She shakes her head at me, disappointment drowning her features. “What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously.” She half laughs. “I’d love to know. This could have gotten infected. Why didn’t you tell me?” “Because I’ve survived far worse, Gray.” Her gaze softens. “That doesn’t mean you keep suffering just because you know you can.” I study her face, the way she bites the inside of her cheek in concentration or blinks rapidly in frustration. When her fingers curl around the hem of my shirt, I feel my heart stutter in my chest. “I need this up,” she says softly, pushing the fabric to expose my
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