He opened the cabinet and produced the box. Rummaging through the contents, he found what he needed.

“Sonofabitch.” I hissed. The burning alcohol prep pad sear brought tears to my eyes.

“There she is.” He ran the acid-soaked evil over my skin.

“There who is?” I gritted my teeth, forcing my fingers from curling.

He cupped the backs of my hands, holding them steady.

“Your inner badass.” Dare blew on my palms. It evaporated the stinging antiseptic and distracted me by how close his lips were to my hands.

My smartass reply froze in my throat.

He peered up at me and my heart stalled.

“Is that better?” His eyes were filled with concern and laughter, like he couldn’t fully relax until he had my answer.

It would take jumper cables to restart my brain. I nodded and tried to tug my hands out of his grip before he felt my skyrocketing heart rate.

“Yeah, it’s okay now.” The cuts throbbed, but the sting was gone. I pulled my hands free from his grasp and dropped them into my lap.

“I’ll get you some Band-Aids.” He rummaged through our white metal first aid kit. “Perfect.” He waved two still wrapped oversized bandages at me.

“These are in shitty spots, so they’ll come off easily, but if I use this, they’ll stay for a bit longer.” He held up the easy tear medical tape my mom always had in her scrub pockets when she came home from work. Ninety percent of the tape in our house was from those rolls.

I opened and closed my hands. The palms smarted, but at least I didn’t have to worry about a nice slushy-snow infection. “You’re pretty good at bandaging. “

His smile faltered. “Football isn’t exactly ballroom dancing.” He ducked his head and cleaned up the wrappers and blood-tinged cleaning supplies.

“Do you usually use SpongeBob Band-Aids to patch yourself up?”

He laughed. “No, my first aid kit is nowhere near as colorful. I could’ve used the Disney princess ones, so count yourself lucky.”

“My dad was under the perpetual impression that I was still eight years old and bought Band-Aids like he was preparing for the apocalypse. Did you know Band-Aids expire? They do.”

Dare’s throat worked up and down. “When did he die?”

“Right before I started at Greenwood Senior High. We’d moved to town two weeks after.”

“What happened?” His knee brushed against mine. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

He shuffled back and did the awkward ‘sorry for bringing up your dead parent, please don’t burst into tears’ sputter.

I dropped my hand onto his knee.

His muscles tightened and I jerked it back.

Taking a deep breath, I ran my fingers over the neat bandages. “It was an aneurism.” I snapped. “One second he was in his office at work and the next, they were calling an ambulance. The doctors said it was quick, like flicking a light switch. He was here and then he was gone. No pain though.” I shrugged, trying to keep the welling emotions at bay. My throat was tight and my nostrils flared. This was my new normal. A life without him. Even three years later, sometimes it still felt raw.