“You’re hurt,” I said flatly to conceal my worry. Damn, I was a pushover. “I’ve had worse in a friendly practice,” he said and shrugged. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” I blurted out suddenly, rebelling against the voice in my head that felt bad that he had gotten beat up for defending me. “I didn’t ask you to.” Cayden’s expression was unreadable. “And for the record, I don’t feel sorry for you either.” He turned and strode toward the house. I stared after him. What the hell did that mean?
