Page 70 of Bitter Rival

“I’m not so sure about that. I’m the glue that holds this place together.”

I almost laugh at that one. The funny part is that I can tell she really believes it.

After I clean up the breakfast dishes, I pull up a stool across from her and wiggle my fingers. “Let me see your wrist.” She promptly hides her hand behind her back. I press my lips together in disapproval. “You’re not seven anymore, Daisy. That’s no longer cute. Let me see it.”

“Which school did you get your medical degree from? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have one,” she sasses, but reluctantly holds out her hand.

I take it in both of mine and try to be as gentle as possible, like I’m holding a baby bird. Her wrist looks swollen and tender with some bruising.

It looks bad but as she was so quick to point out, I am not in fact a doctor so I can’t make an official diagnosis.

I release her hand and stand up from my seat. “Come on. We’re going to the ER.”

“No. Seriously. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s probably just a sprain. It will heal on its own.”

“If it’s broken, it won’t heal properly?—”

“It’s not broken,” she insists.

This girl. She’s so fucking stubborn.

“Remind me where you got your medical degree from?” I snap my fingers. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have one.” She presses her lips into a flat line, not amused. “Come on, Daisy. I’m not going to argue about this with you. We’re going. If it turns out to be no big deal, then fine. But we won’t know for sure until we get some X-rays. You don’t want to mess with this.”

“I’m willing to take the risk that it will heal on its own. It barely even hurts.”

Might as well call her out on her own bluff. “Prove it. Make a fist with your right hand and punch me in the face.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Do it. Make a fist.” She can’t even make a fist without wincing. “Move it up and down. Rotate it.” I make the annoying sound of a buzzer when she fails to do any of those things. “Let’s go,” I say brusquely.

“I’m sure you have better things to do than to sit around in an ER waiting room for hours. It’s a waste of time for a non-emergency situation. I’m going to be fine.”

I push my hand through my hair and sigh, exasperated. “We’re going. If you don’t move your ass, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out to the car,” I threaten.

She lifts her chin. “I’d like to see you try.”

I laugh. She’s really asking for it, isn’t she?

“I’m six-foot-four. A wall of muscle. You’re five-foot-nothing. This isn’t even a fair fight.”

She scoffs. “Like that’s ever stopped you before, you big bully.”

Her words hit harder than she probably intended.

You would think that someone who was bullied would never resort to bullying.

But that’s pretty much all I’ve done since our very first text.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Beckett

A few hours later, the X-rays confirm that it’s a sprain, and Daisy leaves the hospital with a compression bandage on her wrist, her arm in a sling, and a scowl on her face.

“I told you it would be a waste of your time,” she mutters, fastening her seat belt.

“Better safe than sorry.” I reverse out of my parking spot and pull onto the road. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

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