Page 175 of Repairing the Wreckage

She herds us into the kitchen, fuming the whole way.

“Old? We’re in the prime of our lives. This is what we do.” Remy holds his arms wide, then winces.

“Suuure.” She skewers him with a scathing look. “Real prime, old man.”

“Heh.” I limp toward her. “Tell him.”

“What are you laughing at, gangster walk?” She scowls and holds out her hand, blocking my hug.

“Hey, now.” I cock my head. “Those are fightin’ words.”

“Look at you.” Molly sighs and reaches up on tiptoes to touch my cheek. “Damn you, Remy.” She throws a scowl at her brother, then roughly grabs my chin and turns my face. “At least he didn’t cut you open.”

“I think he cracked one of my ribs,” Remy complains.

I roll my eyes. “You were being stubborn.”

“Ugh.” Molly throws her hands up. “You two can nurse each other back to health. I’m staying in my room tonight.”

She spins away, grabs her bag off the table and speed walks toward the stairs.

Remy snickers. “I think she’s mad, bro.”

“We could’ve done this Monday…or literally any other time, you know.”

He grins wider.

“Fuckin’ cock-blocking motherfucker,” I grumble.

He laughs, then hisses a pained breath. “Ow.”

“Feel that?” I point at him. “That’s Karma.”

“Yeah? What’re you naming your aches?”

“Remington.” I chuckle at my joke but he just shakes his head, then pulls another pained face.

“Maybe I should take you to urgent care,” I suggest.

He closes his eyes for a second as if he’s assessing his injuries. “No. If it gets worse, I’ll go. Right now, I want to shower and sit with some ice.”

“All my fancy ice packs I brought back with me are in the chest freezer downstairs.” I nod to the basement door.

We both stare at it.

“Think we can get Molly to run down and grab them for us?” he asks.

“Unlikely.” I wince. “She’s pretty mad.”

A few minutes later, Remy and I haven’t moved far when Molly stomps down the stairs and into the kitchen again.

“Ugh. I’m so mad at you two.” She throws her hands in the air. “But I can’t stand knowing you’re in pain.” She turns and glances at both of us. “What do you need?” she asks me.

“Ice packs.” I gesture vaguely to the basement door. “They’re in the chest freezer.”

“How many?”

“All of them,” Remy groans.

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