Page 5 of Fractured Hope
Sucking in a breath, I tried to think through the pain. “I-I’m okay,” I rasped out while holding my hands up as I lay awkwardly on my side with my foot wedged in the storm drain’s metal bars. “But I think I’m stuck.”
The man looked at me, then my foot twisted at an odd angle, and blanched. “Shit, okay. Can you move your foot?”
I shook my head, biting my tongue and squeezing my eyes shut as the pain radiated up my leg with even the slightest twitch of my toes.
“Here, let me take a look.” He moved toward my foot and the metal grate. “This might hurt,” he said gently. With a grimace, he braced my ankle with one of his large hands and the drain grate with the other. Pulling carefully, he freed me, and the pressure released. I fell awkwardly onto my back, breathing hard. The man was still holding my ankle and was now touching my toes through the thin fabric of my canvas sneakers.
“Hmm, this looks broken. We’ll need to get it fixed,” he added absently as I gasped in shock.
“What!” Alarmed, I tried to move to look at him. I’d had broken bones before, but this didn’t feel the same.
“Oh no! I’m sorry, I mean the storm drain. It’s missing part of a bar. That’s probably how your foot got stuck,” he answered quickly, trying to reassure me as he did. “Although, it did look like a nasty fall, and I’m no doctor....”
Catching my breath, I tried to sit up, but nothing really happened. I just flopped back down and squeezed my eyes shut. I was freaking out. This couldn’t be happening right now. I needed to get a job. I needed to get my life back. I couldn’t afford to be injured.What was I going to do?
“Hey, easy now.” The man sounded alarmed. I must look worse than I thought. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The man was leaning over me assessing. Again, he seemed unsure if he should touch me or not. His pale green eyes, filled with so much worry, mesmerized me for a second.
“Where does it hurt? Can I help you sit up? Should you move? Can I move you?” He rambled these questions so quickly that it all sounded like one word, and it took me a while to translate what he’d said.
Shaking my head, I cleared my throat. “Can you just help me sit up on the curb?”
He hesitated, like I was broken or fragile, but eventually moved behind me and easily lifted me onto the curb with his arms under my shoulders. I cautiously attempted to move my leg and ankle and grimaced at the pain. Well, shit, this was going to be a problem, especially if I couldn’t walk. Resting my head on my other knee, I took stock of the rest of my body. My ribs were no worse, so I hadn’t landed on them, but my hand stung, and my sore wrist ached so much more.
Still breathing heavily, I jumped when a large hand touched my shoulder. Glancing up into the face of my helper, I almost fell over again.How had I not noticed he was stunning?His tall frame towered over me, like a larger-than-life god. I was surprised that I wasn’t scared. His olive skin still had a summer glow and he had nearly black hair that curled around his ears and fell over his forehead. He kept brushing the strands out of his eyes, which was endearing. His irises were a hypnotizing pale green that I’d never seen before, and while his nose was a littlebig, it fit his square face. He had a neat and tidy beard covering his chiseled jaw, which was darker than his hair. Now wasn’t the time to be checking out my injurer-slash-helper.What is wrong with me?Pulling myself together, I tried to focus on what he was saying.
“Sorry, what?” I said with a little shake of my head.Focus, Bodhi, focus.
“I’m so sorry I startled you. This old door needs to be greased, and I forget how loud it can be first thing in the morning,” he said with a tentative smile. “I own this garage. I’m one of the brothers,” he said quickly with a self-deprecating chuckle as he waved at the now open garage behind us. I was completely lost. “Let me help you inside, and I can clean up those cuts and call Doc to come look at your ankle. Or I can call someone for you....” He waited expectantly.
I started to panic. I couldn’t have anyone calling Derek. “No! Please!”
He looked taken aback at my outburst, eyes going wide. “Okay.... Can I at least help you inside? It’s cold out here.”
“O-o-okay, yes. Help... inside. Yes... please.” I stopped talking and hung my head, feeling my face heat. I was an idiot for shouting and babbling nonsense to a person trying to help me.
Chuckling, he glanced at me. “So, that was a yes, right? I can help you inside?”
Nodding, since I didn’t trust myself to speak, I tried to rise on my one good leg, but then I was swiftly thrown off-kilter when I was lifted by big, strong arms and held bridal style against a solid chest. Being jostled onto my bad ribs had me hissing out a breath and turning toward the nice chest as he quickly carried me inside the spacious garage workshop.
He walked through the open-plan work area and into a back room, which must be the break room, and carefully placed me down on a black leather sofa. He then went to the cabinets onmy left and came back with a first aid kit. He made quick work of dragging a chair from the nearby table over to take a seat. As he rifled through the contents of the first aid kit, I took a moment to look over the man in front of me. He really was gorgeous and tall, but not bulky like those gym-obsessed people, like Derek had been. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but he was in a battered white tank top and rolled down overalls, the kind mechanics wore to protect their clothes.
I remembered he’d said something about being one of the brothers and that this was his garage. Glancing around, I noted a Greek flag hanging on the wall above a large framed photograph of four boys and an older man in front of this garage, smiling proudly and holding up aGreek Brothers Autocaresign. Oh, that must’ve been what he’d meant by brothers. There was also a coffee mug on the counter that saidYayaKnows Best.
“You’re Greek!” I exclaimed far too loudly.
His head popped up to look at me with a chuckle. “Yes, yes I am.” I could get lost in those eyes.
“Sorry,” I muttered, shaking my head. My cheeks heated yet again. What was wrong with me?
“No worries. If the flag on the wall didn’t give me away, then my name probably would. I’m Atticus Papadakis,” he said as he reached for my hand. I thought he was offering it to shake, so I went to do the same, but instead he took my wrist, turned it over, and dabbed my palm with an alcohol wipe.
“Son of a bitch, warn a guy!” I exclaimed at the heated sting and pressure on my hurt wrist, quickly pulling my arm back.
“Sorry. We’ve got to get the scratches clean so I can assess the damage, but yes, I guess I could’ve warned you.” He held out his hand expectantly this time, clearly waiting for me to willingly offer mine when I was ready. I quickly complied because I didn’t want him to think of me as a wuss or anything. I had a highpain threshold—thanks, Derek—but I’d been surprised. Maybe his eyes were hypnotizing after all.
Silence settled between us as Atticus meticulously cleaned the scrapes on my palm. When he pulled my hand closer to get out an embedded piece of gravel, I flinched at the pain in my wrist. Atticus glanced up at me with an apologetic look.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and returned to working on the scrapes more gently. “I’m finished,” he said, then carefully placed a bandage over the deep cut the gravel had made on my palm.
