“I heard you had an accident.” I shook my head, rolling my eyes. “A little bump. A few stitches.” “It’s not a little bump. She might have a concussion.” Wyatt opened the fridge and took out a beer. “I don’t have a concussion,” I told him before turning back to the others with exasperation written all over my face. “We went to the ER and they shined a light in my eyes and said I was fine.”
