“How long ago did you do this?” he asks, already rummaging in his first aid kit for something. Hopefully an axe. Tate is standing over us looking incensed with his arms folded across his chest. I bask delightedly in his discomfort. “A few days ago,” I reply, with a nonchalant shrug. When Tate’s gaze moves from my hand to my eyes I do a sort of self-satisfied smile. His eyes narrow. “Dad, she needs to go to the doctor’s.” What’s it to you, Tate? Mitch doesn’t look up at his son but he nods in agreement. “The cuts aren’t deep but there are multiple, and it’s swelling because one of them must’ve
...more
