His head was pounding, it hurt to move, and his eye felt like it had its own heartbeat. He just wanted to sleep for a few days. But Colby had other ideas because not twenty minutes after they’d gotten back and Keats had lowered himself onto the bed, Colby was back in the guest room. Colby leaned over the bed, frowning. “Lie still. I’m going to take a look.” “I’m fine.” But Keats’s fingers dug into the sheets when Colby dragged Keats’s shirt up and off to inspect his back and ribs. The soreness was settling in now, and even the brush of cotton over his skin felt like too much. Colby pressed a warm palm along his side, applying the barest amount of pressure. “Any trouble taking a full breath?” “Not really.” Keats demonstrated and managed to keep his grunt of pain to himself. “I cracked a rib in middle school. This doesn’t feel like that. I’ll be all right.” Colby leaned back, looking unmoved.
