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3. AN ANGEL AMONG US

BIGFOOT

“Ma’am, we really need your statement,” I heard some asshole practically growl. Fuck, my head was more than a little fuzzy, but I knew exactly where I was. A motherfuckin’ hospital.

“I already told you.” A woman, who sounded vaguely familiar, snapped at him. “Open your damn ears and listen to the words that already came out of my mouth. I was driving on US-60 in the dark. There was a motorcycle in front of me. One minute all was well. The next, he was flying through the air. I must have looked down, or maybe I forgot because shock set in as I was trying to keep him alive on the side of the road, but I don’t even remember seeing what caused his accident. I can’t say it in any other way. I can’t make it any plainer for you. That is all I know.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re trying to convince us this man is a total stranger to you. You happened to be behind him on the road when he wrecked, you called his club instead of 9-1-1, and now you conveniently don’t know what happened. And here you are sitting vigil by his bedside waiting for the man to wake up.”

“Obviously, you’ve never trauma-bonded with someone. I held this man’s bloody head in my hands. I waited with him as he came to and passed out several times on the side of the road. Should I have left him there to be hit by someone else?”

“You should have called us first.” The man – who I figured was a cop – told her.

“Well, the only thing he said to me was ‘Call my brothers,’ and so I did. He was worried about his motorcycle.”

I opened my eyes in time to catch the officer roll his at the woman. I dragged my eyes toward her and immediately sucked in an audible breath. My guardian angel was just as gorgeous as I thought she was. “You,” I managed to say.

“Hey!” She spun around and grabbed hold of my hand again. “I was so worried about you. Do you remember me?”

I tried to nod, but it hurt, so I stopped.

“You should stay still. The doctor mentioned you have a pretty nasty concussion which probably isn’t being helped by this guy yammering on and being as loud as is humanly possible without purposefully yelling.” She made the declaration sound like she was scolding a child. I wanted to laugh but was afraid it would hurt.

“Name?” I questioned.

“Oh, I guess we missed out on real introductions earlier. I’m Samantha Morton, but pretty much everyone calls me Sam or Sammy.”

“Sammy.” The attempt to say her name was more whisper than word. “My angel,” I managed to say before being pulled back under into the darkness.