Miracle

White Christmas

Emma came to with a massively throbbing headache after just a few moments, fiery anger sputtering to life as she touched the skin of her forehead. Pain lanced through her eyes, trampling over her senses for a second. She moved her head a little, slowly, wary of the nauseating feeling roiling in her gut and behind her eyes. "My f*****g airbags didn't even deploy," she seethed into the icy air, fury clawing its way up her throat and through her chest.

Something warm and wet drizzled from her hairline, and she pulled her fingers away from her face with a gasp: blood tinted her skin black in the moonlight. Curses spilled from her as she banged a hand on her steering wheel. Her eyes blurred a little as she turned to look around at her mess of a car. The beautiful red bumper and hood were mangled, squished into the ground as the car tipped over the edge of the road and into the ditch. The back wheels must have still been lodged up on the asphalt somehow, as everything was tilted toward the ditch.

A shiver came over her as she realized she couldn't feel her toes; was she pinned by her legs or just really, really cold?

A stream of curses spilled from Emma's lips as she attempted to push open the driver's side door. It didn't budge. In spite of her spongy brain's protests, she rammed her shoulder into the immovable door. "Ow, f**k me," Emma cursed, having to pause for a moment before she either threw up or passed out again. Her whole head spun like a top, leaving her feeling weak and sick.

Taking a deep breath, Emma closed her eyes against it, forcing her body to calm in hopes of stopping the spinning inside her skull. After a moment of thought, Emma reached down into the door, her fingers poking about inside the pocket. Her finger closed over the car safety pen that was cradled there; it had been unused for the past ten years, moved from new car to new car as she bought them, but she was glad it was still around.

With one side of the tool, she cut her seat belt off of herself, then spun it to the back side and pressed it against the glass. With one swift hit, the glass shattered, interrupting the unending mumble of expletives pouring from her lips as she turned away from the shards. They tumbled, the shards rounded and harmless, twinkling over the door and out into the snow. Icy air poured into the already cold space, and Emma's teeth chattered in response. Spewing vitriol between shivers, Emma grabbed onto either side of the now broken window and pulled.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" A deep, masculine voice slipped over the snow, barely audible above Emma's angry cursing. "Let me help you."

Emma's mouth moved far faster than her brain, and she snapped out, "I don't need your help." Her arms protested as she pulled, her head out of the window. She put a hand on outside of the car, the icy metal biting into her fingers as she attempted to pull herself out. She couldn't see around her hair, spilling across her eyes as she moved. f**k, I shouldn't have said that, she thought, frowning. I actually think I do need help. Unable to bring herself to apologize or take back her words, Emma continued to try to push herself out of the car.

The voice sighed behind her. Massive hands slid under her arms, strong enough to break her into pieces. Emma held her breath for a moment, but those hands very gently pulled her out instead of crushing her.

The hands gently set her on her feet in the snow, giving Emma a moment to push her hair out of her face to catch a glance at her rescuer. He was half-hidden in the darkness, but she got an overall impression of a hulking human, massive and rough around the edges. "Ma'am?"

"Thanks," Emma grumbled, not quite sounding thankful at all. She turned on her heel to try to take a look at the car, but her vision blurred, and her head throbbed in response.

Thankfully, the stranger was still behind her, and he caught her without effort before she could fall into the snow. "Your head-" he started, a frown in his voice. But he never finished the line. Instead, he picked her up like a lover carrying someone over the threshold, a strong arm warm at her back and another tucked underneath her legs. It seemed effortless, like Emma didn't weigh a thing. She felt like a child in his arms.

In spite of the dizzying swirling in her head, she pushed against the chest now pressed against her left side. "I can walk," she said, her voice hot with embarrassment.

"Sure you can," the man answered, his voice so deep it vibrated into her from where their bodies touched. "But I can more easily carry you; no need to risk you walking on your own with that injury."

Emma grumbled again, but didn't protest again. The man took a big step away from the car, away from the road, and Emma huddled closer, tucking her frozen hands into her armpits under her coat. It was f*****g cold, and she was so tired, so embarrassed. And now she was being held by a complete stranger while she bled from her forehead.

And her little red baby was mangled in some ditch somewhere.

Could this week get any worse? she thought as the man took another step away from the road. She wanted to ask where he was taking her, where she was, or how far away she was from her house, but she didn't have the energy. Much to her chagrin, tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes, and she turned her face toward the stranger's chest to keep him from seeing.