Knowing who he’d see, he opened his eyes. “Hey.” Ally approached the bed and gripped his left hand. Her eyes were wide, dark and traveling up and down his body, darting back and forth between his right arm and his face. “Hey.” Sleep still beckoned him, but he shoved the temptation away, focusing on her. “How are you?” She tightened her hold on his hand a little, though she didn’t look like she realized she was doing it. “Fucked would about sum it up. Can’t fight and can’t work with a broken wrist. I mean, maybe I could’ve wrapped it up and still fought, but not if I wanted a chance at worker’s comp.” And he would need that to scrape by – there was no way around it. One of her eyebrows crept upward, the graceful arch exaggerated by her expression. “I mean how do you feel?” “Pretty shitty. The meds they gave me dull the pain but make me feel like I’m underwater.” She let her gaze wander again. This time, he could feel it on his chest. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a hospital gown?”
