Page 48
Lila
“You broke his face.”
“Probably.”
“And your hand.”
“Probably.”
I glare at my husband across the kitchen island. Dane sits on a stool with his injured hand resting between us, looking entirely too calm for a man whose knuckles are split open and whose pinky is swelling by the second.
I soak another piece of gauze. “This is going to hurt.”
I press it against the worst cut.
He doesn’t flinch.
I press harder.
His eyes lift to mine. “That one was on purpose.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re mad.”
“You nearly beat a man unconscious behind a bar.”
“He was conscious.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
I throw the bloody gauze at him.
He catches it with his good hand.
“Stop being funny.”
“Wasn’t trying.”
“That makes it worse.”
I reach for his pinky.
The second I touch it, his jaw tightens.
“There.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s twice the size of the other one.”
“Always been an overachiever.”
“Dane.”
He looks at me.
