Love Lies Beneath by Ellen Hopkins Page A

really.”
    â€œIt’s going to.” He wraps it in cold packs, pulls the remains of my pants leg down over the swollen lump.
    Trevor lifts me easily, lays me flat on the bed of the sled, and secures a blanket over me with a couple of wide tie-downs. “I’ve never been tied up before,” I joke. “Promise this will be fun?”
    Will actually chuckles. “Oh, yeah. The best time you’ll ever have, and all you have to do is lie there. We, on the other hand, have our work cut out for us.”
    They do. Will moves around to the front, where he’ll have to pull once we reach flat terrain. Meanwhile, he steers while Trevor takes the cheater strap at the rear, acting as the brake. Both men snowplow down the steep face, denying their skis—and so, the sled—momentum.
    It still feels fast to me. Air movement stings my eyes. Despite their watering, I’m aware of the stares of those we pass, especially when we reach the landing where lines form for the Sky Express chair. It’s embarrassing, but I understand they can’t help it. It’s like passing a car accident.
    Nothing much to see here, people. The blanket isn’t pulled up over my face. I’m alive and kicking, at least with my left leg. Not sure about the guy who hit me, though. We go past his quiet form at a distance. Ski patrol is keeping everyone back, making room for Care Flight to land so they can load the man into its belly. I can hear the snarl of the helicopter’s approach. The snowboarder was right. I’m glad I’m not leaving the mountain that way.
    Across the flats, we slow significantly, then it’s a short drop to a gentle beginner’s roundabout. It takes almost a half hour to arrive at the first aid station at the top of the gondola. “Don’t weight your right leg,” instructs Will as he and Trevor help me stand. “We’ll get you inside.”
    One arm around each of their necks, I hobble, one-legged, to the door, where a note informs us: Back soon. We push on through, anyway. The stark room is dingy white beneath dim fluorescent lights. “Wow. This place could use a face-lift.”
    â€œHey, now,” corrects Trevor. “This here is a state-of-the-art first aid station.”
    The men help me onto a gurney, adjust the back so I can sit up. “I’ll go deal with the sled,” says Will, starting for the door. “Nice skiing with you, ma’am.”
    Ha-ha. Very funny. “You will get the name of the man who ran into me, right?”
    Will stops, turns back toward me. “So you can send him a get-well card?”
    â€œIn case my insurance company needs to get hold of him,” I correct.
    â€œStandard operating procedure. If they—or you—have any questions, you can always contact the resort’s legal department directly. Which reminds me . . .” He locates a clipboard and pen. “Please fill out this report and give it to the on-duty when he gets back. He’s probably helping out up on the mountain.”
    He exits as Trevor elevates my right leg and places a fresh ice pack on my knee. “How’s that feel?”
    â€œUseless.”
    â€œThat’s right, and I expect you to keep it that way until someone smarter than me tells you otherwise. Now, is there someone who should be informed about your accident?” He’s just so earnest, I kind of want to kiss him, if only for the shock value.
    â€œYou mean, like my lawyer?”
    â€œI kind of thought you were a lawyer.” He grins. “But, I meant like your husband. Or a relative.”
    â€œI’m not married. And the only relative who might care is my sister, who’s here somewhere. I’d call her, but she never takes her cell out on the mountain. Says she wants to disconnect from the real world when she’s skiing.”
    Now he loses his smile. “Did you tell her she’d be a lot safer carrying her