Page 104 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 2

FINN

Well, that was fucking embarrassing.

One moment I was channeling my inner mountain biking god, the next I was thrown into the brush while my bike took a different path altogether. I had just enough time to think stunt-doubles were heroes before hitting the ground face-first.

"Are you okay?" Declan crouched over me, his face twisted with concern. "Don't move if anything feels broken."

"The only thing broken is my dignity," I groaned, rolling onto my back. Everything hurt, but in a general way, not in a dial-9-1-1 way. "And maybe my face. Is my face still there?"

Declan's expression relaxed slightly. "Your face is fine. And still gorgeous, despite being covered in dirt."

“You’re biased.” I sat up slowly, wincing as various parts of my body registered complaints. "Ow. Shit. Ow."

“Stay still,” Declan said, his hands already moving over my limbs with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd dealt with his share of injuries.

"If you wanted to feel me up, Sheriff, you could have just asked," I quipped, but my attempt at bravado fell flat as pain shot through my wrist when he touched it. "Ow, fuck!"

"That's definitely sprained," Declan said, his expression going serious again. He reached into his pack and pulled out a first aid kit that looked more comprehensive than what they keep on ambulances. "Let me bandage your knee first. It's bleeding."

"It's just a scrape," I insisted, trying to salvage some pride. "Seriously, Dec, I've had worse injuries filming cereal commercials."

"Hold still," Declan muttered, his hands gentle despite the command in his voice. "And you said I was being dramatic when I insisted on bringing this kit."

"You're a boy scout in sheriff's clothing," I said, trying to keep my tone light despite the stinging pain as he cleaned the wound. "Always prepared. Do you have a tent and three days of emergency rations in there too?"

"Not a scout, just seen enough mountain biking injuries to know better," he replied, applying a large bandage to my knee. "Besides, your knee isn't what worries me."

His hand moved to my wrist, which was already swelling like a balloon animal gone wrong. "This does. Can you rotate it?"

I attempted to turn my wrist, sucking in a sharp breath at the pain that shot up my arm. "It's not broken," I said quickly, seeing the concern deepen on Declan's face. "Just sprained. Trust me, I know what a broken wrist feels like. Had one when I was fourteen."

"Let me guess—doing your own stunts?"

"Skateboarding, actually." I smiled at the memory. "My mom was furious. Not because I was hurt, but because production had to shut down for two weeks while they rewrote scenes to explain why Chip Clover suddenly had a cast."

Declan shook his head, but his expression was fond as he began wrapping my wrist with an elastic bandage. "We should still have it checked out when we get back."

"If you insist, Sheriff Overprotective,” I teased, though we both knew I would comply. I watched his hands, steady and sure as they worked, and felt that familiar flutter in my chest—the one that never seemed to diminish no matter how much time we spent together.

"I'm sorry I ruined our ride," I said quietly.

Declan looked up, surprise evident in his features. "You didn't ruin anything."

"But this was supposed to be fun, and instead you're patching me up like I'm one of your deputies who got into a bar fight at the Roadhouse."

"First of all," Declan said, securing the bandage with a small metal clip, "if you were one of my deputies and got into a bar fight, I'd be considerably less gentle. Second, biking accidents happen. It's part of the experience."

"So you're saying your first time went better?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Declan's laugh was unexpected and rich. "Hell no. My first time on a mountain bike, I crashed within five minutes, got a concussion, and threw up all over my brother's shoes."

"No way. Sheriff Perfect wiped out worse than me?"

"I've got the scar to prove it," Declan said, tapping a spot just below his hairline. "See that?"

I leaned forward, examining the thin white line that was barely visible. I'd noticed it before but hadn't thought to ask about it. "I always assumed that was from some heroic police action. Like, you got pistol-whipped while saving orphans from a burning building."

"Nope. Just me, being twelve and overconfident."

"That makes me feel better," I admitted. "Not great, but better. At least I didn't puke on anyone."

"The day is young," Declan deadpanned.