“No!” Lucky coughs, then glares indignantly as he points at Beau. “You are not playing that card. Injured beats Southern.” Injured. I scan Lucky again, worry nipping at me. He shouldn’t have run over here if he’s hurt. He sags against Beau, pressing a hand to his chest. “Can you check my stitches, doc?” He groans pitifully. “I think you tore them open.” Beau shoves Lucky off him. “You don’t have any stitches, you filthy liar; don’t you even try it. Don’t listen to him, Eden.” Lucky flips him off, a grin breaking through his pouty expression, and relief crowds me again.
