“That’s good for him, and you two didn’t have to deal with watching him go. Apparently, my mom was in a lot of pain for a few days after she had me. Then she was gone.”

My head snapped up. “I didn’t know your mom died.” Why hadn’t I pieced that together? I didn’t think of Dare as anything more than sprung from the ground fully grown, but of course he had a family. A mom and a dad.

“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember anything differently, so it’s not like I can even miss her.”

My heart ached. What was worse? Losing a parent you loved or never even getting to meet them?

“What a pair.” I reached for his hand and hesitated, but the sadness rippling off him wouldn’t let me not hold his hand.

I slid mine under his, our thumbs hooking. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet her.”

“I’m sorry your dad’s gone.” He tightened his grip on my hand, keeping clear of my shredded palm. “He taught you to play the guitar?”

“He used to play me to sleep every night, until I hit twelve and thought I was too cool for it.” The look in my dad’s eyes when I shook my head as he sat behind my bed—at the time, I hadn’t paid attention, but now I’d give anything for one more bedtime lullaby.

“Then he taught me how to play.”

He lifted his chin. “You should take your jeans off.”

I shot up, sputtering. “Forward much?”

He laughed. “Peeling the jeans off your cut once the blood has dried will suck. Trust me.” A sadness flickered in his eyes.

I looked down at my leg. The area around the rip was red. It looked sticky and angry. My cheeks and neck were hot with embarrassment. “Right, I’ll be back.”

Taking the steps one at a time, I changed out of my ripped jeans. Maybe I could patch them later. Instead of my pajama shorts, I grabbed long loose pants where I could roll up the leg. Back downstairs, Dare patched me up again.

“So you’ve been playing the guitar since you were twelve?” He looked up at me with gentle eyes, the grays bright and deep, melded together into a tapestry of mystery.

“You think I’d be better at it.”

His fingers brushed over the sides of my knee.

My pulse rampaged in my chest like a stampede.

I saw my chance at escape and popped up. “Do you want to see it?”

“Of course.”

I rushed back to my room, trying to keep my head clear. Whenever I was close to Dare, let alone touching him, the neurons didn’t fire properly and I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in closer, staring longer, wanting more. I retrieved the case from my bedroom closet and hurried back downstairs.

Dare tucked the first aid kit back into the cabinet and closed the door. His gaze dropped to the case clutched in my hand.