countdown at eight seconds. I gauge the distance to it, not wanting to be stuck at a busy intersection in downtown Atlanta for several minutes in this downpour. There’s no way I’ll make it to the other side in time, but I convince myself it will be okay. That after my crappy day, something has to go my way. So instead of playing it safe, I quicken my pace.
The few yards to the corner seem to expand with every passing second, the crosswalk feeling like it gets farther away with each step. But I don’t give up, powering through the wind and rain, not caring I must look like a sight with my tight, brown curls plastered to my forehead and cheeks.
I step onto the street, my sole focus the sidewalk opposite the four-lane road, praying all the drivers show me some sympathy and don’t gun the gas the second the light turns green.
As I scurry along, my heel slips on the slick pavement, legs giving out beneath me. Time seems to slow as my body is propelled up before my back and head hit the pavement with a hard thump.
Disoriented, I struggle to capture a breath, the force of my fall knocking the wind out of me. My head and back ache, making movement difficult. I manage to slowly turn my head, feeling like I’m in some sort of dreamworld as I watch a white pickup truck barrel toward me.
My brain tells my muscles to move, but they’re frozen, unable to obey a simple command, even though I’m seconds from being hit by someone who can’t see anything in this rain.
You know how people claim they see their entire life flash before them just before they think they’re about to die? Well, that’s what happens to me. When I squeeze my eyes shut, muttering the words to prayers I haven’t said in years, my life flashes before me. It’s almost like a slow-motion rewind, taking me from the present and through my early years. Some moments fill me with anger. Others with regret. And still others with love.
When my mother’s affectionate dark eyes flash before mine, I somehow find solace that, even if the worst happens, I’ll see her soon. Peace fills me, making me feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. That I’m flying.
Then a loud horn blares, pulling me back to the present. I instinctively tear my eyes open, expecting to still be on that asphalt. Except I’m not. I am flying, two strong arms cradling me against the storm.
Chapter Two
Weston
Adrenaline heats my veins as I dart across the busy crosswalk, breathing hard, the rain and wind thundering in my ears. The woman’s weight barely registers as I run to the safety of the coffee shop where I’d witnessed her fall.
Other patrons stare at me like I’m crazy for risking my life for a stranger, but I didn’t even think about that when I noticed her go down. All I saw was a woman who needed help. My grandparents taught me to never stand aside when someone is in need. So I didn’t.
Pushing past bystanders, whose only reaction to this woman’s fall was to grab their phones and film it, I return to my table and carefully set her into a chair, then sit beside her. The sound of grinding coffee beans and conversation fills the space, a stark contrast to the pounding of my heart from mere seconds ago, the outside world slowly returning to my awareness as rainwater drips from my body.
“Are you okay?” I ask, scanning her frame, looking for any sign of injury. I peer into her eyes, making sure her pupils aren’t dilated. I don’t think I saw her hit her head, but I can’t be certain in this weather.
She blinks, still disoriented. “I…” She trails off, her teeth chattering.
A chill washes over me, and I glance up to see we’re directly below an air vent. Normally, it’s refreshing compared to the stagnant humidity. But with our clothes soaked, it only serves to make its effects more prominent.
“Can you get me a green tea, please?” I call out to the barista behind the counter.
She nods and jumps into action. Smiling in thanks, I return my attention to the woman, her entire body trembling.
“You’re shivering.” Instinctively, I take her hands between mine and squeeze, trying to warm her the best I can without coming off like a creep.
“Th… Thank you,” she finally manages to say in a soft voice that seems to lack