Page 77 of Damaged Boys Don't Fall For Bubbly Girls

“I’m handling it just fine—”

The bike veers sideways and then topples over. Right on top of him.

“Brock!” I race down the stairs and jet over to him. I heave the bike off him as he pushes it away. Darn, the thing is heavy. But we manage to get it off him.

“Brock, are you okay?” I drop down to my knees and help him sit up. He pulls off his helmet. His face is red, but I don’t see any blood. “Do you think you broke any bones? Can you stand?”

“No, I didn’t break any bones. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Not dangerous, my butt. You scared the crap out of me.” I shove his shoulder. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.”

When I slide my hand into his to help him up, I feel something wet. Brock hisses out in pain. My hand breaks away from his, and that’s when I see the blood all over his hand and shirt.

“You’re bleeding?! Where?”

He raises his left hand and gapes at it. There’s a large gash right in the center of his palm, and blood is pouring out and dripping all over his clothes and the ground.

“Should I call an ambulance?” I frantically search my pockets for my phone. Where the heck is it when I need it most?

“No, I don’t need an ambulance.” He puts his hand on me, accidentally getting blood on my hand. He quickly yanks it away. “Sorry.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? You’re losing a lot of blood.”

He looks down at his hand with a haunted look. “This isn’t that much blood. Believe me.”

I just stare at him, not sure what to say. He’s obviously thinking about Andy’s accident.

He shakes his head. “I mean, it looks like a scratch.”

I give him a face. “That’s more than a scratch.”

“Maybe, but it’s not deep enough for stitches. Do you have a first aid kit at your house?”

“My mom’s a nurse, so that would be a duh.”

He laughs lightly. “Right. Duh.”

“I still think you should go to the hospital,” I mutter as I heave his arm around my shoulder and get him up.

“I’m thankful that you care, but the last thing I need is people thinking I tried to hurt myself.”

I guess I hadn’t considered that. His parents would totally freak if he went to the hospital. But what if he really needs to go? I want to do the right thing.

“We’ll make a deal,” I tell him. “I know a thing or two about first aid. I’ll help clean the wound, and if I think you need to go to the hospital, you’re going to the hospital.”

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he reluctantly nods.

I help him into the house and to the bathroom, sitting him down on the closed toilet. Then I reach for the first aid kit.

“Have you ever done that before?” I ask as I open it and rummage through the items. “Ride your bike with only one hand?”

With a sigh, he shakes his head.

“I don’t want to lecture you like I’m your parent or teacher, but that was so dangerous, Brock. You could have really hurt yourself.”

“I know. It was stupid. I was just…”

I pause and glance at him. “You were just what?”