Page 31 of Keeping It Professional

“Your tablet flew into it when your airbag went off.”

I touched my left arm and it felt okay. When I flexed, it moved fine. I wiggled my fingers. My hands stung and itched, I guessed from the airbag. My heart was still pounding, my stomach all tight. But other than that, I felt okay.

“We didn’t hit that hard,” said Miles. “How many fingers?”

I pushed his fingers away. “I didn’t hit my head. Three. Well, two and a thumb.”

“I’ll call in,” he said. “You check on the rig.”

I squeezed out with some difficulty — my door was snowed shut — and circled the bus, sniffing for gas. I didn’t smell anything, or spot a whole lot of damage, other than our front end buried in snow. Our back tires looked fine, our body intact.

“Try reversing,” I yelled.

Miles leaned out. “What?”

“I don’t think we’re stuck that bad. Try backing out.”

Miles did as I said, but his tires only spun. He gave it more gas and snow shot up in plumes. I waved for him to stop.

“Stuck in there, huh?” He squeezed out, too. “They’re sending a tow for us, but it could be a while. They’re backed up with the snow, and a couple of roads closed.”

I shivered. My nose was numb, and the tips of my ears. By the time rescue got to us, I’d be an ice cube.

“It’s at least five miles to get back to that gas station.” Miles leaned past me, into the back. “We should put out flares so rescue’ll see us, then get inside and try to stay warm.”

I frowned, but I helped Miles set up the flares. Normally, it’d be a bad idea to stay in a crashed vehicle. A lot of people got killed in secondary collisions, drivers plowing into crashed cars in the dark. But I was shivering so hard I’d bitten my tongue, and not just from shock. The cold was bone-deep. We ringed the scene in LED flares, then piled in the back and shut the doors on the wind.

“Come here,” said Miles, as I dug for a blanket.

“I’m getting us blankets.”

“Sit down a sec.” He patted the bench next to him. I turned and sat down. Miles reached for my arm. “Take off your coat.”

“What?”

“The tablet tore through your sleeve. From the airbag.” He pulled the fabric apart where it was already torn. “I want to look at your arm. Make sure you’re not hurt.”

“I’m all right,” I said, but my voice caught and cracked.WasI okay, or was I just in shock? I’d heard stories of patients torn up inside, bones through their organs, walking around. It was the adrenaline. It blocked out the pain. They stayed on their feet till the rush went away, then they dropped dead.

“I’ll be quick,” said Miles. He unzipped my coat for me and I pulled out my arm. My sweater was ripped, but not the shirt underneath. Miles rolled up both sleeves and breathed a sigh of relief. “You got lucky. That tablet ripped straight through your coat. An inch to the right, and it’d have ripped through you, too.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over my skin, the same spot my tablet had narrowly missed. Goosebumps rose where he touched, though his hand was warm.

“You’re freezing,” Miles said, but my face had gone hot. He leaned past me and pulled out an emergency blanket. It crackled as he settled it over my shoulders. I tried to share it with Miles, but he shrugged it off.

“No, I’m all right.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

I stretched out the blanket and he pulled it around him. He had to edge closer to drape it over his back. His knee bumped on mine and he inhaled sharply.

“Sorry,” he said.

I realized I’d stopped breathing. Miles was shoulder-to-shoulder close, my hair in his face. If he turned his head, his lips would graze mine. I felt his breath on my arm when he exhaled, the shift of his bicep as he tugged on the blanket. He leaned back to look at me.

“You’re flushed.”

“From the cold.”

“You weren’t out there that long.”

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