothing but snow. It was just so fast.
How did this happen? I’m supposed to be at a party right now, not dizzy, in pain, and stuck in the ditch. My poor beautiful car…
“I’m on my way down
,
” he calls again. “Hang in there
.
My name is Craig Huffman
.
I’m with the troopers
.
” His voice gets louder quickly. He must be coming toward me fast. I wipe tears from my face. My body starts to relax in relief, and I can’t believe a trooper was this close—guess I should count myself lucky.
Gloved hands brush away the snow on the passenger’s side window. After a few jerks, he has the door open. It’s freezing out there, and with one door open and my broken window, the cold air is coming in fast, making me shiver harder, and the pain slice deeper.
“How did you end up down here? Moving a little too fast?” A gorgeous face asks. I stare at him for a moment before answering. He looks like Daniel Craig’s twin. Nice.
“No. Some
jerk
ran me off the road.” My words come out as a whisper.
“How are we?”
“What?” All I want is out of my car. It’s starting to get even harder to breathe, and my vision is getting spotty.
“How are we?”
h
e asks again.
I feel out of breath and just nod. My head is pounding. I’m seeing more spots, and everything slowly goes black
.
I’ve been blinking
in an attempt
to wake up. There was a guy like James Bond. I was carried. There was an ambulance, and now I’m in a hospital room. I hate fluorescent lighting and antiseptic smell. I’m still blinking, trying to gain focus when a nurse explains I have a bad concussion, a few cracked ribs and micro-fractures in pretty much all the ribs on my left side. My hipbone is bruised, and walking might hurt for a while. I think I nod, but I’m not sure.
I run a hand over my long, brown hair. I’m a bit amazed that it’s still smooth, and then spot Craig the trooper. The hot guy was real.
There’s a twinge of wanting my family here. At the hospital. But I quash that one fast because the reality is my brother and father would probably stress me out more than they’d help—making me feel like I should be healing faster, better, more, stronger…
“Thanks.” I only remember flashes after he introduced himself.
“You’re tough.” He smiles appreciatively. “I hope I’m not intruding by being in here.”
“No.” But now I’m curious. “Shouldn’t you
be
somewhere?”
The drugs have numbed my brain along with the pain.
“No, no, sitting here in this comfortable chair in a room with a beautiful girl isn’t a bad way to earn a bit of overtime.” He smiles. “And I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay then.” I smile back, realizing that flirting while dizzy, in pain, and in a hospital bed probably won’t be very effective.
“You had an In Case of Emergency number in your phone?” He raises a brow like he’s asking, but it’s obvious he’s already called.
I grimace. “You called.”
He nods. “Your brother is very nice. I said not to worry.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll tell my dad, but he’d probably find out anyway.” I bring my hands to my face and find a small bandage near my temple. Not bad.
“Sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t sure. You might have had a husband waiting for you at home or something.”
I laugh and gasp when splitting pains hit my left side. “Wow, that’s bad.”
“It’s bad and you’re on some good drugs.” He leans back in his chair, looking way too comfortable for how gorgeous he is—like he should be posed or something. “It’s going to take you a while to heal up.”
“Great.” I frown. I never take sick days. Ever.
Craig is still watching me, and has the same slight smile accentuating how James Bond like he is. Not at all like the spoiled boys I dated through my years at Northwestern. He also has a bit of a sexy job. I’m sure I’m a mess, but he’s staring. That’s good. Being the young single girl is what my time in Alaska is supposed to be about—though, I’m second-guessing my decision to be here instead of in New York. It’s just that New York wasn’t nearly far enough from home.
His phone rings, and he answers immediately. “Yep… I’m at the hospital now and need to interview the victim… She says she saw the car that ran her off the road but she blacked out, and we haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet… Well, you know, more overtime… Okay, I’ll be home as soon as I’m done. Thanks.” He hangs up his phone.
“You’re married?” I guess. I’m surprised and a little disappointed.
“Yeah.” His head goes from side to side. “Barely, though. It’s rough right now.”
“No ring?”
He shrugs.
“Kids?” I ask.
He nods again.
“Wow.”
Damn
.
“Does that surprise you?” A brow rises.
“No.” I pause. “But it does mean I must be losing my touch.” I would have sworn he was into me a little.
“So, are you up to answering a few questions?” Craig asks. “I know you just woke up, but the sooner we get on this, the better.”
“Sure.”
If it keeps you here.
He asks me about the cars, and the guys, and I tell him everything. What I saw, what the cars looked like. As I talk, quietly because I’m in pain, his face gets more and more serious. Concern is one thing, but this is something else.
“I need to make a call.” He glances down at his notes. “I’ll be right outside, but I’ll come back to ask you a few more questions if you’re up for it.”
I’m not stupid—something else is going on. That would figure. My whole night has been a disaster. The ribs along my left side are really sore, and my head spins when I lift it. This is the only time I hate being alone. I love my independence. I love being away from the pressure of my family, but when I’m in a position to need help, it’s different.