"It's nothing, Beth," he grinds out.
I'm not afraid of him. Not when he's hurt and worse off because of me. "That's crap. This is not nothing. Did you leave the hospital to come rescue me?" I can't hide my exasperation.
He takes hold of my hands and moves them away from his chest. "No, I wasn't in the hospital. It happened in Mexico and a friend sewed me up." He releases me and steps back. "Eat. I'll take a shower and be as good as new."
I actually stomp my foot in frustration. "You won't. You can't shower with those stitches." I really want to bust him upside the head. "Take off your shirt and let me wash your side. I won't eat the pizza or have dessert unless you cooperate. Did my brother mention how stubborn I am?" My hands go to my non-existent waist.
A low rumble of laughter escap
