Okay, a lot wet.
This will blow over.
I’ve seen worse.
Sure I wasn’t running in it, but I have seen worse.
Whoa.
It’s coming down really hard.
A roar of thunder and cracking lightning makes me jump. I shout at the sky, “I will not head back! Nice try though, fucker!”
Black joggers plaster my skin, weighted now. My coral workout shirt is painted on, ponytail stuck to my right shoulder.
But I feel great.
Me against Nature!
Fight to the diet.
The feeling is getting stronger.
Exhilaration?
Yes, that’s it.
I feel powerful!
What kind of person grins during a torrential downpour like this? I’m lucky it’s not cold. Is that bike skidding down the street unattended?
Bikes can’t fight back.
I can!
Something’s taken over.
I’m not normal me anymore.
Adrenaline.
Endorphins.
Victory.
This is amazing.
My heartbeat is pounding as I challenge a furious sky, “That all ya got? Huh? Is it?!”
Laughter, no, joy, breaks free from my chest as I run harder, and even throw in some jumps for the fun of it.
Would have been so easy to skip out on this. Miss out on feeling this good. How many times have I done that?
I’m almost there!
Will the track be flooded?
No, not this quickly.
Soon though maybe.
There’s the entrance.
Can hardly see.
Something grabs my attention.
A sound.
Different than wind.
Higher-pitched than thunder.
The screeching of brakes.
I look left.
See headlights coming.
Jump for safety.
But suddenly…
I’m not running anymore.
CHAPTER 10
WYATT
M y partner shouts, “Stay here!” and leaps out of the car.
From the duck to my door handle to the windshield I look, swearing under my breath as he goes to grab the girl from the ground.
Visibility made it impossible to see her untimely approach. Lucky for everyone, this storm forced us to drive slowly, much slower than we would have.
While cradling the mallard, I start to open my door. I freeze as two figures rise at once, and take a sharp and worried breath.
Washington has things under control. I trust him. But I hate taking no action in a situation we’ve never faced.
The duck looks up at me, beak quiet. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you and your babies.”
Washington is leading the girl over, not carrying her.
She can walk.
A good sign.
If he carried her, my blood would be ice.
He yanks the back door open, gallons of water beating the ducklings back from escaping. Using his body to cover the jogger, he guides her to sit.
As she eases herself in, she’s taken aback by free-roaming fowl in the place criminals normally wouldn’t want to be. They can’t quack quite yet. No, our patrol car is filled with something between singing and chirping, tiny webbed feet smacking puddles on polyester.
He holds back a few cuss-words and shuts the door.
I ask her, “You okay. You hurt?”
Our eyes lock and hers widen like she can’t take anymore surprises. Or she recognizes me? Maybe that’s it. But I’ve never seen her before in my life.
I would remember.
“Yes,” she whispers, reaching for the ponytail plastered to her neck. Smoothing it out, she glances around at the ducklings, adding a confused, “I mean, no, I’m not hurt bad. Yes I’m okay.”
Washington leaps inside, slams his door, grabbing the wheel like it’s a buoy and he’s been out to sea for days. There’s water sliding off every inch of both of them.
“You alright?” he demands, unaware I just asked the same question.
She nods, dripping eyelashes fluttering between me and my partner before landing on a cute little bird that’s climbed on her lap. With her focus split by so many things, she answers, “I think I’m just bruised.”
“Don’t think you broke anything? Ribs, leg, ankle, anything?” She shakes her head and he nods like he accepts that, turning to grip the steering wheel again and put it in gear. Under his breath, so quiet she can’t hear, he confesses, “Scared the shit out of me, Wy.”
My gaze drops to the damaged duck as I say at a normal volume, “Now we’ve got two wounded females to take to a hospital.”
He cautiously pulls onto the road, exhaling loudly.
Craning a long neck, our pretty jogger sees what I’m holding. “Oh no, poor thing! These are her babies! What happened? Did you hit her, too?”
Against a backdrop of straining windshield wipers, my partner grumbles, “We didn’t hit the duck! She was like that!” and pushes a button to engage our loud speaker, warning a two-seater on the opposite side of the road, “Go home! It’s not safe out!”
The car flashes its high beams, message received.
“I’ll say,” comes a small, flat voice from the backseat.
Washington warily looks at her. “You still have your sense of humor, I see.”
Hearing his sarcasm, she back-peddles. “I’m sorry. That was me lightening up an awkward situation. Don’t mind me. I’m not in a normal headspace.”
I ask her, “You’re normally not funny?”
“No, I am.”
“Then everything’s intact.”
She shrugs a sopping shoulder on a grateful half-smile as she peels her wet shirt from a sports bra I can see the outline of.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Diana.”
“Check your leg, Diana.”
With caution she touches the exterior of black workout pants, or yoga pants, or whatever you call those sexy-as-fuck, skintight, painted on, barely there except for they are, pants.
“Definitely bruised. Feels um…raw.”
Washington mutters, “Dammit”
“We’re going to take care of you.”
She stares at me, probably in shock.
Momma duck quacks in my big hands and we all look at her. I adjust my hold to ensure escape remains impossible. “Just give in and let a man help.”
Diana sighs, “Single mother. Probably doesn’t know how.”
I crack a grin, “Nice. You are funny.” My smile fades as the mallard struggles. “Shh…I know you’re not feeling too great. I would fix it if I could.”
We sway left as Washington twists the wheel to avoid a rolling trash can. “I’m going straight to Grady. Was thinking precinct. Should have thought the vet. Now it’s the hospital.”
Diana and I ask, “What about the duck?”
I glance back to her smile, and guiltily match it with one of my own. “Guess I should’ve put you first.”
The left corner of her mouth is higher than the right and it’s cute. “Animal lovers — what’re you gonna
