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The air in my lungs is pulled out of me on impact.
What the hell did I hit?
Knowing my pattern lately, it has to be a person.
And sure enough, when I look up, it’s just in time to see not a what but a who.
A man.
I can’t see his face because his head is down, and he’s already off in the opposite direction. The man hit me and didn’t even apologize. And he turned the opposite way, back to where he came from.
He’s in a rush, on the phone, and I was the casualty.
Stupid jerk.
The least he could do after almost making me roadkill is say he’s sorry.
Two muscular arms reach out and lift me up from the ground, and I’d startle, but the familiar scent of his cologne grounds my insecurity.
“Are you okay?” Trent’s gruff voice asks.
His brows are drawn together in anger.
Is he angry with the man or with me?
“Thank you,” I say sincerely as I straighten back to my full height.
His jaw goes tight, and he stiffens at my comment. He doesn’t want my thank you, that much is clear from the way he looks down at me like I’m a pesky little mouse.
“You need to be more careful,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“Did you not see what just happened?” I think I’ve reached my threshold for bullshit because my voice is way harsher than I intended. And still, I don’t stop. “He plowed into me. Not vice versa.”
He lets out a huff. His head tilts down, breaking our eye contact. I welcome the peace from his scrutiny.
Until he sighs. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Yes, just my leg. I’ll be fine.”
His gaze pulls back up, and our eyes meet. There is a softness to him now. One that I’m not used to.
“You should clean it,” he says, and that’s when I finally look down.
How I didn’t feel the cut is beyond me. My leg hurts more than my knee.
I can’t believe I hit the concrete that hard. Embedded in my knee is dirt and debris from the New York City sidewalks.
Gross.
I don't even want to think about it.
Trent’s eyes look dark when I return my gaze up to his. The blues of his irises are almost all gone, replaced with black pupils. As to be expected, his jaw is tight.
I’m not sure if he’s angry with me still, but he doesn’t seem to be. Not really. At least not more so than usual.
“Come on, let’s go.”
I shake my head. “I have to get to school.”
