Free Kiss by Ted Dekker Page A

spicy.
    Shauna felt so safe, so protected, that her simultaneous disappointment came as a shock. Had she been expecting electricity, familiarity? Some sudden restoration of all her lost files?
    Even so, all the awful realities of her awakening stood aside for a few seconds as he held her. She would take that gift.
    Wayne broke their connection first and pulled her into a slow squeeze. She felt his breath at the nape of her neck.
    “Brought you a present,” he said, reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a cell phone.
    “What’s this?”
    “A phone.”
    “You know what I mean, smart aleck.”
    “New number. The media got hold of your old one. Some guy from the Statesman was calling daily after the accident. Scott Norris, I think. And people claiming to know you. Some shrink even. Probably has plans to use you to become the next Dr. Phil. I stopped answering pretty early on.”
    It was just a phone, but somehow Shauna saw it as a declaration of his faith in her. “That was really nice of you. Thanks.”
    “Mr. Wilde is going to take care of the bills until you’re back on your feet. And I programmed my number already. In case you need anything. Though I plan to stay close. Speed dial number two.”
    She tried it. His phone rang in another pocket, and she heard it as nothing less than a lifeline.
    She kissed him one more time. “You just keep saving me,” she said.

    The relative peace of Shauna’s evening with Wayne did not last into her dreams that night.
    Football field: offensive forty-yard line. Shauna leaned forward, ready, waiting for the quarterback’s call, less than two yards from a sweating, focused defensive back.
    “Blue fifteen! Blue fifteen! Set! Hike!”
    She lunged left in a fake before cutting right, then straightened out and slipped past the defender without touching him. Her cleats found purchase in the short turf and she pushed off for the X-post pattern, straight over the middle of the field, strong and fast.
    Faster than any other player on the Sun Devils’ team. She was, after all, a sprinter first, football player second.
    She loved this play. Loved the adrenaline kicked in by the risk of aiming dead center, where getting hit was almost always a given.
    She flew, barely touching the grass, propelled by the huffing of that committed defensive back.
    One one thousand . . .
    “Step it up, step it up! Get a move on, Spade!”
    The crowd was on its feet.
    Two one thousand . . .
    The DB was fast, but not fast enough. Her breathing flowed in sync with her heartbeat. She looked up, right, over the shoulder. The corner of her eye detected the free safety coming at her from ahead. She was the hot read.
    This pass would come early.
    Three one thousand . . .
    She focused on the arcing pigskin and reached out.
    The pebble-grained ball connected with her arms like a desert burr.
    And the defensive players connected with her, the DB catching her high in the ribs, the free safety hitting low on the back at the hips.
    She heard an electric crack and the backs of her eyelids lit up with streaks of falling stars. She heard the crowd wince in unison. Tingling nerves shot out around her waist and began to squeeze her breathless.
    Don’t drop the ball.
    She held tight with both hands as her rubber torso unfolded from its unnatural S shape. Her legs went out from under her, and she hit the turf face first, smelling and tasting damp dirt through the mask. Gravity, velocity, and the great weight of another hulking body crushed her.
    The falling stars faded to a clear night, and the roar of the stadium fell to a murmur.
    And she heard herself screaming. She had never felt pain like this. Spears plunged the length of her legs and out her heels, plunging and plunging. An in-visible iron band constricted around her hip bones. Her pelvis would soon snap.
    Someone dropped to the turf beside her.
    “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
    Oh! It was not okay!
    “Shauna! It’s okay. I’m right here.”
    Someone grabbed her