I kneel in front of her and unzip the first aid kit. “Where else are you hurt?” She shakes her head. “Just the arm.” “Just the arm? That’s fucking enough, don’t you think?” My voice comes out rough. I can’t keep it together; I ball my fists to regroup. “Let me clean that cut on your lip.” “You don’t have to do that. I’m okay.” “Dakota,” I warn. My eyes lock on her face. It looks like someone grabbed her by the jaw and squeezed. Hard. “Don’t argue with me.” “Still bossy, I see.” Her tone is light yet strained.
