I couldn’t help but crack a smile at his sudden reticence, the split in my lip objecting in pain. No matter how old he might be, he still had the brain and hormones of an eighteen year old boy right now.

“Does it look bad?” I asked.

Mike knelt down to bring his eyes close to my injury and studied it for a moment.

“How does it feel?” Mike asked.

“Like I got kicked in the ribs,” I said.

Mike stood back up, looking to the floor, “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Stop apologizing,” I said, “It wasn’t even you,” I added, but it didn’t seem to matter to him.

“I’m pretty sure you won’t need to go to the hospital,” Mike said, still not lo...

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