Free Angel Eyes by Shannon Dittemore Page B

of relief as I clear the creek bed, but my boot catches something on the way down and I lurch. That’s when I hear the crack. I don’t feel the pain until a second later, when I’m sprawled in the mud. I scream and try to curl into a ball, but whatever’s caught my boot still has hold of it. My first thought is that something, a stick maybe, has skewered my leg. I reach for my ankle and find it’s tangled in a mess of roots jutting from the mucky ground. With shaking hands, I work it free. It’s been skewered, all right, but from the inside out. My ankle’s broken—bone straining against skin.
    Panic turns to hysteria, and my body shakes. I know full-blown shock is not far off, and I fight to keep it at bay. The wind whistles, louder and louder, calling my name.
    “Brielle!”
    I fear I’m losing my mind. And then I see him, running through the mud and sliding at my feet.
    “Brielle!” he cries again. “Here. Put your arm around my neck—no, don’t stand. I’ve got you.”
    It isn’t the wind at all. It’s Jake. The fire in his eyes demands my attention, but I vaguely note the white beam of a flashlight bouncing around. He shoves it into his back pocket, and we’re shrouded in darkness again. He pulls me tight against his chest and stands. I turn my face into his neck to avoid the rain forcing its way into my nose and mouth.
    He smells like coffee—hot coffee—laced with chocolate.
    “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” His voice is thick with emotion—an emotion I can’t define.
    A thawing blaze roars through my body, and my breathing slows. His speed and agility are impressive, and before I’ve had much time to digest his presence, we’re inside, out of the rain. I feel him adjust me, hear the squeal of hinges and the slam of a door. He kneels carefully, placing my weight on his knee. I tighten my arms around his neck. If I don’t, he’ll let me go, and I’m not ready for that. Not yet.
    He’s patient and waits several long moments for me to loosen my grip and look up at him. He’s staring back at me with those eyes. They scour my face so deeply I look away.
    “Will you be okay if I set you down?” He frees one hand and pulls the flashlight from his pocket. In the white light I see the concern etched on his face. And something else: blood.
    I’m not the only one injured.
    “Of course. I’m—Yes, I’m so sorry,” I blurt. He’s cut. Rain and blood run mingled down his face and drip onto my jacket. He sets me down on the moist earth. “Your face,” I say.
    “What?” Jake reaches for his cheek. He pulls his hand away, and his fingers are fresh with blood. “I didn’t even realize. A branch must’ve caught me.” He swipes a dripping sleeve across his face and turns his attention back to me. “What about you? Let me see that foot.”
    He repositions himself and slides my dripping pant leg up over my calf. “Oh man. Yeah, it’s broken.”
    His words shatter some sort of delusional barrier, and the shock starts to wear off. I feel pain again. More physical pain than I think I’ve ever felt. My body tightens as he sets my foot on his knee.
    “Don’t move. I know it hurts, but give me a minute.”
    Careful not to jostle my foot, he removes his sweatshirt and hands it to me. He tugs off his undershirt and tears it into strips.
    “What are you doing?” I ask, struggling to keep my attention on his face. His certainly isn’t the first bare chest I’ve seen, but the emotions running through my veins have charged the moment, and I twist the sweatshirt in my hands nervously.
    “I’m going to splint your ankle so you can’t move it around,” Jake answers.
    “Don’t you have to set it or something?”
    I don’t know a thing about broken bones, but it seems like something I’d heard in Girl Scouts. He flashes a smile at me. Just a hint of patronization there.
    “No, this will be okay.”
    It takes him no time at all to wrap the shirt soundly around my ankle, shoe and all. Then