Summer By Summer
“But the biggest of all was, “How are you going to get the supplies?”“I’ll make it,” he said, and smiled. “Down is always easier than up.”My arm felt like someone had held it in a washing machine and turned on the spin cycle. Bray inspected it, his hands working in smooth motions over my fingers, palm, wrist, then up my forearm and settling on my shoulder. “All this okay?”I nodded, bent my wrist back and forth. “Seems so. I mean, it hurts.”His index finger traced the red lines left by the rope. ...“I don’t think it’s out of place. You did a good job holding some of your weight with your free hand.”But I was concerned for Bray. He kept holding one of his arms to his ribcage, like someone would do if their arm was broken and in a sling. “What about you?”“I’m good.” Such a liar.“What if I wasn’t telling you the truth?” I said.His gaze narrowed, concern knitting his brows together. There were dirt smudges on his cheeks and forehead.“What if I really was hurt but I didn’t want you to know?”“That wouldn’t be okay, Summer.”MoreLess
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