Nick stumbled in the unexpected pull of the swift current. He righted himself and slopped toward the main gate. Did he leave his gym bag, and more importantly, his workout shoes at the clinic? God, he hoped so. He could always grab a spare pair of scrub pants, but his feet were soaked and working a full shift in wet shoes was going to suck.
He sneezed, his head hitting the inner front of the umbrella’s bell. Not to mention prove every old wives’ tale true and make him sick. A gust of sheeting rain hit his umbrella. The thin metal spokes bent, and the fabric twisted inside out, tearing the handle from his distracted grip. Nick fought for a second and then let go, clutching at his palm. He swore at the sharp sting racing through his nerve endings. Damn, that hurt.
Nick looked up into a confusing glare of red and blue. His skin prickled, chilled by instinct this time rather than weather. This couldn’t be good. He splashed forward. His injury instantly forgotten.