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ound my hand and waved her on with the other.
While she was busy answering the door, I peeled back the dishtowel and gasped. It was a bloody mess. I was fine with knives until they made me bleed.
“What did you do?”
I looked up as Gio rounded the island, making a beeline for me. I swallowed hard and flashed a look at my sister.
Thanks for telling me he’d be here, sis.
“Fox invited him.” She took my other side as I moved to the sink.
“I’m fine. It’s fine.” I turned on the faucet with a shaking hand, letting out a sound of protest when Gio gripped my wrist and held my hand directly under the water.
“What did I tell you about that,” he said close to my ear while he directed the spray of cool water on the bleeding wound.
Since I didn’t know what he was referring to, I stayed silent. And shut my eyes so I wouldn’t nearly pass out from the sight of blood as I had the last time I’d cut my finger.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Mia offered.
Eyes still closed, I scowled. One thing I didn’t share with my sister was her ability to tolerate blood, her own or someone else’s. Forget tolerating. Actually, I think she enjoyed making people bleed.
Me, I got nauseated and dizzy and every other wussy female thing I hated the minute I saw the first drop.
“There now, does that feel better?”
I tried to nod in response to Gio’s question, but my knees were threatening to give out.
“Ah, Christ. We’re losing her.” Mia’s voice drifted away then returned as I felt hands on my shoulders, guiding me down. “There, sit. That’s a girl.”
“Put your head between your knees if you need to.” Gio crouched beside me, still cupping my hand. The wet dishtowel had bunched around my wrist, but I couldn’t find the strength to push it off my arm.
I was still bleeding. The sticky warmth pooled between my fingers and made my head swirl harder.
“Head between your knees,” Gio commanded. “Do it.”
Since I was headed in that general direction anyway, I tried to do as he asked. My limbs felt loose and uncoordinated, and when I dipped forward…
“Jesus, Carly.” Gio. So close. “Look at me.”
“It’s the blood,” Mia said. “I forgot she saw our mother when she—”
“Where can I take her?” Gio asked, then we were moving.
I wasn’t conscious of anything after that.
When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on Mrs. Knox’s bed. I blinked and leaned up on one shoulder as Gio headed into the room with a wet washcloth.
“You’re awake.”
“Of course I’m awake. I have to make dinner.” I started to swing my legs over the side of the bed, grimacing at the flash of pain in my pinkie. Such a tiny thing. How could it hurt so much?
“Oh, no, you aren’t. Dinner is cooking. Mia took over on the salad.”
“My tomato!” I started to lurch to my feet, but he caught me neatly around the waist and set me right back down.
“Your tomato is fine. Let’s see the finger.”
I held it out because I wanted to get back to my meal prep. I also wanted to get this awkwardness over with as fast as possible.
