Page 63 of Their Stormy Reunion

“Maybe a beer is in order.”

Dammit, I hated running late. I hated it. I mean, I could afford to miss my plane. The meeting wasn’t for two more days, but I wanted to get into Chicago early so I could take Vanessa and Eddie out to dinner that night.

I’d gotten to the Knoxville McGhee Tyson Airport with an hour to spare, but parking was going to fuck me over. They’d admitted me into the parking lot, but damned if I could find a parking spot, so I was going to have play the game of following people around who looked like they were getting into their cars to leave. I hated this game.

Ah-ha!

I finally saw a family that looked promising. I stopped my car, flipped on my blinker, and waited. I saw the gray van behind me, waiting. Idiot should go around me, but whatever. It took the family a bit to get their stuff loaded and back out, but finally I had my spot.

I grabbed my briefcase and got my light carry-on out of the backseat so I could haul my ass to the terminal. It sucked that I was still limping a little, but what can you do?

I took a picture of my stall number with my cell phone, so I could find it when I came home. I started toward the parking lot exit so I could cross to the terminal. I looked up. It looked like it might rain.

It better not.

I did my hair for tonight’s dinner, and I didn’t want to show up looking like a poodle. Just hold off until I’m at the ticket counter, I begged the sky gods. My phone rang and I looked at the number.

I heard tires squeal behind me.

Oh shit!

I turned, hoping I wasn’t going to see a wreck.

It was the gray van. Barrelling straight toward me.

My breath hitched.

I stumbled back and my right leg wobbled as I dropped my suitcase.

The van kept coming. Too fast.

Then—impact.

Not metal. Muscle.

A solid weight slammed me into the trunk of a car, knocking the air from my lungs. The world spun as I slipped down and my shoulder and hip crashed into asphalt.

I screamed.

I looked up and saw the taillights of the gray van as it crashed through the security arm of the tollbooth.

“Lady, they tried to kill you,” a kid who had to be in high school, maybe college, shouted at me. He sounded even shakier than I felt.

“You saved my life,” I whispered.

“They tried to kill her,” he shouted out. I saw that we were gathering a crowd.

I tried to get up, but my shoulder and hip were killing me, along with my ankle.

“Don’t get up,” a woman said as she knelt beside me. “Wait for the paramedics.”

“No, I’m fine. I just need my phone.”

I pushed up off the pavement, but my arm wasn’t working right. It better not be broken, or I’m going to be royally pissed off.

“Miss, you really need to stay still and wait for the paramedics,” the woman said.

“And the police,” the young man inserted. “They tried to kill you!” he said for like the fortieth time.