His face is grave. “Stay off your feet. I’ll be right back.”

I’m about to protest, but he grabs the lamp and leaves me in the dark. I’m not sure if Trey’s obvious concern is sweet or strange. I’ve been walking around all day; no need to suddenly stay off my feet. Then again, if he were the one who was hurt, I’d move heaven and earth to help him. He’s my only human.

Trey Dawson, I muse. Practically a household name in central Ohio. I would have recognized it right away if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own life these past few months. Shawntelle would have given away her jersey number to meet this guy.

Emmaline jumps off the couch and pads over to the door a second before I hear Trey’s footsteps. He turns sideways to get through the doorway with his loot: two large boxes picturing a laughing woman wrapped in a bright blue Snuggie, a white pill bottle, a package of D-sized batteries, and various bandages and gauzes.

He sets everything on the table. “I want to see that bite,” he says.

“Sure. Okay.” I lean forward to unzip my boot. My hands freeze on the zipper. What if this is just an excuse to get me to take something off? Maybe Trey has a weird foot fetish or something. I mean, what do I really know about him?

Chill, Paige. If he tries anything, you can break his face.

With a glance at my tire iron resting on the floor, I remove the boot, then peel away my sock to reveal the Ace bandage and cotton gauze. The bandage comes away easy enough, but I hiss as the gauze unsticks from the wound.

Trey rips open the package of batteries, and everything goes dark as he changes them. The light comes back on, brighter than before, and he lifts it to get a look at my heel.

“Ouch,” he says. “He tore into you good.”

“I think it’s better.” The skin flap seems to have sealed shut already, though peeling away the bandage made it ooze a bit. But the puncture beside it aches something fierce, and the pain extends deep into my arch. Like it bruised the bone.

“Was the dog rabid?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t look infected,” Trey says, “and I’m not sure how, because animal bites are nasty. But yeah, you should take the amoxicillin, just in case.” He straightens and goes to the sink to wash his hands.

“I poured rubbing alcohol all over it,” I say. “Maybe that helped.”

He glances over his shoulder at me. “Damn, girl. That’s badass.”

“Not really. I almost passed out.”

“Still.” He reaches a now-clean hand forward. “May I?”