I shook my head and turned my torso, hiding my hand and the nail away from his line of sight. I didn’t want him or anyone to touch it because it hurt too much.

“Don’t. Touch. It.” I felt my control slipping. I needed someone. A female. My grandma. I needed her to fix this. She was good at fixing and mending things.

“I just need to look at it. I won’t touch it.” Fisher grabbed my forearm and forced me to show him my hand. He frowned. “Well, looks like we’ll be adding another stop to our morning.”

That did it. That made my tears escape. “I’m sorry,” I said with a trembling lower lip.

“Why? It was an accident. Shit happens. We’ll get you fixed up. Okay?”

Sniffling. I nodded.

“Can you walk?” he asked. “Or do I need to carry you?”

He didn’t want to open my door in front of anyone. I felt certain that carrying me was way out of the question as long as my legs weren’t broken.

“I’m fine.” I started to stand on the uneven pile of dirt and, just as quickly, my foot turned to the side, and I felt myself going down again, but not before Fisher grabbed my torso.

“I guess I’m carrying you.” He lifted me up, cradling me in his arms like a needy two-year-old and carrying me to the truck. After he helped me into my seat, he grabbed my forearm again.

“Don’t. Touch. It!”

He laughed. Laughed! “Just chill a sec. I’m going to get my first aid kit from the back and get some antibacterial wipes to clean the dirt off around it.”

“Don’t pull the nail out.” I slowly released my bent arm so he could see my hand.

“I’m not going to pull the nail out. God … you’re a basket case.” He disappeared to the back of the truck and returned with the wipes.

“Shouldn’t you wear gloves so you don’t get my blood on your hands?”

“You have my saliva inside of you. It’s only fitting I get a little of your blood. Might as well let everything mingle today. Do you have an STD I need to know about?” Fisher squinted at me as his hands gently cleaned around the wound.

I frowned.

“It’s a joke.”

“Terrible timing.” I jumped when his finger accidentally bumped the nail.

“Sorry.” He cringed, giving me a sincere apologetic look. “Here, sit back. I’ll get you fastened in.” After he fastened the seat belt, he drove me to urgent care where we were ushered back surprisingly quick. They removed the nail. Cleaned the wound. Bandaged it. And gave me a tetanus shot because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one.

“Do you need to go home?” Fisher asked when we got back into the truck.