Page 21 of Lost Trust

“Fuck!” I grab my arm instinctively.

Jovie is beside me in an instant.

“I’m fine.”

“Obviously,” she huffs.

“What happened?” Axle asks as he climbs out of the truck and tosses all three suitcases into the bed.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just tired and dehydrated.”

His eyes narrow.

“Don’t you start too.”

Jovie jumps up on the bumper and reaches over to unzip one of the suitcases.

“What are you doing?” Axle asks.

“Fixing him.”

“I don’t need fixing.”

She pulls out a flannel shirt. “Shut up and hold still.”

She shakes the shirt out and starts folding it, mumbling under her breath, something about cowboys and pride.

She rolls the flannel into a thick band and steps in front of me. “Bend down.”

“Jovie, come on.”

She glares at me until I bow forward.

She loops the flannel beneath my forearm.

“I don’t need a sling.”

She ignores me as she ties the makeshift brace around my neck.

“I’ve been riding bulls for three days. I think I’m allowed to be a little stiff.”

She snorts. “Cut the macho crap. It’s just the three of us,” she says, softer now. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.”

Something about that lands differently because I am nervous that something might actually be wrong.

I swallow.

“There.”

I look down at it. “This is ridiculous. I look like an idiot.”

“You looked like a bigger idiot when you dropped the suitcase.”

Axle snorts.

“Shut up, asshole.”

Jovie adjusts my arm carefully. “Keep it supported until we know what we’re dealing with.”