The sound was not dramatic—more of a wet crunch followed by the shriek of metal against metal, then the hiss of pressurized water erupting from a ruptured fire hydrant on the Brooklyn waterfront. Ben
He should have kept running. He had logged twelve miles this week, and his physical therapist had been clear about the importance of consistency. But his feet had already stopped moving, and his body was already turning toward the car before his mind had caught up with the impulse. By the time he reached the driver's side window, she had lifted her head, and by the time he opened his mouth to...
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