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and a leather jacket and gloves. He would have been scraped to hamburger if not for those items. |
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D.J. helped him take off his helmet. He looked up at her and shook his head as if to clear it. |
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"A van cut in on you too soon, then took off." D.J. stared down the empty road. "Jerk." |
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"I have to agree with you there," he said, then glanced over at his motorcycle. "Oh, no." He stood and took a step toward the bike. |
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When he swayed and raised a hand to his head D.J. jumped to her feet to put an arm around his waist. "I think maybe we'd better make a trip back to the hospital." |
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"No. No more hospital. I'm sure I either have another concussion, or this is more of the same one. I know what to do about those. I just want to go home." |
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D.J. sighed. From the tone of his voice he wouldn't be swayed. She'd take a closer look at him in the light before she left him alone. |
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"All right; let's get to my car. I'll call from your house and send someone out for the bike." |
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"Thanks." His voice faded away on the word, and his full weight pressed against her shoulder. D.J. frowned and hurried toward the pickup. If he passed out, she didn't think she could lift him into the truck. After settling him in the passenger seat she lost no time driving back to McCall's house. |
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D.J. managed to get him inside and up the stairs to his room. He sat down heavily on the bed, then fell backward. |
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"I feel bad," he said in wonder. "Very, very bad." |
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