Chapter 8

Monday morning was the worst, weather wise, that I'd ever experienced, even though the storm had ended Sunday.

Everything was coated in ice, even the snow and it was almost single digit temperatures. I spent an hour trying to clear my poor car of the ice that had imprisoned it, going back inside every few minutes to warm up. I wore my ski-bib over my clothes, which I wore over my thermals and was still freezing. At least I didn't have Weights today; those locker rooms were cold!

I inched along on the way to school, my tires chained up and the town's road crew hard at it and making good progress. It's not that I thought them incompetent, I just believed in being cautious. One never knew when black ice would appear, especial way up north.

The parking lot wasn't as well done as the roads and I more or less slid into a spot. This wasn't good. I carefully climbed out, avoiding the iced-over running boards and planting my feet oh-so-carefully so I wouldn't bust my butt. I was so busy watching the ground that I didn't notice the half-ton truck speeding towards me, its breaks screaming as the tires found no traction.

Everyone around me stood frozen, except for Morgan, who was screaming at me to move, the rest of her family beside her across the lot.

I saw the terrified face of Jake Webster, one of the strays that followed the Five around, as he realized I wouldn't be able to get out of the way and he couldn't stop. I dropped into a huddled, hunched crouch, protecting my head with my arms. I knew I could recover from broken limbs, maybe, hoping that the impact wouldn't kill me.

I was so scared I screamed when it hit me, knocking me backwards into my jeep before I hit the ground. I heard the crunch of metal and felt the vehicles beside me shift with the impact. I just laid there, my left arm throbbing from the impact, my right side none too happy either. I kept my eyes shut so I wouldn't see how bad it was. I could smell exhaust and steam from a dirty engine and hear the moans of Jake, as well as the screams of the spectators.

"Trish," a voice whispered and my eyes flashed open.

"Connor?" What the hell was he doing here?

"Curl your legs up." I did as he told me and saw him drop the truck the last few inches to the ground.

"How did you-?" I stopped and cleared my parched throat, pointing at the fender, which now bore his hand print.

"What?" His eyes were glowing a golden brown.

"How did you do that? You were over by the doors and then-"

"No, I wasn't," he interrupted. "I was right beside you."

"No, you weren't. I saw you standing with the rest of your family by the doors because Morgan yelled and-" I stopped as he started shaking his head. "Yes, you were!"

"You landed pretty hard, maybe even hit your head," he told me a slightly worried expression clouding his features. "I think you're confused. I was right beside you." His eyes grew brighter.

"No, I didn't." Actually, my head was beginning to throb. "I saw you." I leaned up on an elbow and winced.

He shifted slightly and I got a good look at the truck behind him, the body now bearing a large indent of his back and forearms leading down to the indentations from his hands. He followed my gaze and casually wrenched the metal into a less recognizable shape.

"You stopped it from hitting me," I whispered wonderingly.

"How would I do that? All I did," he leaned over me, making me lie back down on the frozen concrete, "was haul you back out of the way and shield you."

"Bullshit!" I could hear people calling my name and sirens approaching as well as the apologetic sobs of Jake.

"Trish- Tricia- please," he asked, a small, but earnest, plea in his voice.

"Will you tell me later?" I was not letting this go.

"Fine," he growled and curled his body protectively around mine. It felt good, he smelled good and I was more than a little dazed when he finally climbed off.

The paramedics had already ushered Jake to the hospital by the time the firemen had created a large enough gap to get to us, putting me on a board with a neck brace when Connor told them I hit my head. Connor, the little traitor, got to ride along freely and I glared at his back the whole ride.

The hospital was on the other side of town in its own little complex. It was shared with the other small towns nearby and was more of a county hospital than a town hospital. They had already called Claire and she was almost hysterical as they wheeled me in. They took x-rays of my head and arms, since that's what hurt, and then put me in a large room with curtain walls next to Jake.

"I'm so sorry," he choked out, his face swollen and the remnants of dried blood on his nose and shirt, his right arm in a splint.

"I'm alright, for the most part," I told him but he only started sobbing more. Aunt Claire rushed in, followed by a gorgeous young doctor. He was about six feet tall, lean, short brown hair and bright blue eyes; his smile was blinding.

"Ms. St. Marks, I'm Doctor Hawkins," his eyes darted to Connor, who stood leaning in a far corner. "I see you've met one of my sons." My jaw dropped. I'd heard his father was a doctor, I'd heard all the kids were adopted, but nobody told me he worked here or was less than thirty! Now I felt stupid and Connor smirked.

"You're x-rays look good." He hung them on the light board. "Nothing broken and nothing bleeding. I imagine you'll be quite sore tomorrow and probably turn a few shades of purple." He shined a light in my eyes, made me follow his finger and nodded. "You should be fine. Do you feel dizzy?" I shook my head and regretted it as lancing pain made me wince. "You can take ibuprofen or Tylenol for the pain, but avoid aspirin. If you get dizzy, be sure to come back; I should still be here."