Page 2 of Wrecked for the Holidays

“Why not use the volume control on your steering wheel?”

“Oh shit!” At his raised eyebrow, I corrected myself. “I mean, shoot, I forgot about it.”

Reed, who obviously wanted me to call him by his name, or he wouldn’t have given me it, laughed. “Your language isn’t my problem, but you forgetting where the volume button is on your radio might be everyone’s problem.” He smiled when he said it, so maybe he wasn’t super mad about me crashing into him.

The police showed up before I had a chance to respond. Reed laid my hand back down and talked to the police officer, but it was hard to follow with all the chaos. He stepped away and that was the last I saw of him near my car. The cop said something about something. I wasn’t listening because all my thoughts were taken up by worry, and I only knew two things for sure. The first was I needed to reconfigure my Christmas planning, and the second was my hand hurt like a bitch.

#

“Mr. Winslow, thank you for being patient. The emergency room is a madhouse today,” The doctor said as he swept into the room and grabbed a backless stool from the corner.

“Isn’t it usually?”

As luck would have it, the closest hospital happened to be where I worked.Suboptimal. I was in the research lab area, not the ER, so it wasn’t surprising no one knew me down here, which was maybe the only bright spot. Fingers crossed—well, not my own because that would hurt—that meant I could get in and out without a fuss from anyone I knew. I sometimes ate my lunch in the park across the street and took a shortcut through the ER to return to the lab. No matter when I popped through, it was always busy, as far as I could tell.

“You’ve caught me there.” He chuckled at his joke and returned to his examination of my fingers and wrist. They’d already done a mobile x-ray, so it was just a matter of waiting. As it was, my fingers were swollen and starting to bruise. They would hurt in the morning, but I wasn’t convinced anything was broken. “So, your fingers will be sore for a bit. We are waiting for the x-ray confirmation,but my best guess is that nothing is broken. Though you’ve jammed your fingers pretty good.”

“Is there anything to do for that besides resting it?”

“Unfortunately, not really. Rest it, wrap it, and ice it. I’m going to give you some stronger pain medication because your body might be sore for the next day or two from the impact, but after that, over-the-counter meds will work fine.” He looked up before he added, “But we still have to wait for the radiology to sign off on it. When the radiologist knows we’re only waiting for a reading, they move pretty quickly.”

I nodded since that was really the only thing I could do. For the first time since I left my parents’ home, I wished they were here. Of course, they’d fuss and tell me this was why I needed them, but at least they’d know what to do. Who knew where my car was? Or how to get it back? Could I even rent a car at only twenty-three? My PhD didn’t do a damn thing for me when it came to real life.

“Of course he wants to see us. We’re his family, and he’s only a child.” Did I conjure the woman? The conversation from the nurse’s desk might as well have been next to me. My mom’s voice carried.

“Child? Our records say he’s an adult.” I appreciated the nurse’s efforts, but it was a losing battle. “He’s a minor?”

“Well, I mean, not technically, but he’s my child, and that’s all that matters.”

The nurse lasted twice as long as I expected, but my mother was a force of nature. She swept into the room with Dad right next to her. He was slightly less loud but no less forceful.

“Jakob, how could you wreck your car? Weren’t you paying attention? Dale, didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

“You did, Denise.”

“I’m glad you didn’t kill anyone. Where did they take your car?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you get the insurance information for the person you hit?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How can you not be sure? It’s a yes or no question.” Mom stopped to take a breath before saying what I knew she’d been waiting to say since she got the call. “Jakob, don’t you think it’s time to stop this foolishness?”

“What foolishness, Mom?” I sighed. It was only a delay tactic. I could recite verbatim what came next.

“This ridiculous idea that you needed to move out. And it’s not even anapartment. It’s amotel. Why is a scientist with a PhD living in a motel? It’s absurd. You’re wasting your money, I might add. It was snowing today, and you were out driving. What on earth could be so important that you needed to drive in the snow?”

“It was only flurries, and they weren’t even sticking.”

“Answer your mother. Why were you out?”

“I was getting a Christmas tree.”

“A Christmas tree? For your motel?” Mom and Dad, in surround sound, made my head hurt more than my body by a long shot.

“We’ve never had one, and I wanted one. They’re pretty.”

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