“I’m going to kill you.” It was going to be a slow and painful death, too.

Ford pulled me into his arms. “He’s worried about you. Said he wanted to check you over himself, see if you needed to go to a hospital.”

“It’s just a few bumps and scrapes.”

Ford gently lifted my arm to examine my wrist. “This isn’t just bumps and scrapes.”

I winced at the raw, exposed flesh. “I’ll let him examine me if you get your shoulder looked at first.”

“Deal.”

Ford was dressed in a matter of seconds while I delayed. I wasn’t sure I was ready to face my dad. He felt like a stranger now instead of the man who had raised me. I glanced up at Ford. “You go ahead, get that shoulder examined. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Ford studied me carefully. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Go.”

He went, and I carefully slipped one of Ford’s tees over my head. The worn cotton was perfectly soft, just what I needed in this moment. I pressed a hand to my chest, where I knew the tattoo and mottled skin lay below. “I need you with me for this one, sissy.” I couldn’t hear her, but I knew she was there.

I took a deep breath and headed out of the bedroom, moving towards the muted voices in the kitchen.

“I’m going to order an MRI and set you up with a specialist I know in Seattle. I’ll call him first thing in the morning and make sure he gets you in this week.”

“Thank you, Dr. Kipton.”

“Please, call me Bruce.”

I hovered at the edge of the kitchen until Caelyn caught sight of me. “Bells! How are you feeling?”

I wrapped her in the thirtieth hug I’d given her tonight. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Let’s let your dad be the judge of that, Trouble.”

I glared at Ford, who just chuckled.

“Please,” my dad said. “I’d like to check you over to make sure there’s nothing the EMTs missed.”

I nodded, slowly heading towards the kitchen bar, where my father had set his medical bag. He looked different, older, and a little harried. I was surprised that my mother had let him out of the house in his track pants and a rumpled sweatshirt. I eased up on one of the stools and Ford was instantly at my back.

My father’s gloved hands were gentle, reassuring. The feel of them heartbreakingly familiar. How many times had he lifted me up onto the kitchen counter to tend to a skinned knee or twisted ankle? Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you, Bell.”