“Done?” he asks. He means the fight, but I think he means this seven-year tension. I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. Blood smears over my skin. My chest heaves for air, and adrenaline whistles through my veins. Something shifts between us, and my anger deflates. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I just want to move on. I glance at Pippa, who’s peeking through her hands with a worried expression, and my heart clutches. I don’t want to hold a grudge, because life is too short and sweet. I give Pippa a nod to say I’m okay.
