He didn't see any censure in Annabelle’s eyes, just curiosity.
“I was involved in an accident, and my friend died. After the funeral I decided it was time to mend some fences with my family.”
“Was this friend a close one?”
Brad shrugged. “Possibly the closest I’ve ever had.”
“How were you injured?”
“Shoulder, but it’s healed now.”
“Can I see.”
“No.”
“Is it really healed, or just man healed?”
“Man healed?” Brad looked at his brother, who rolled his eyes.
“She thinks because we have this tough guy image we let our health suffer, or some other BS. I could go on and on about it, like she does, but that’s kind of the root of it.”
“It’s not BS, it’s very real. Some men neglect themselves and think things will heal without help, but often they don’t and those issues go on to become bigger ones.”
“My shoulder’s fine, Annabelle,” Brad said as she got to her feet. “Really,” he added as she stepped closer.
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She’ll win,” Ethan drawled. “Just get it done, Brad, it’s easier.”
She reached for his shirt and started pulling.
“Jesus, Annabelle.”
She had it raised and over his head seconds later, her eyes on the thick scar that curved over his shoulder from back to front.
“Ouchie.”
“Ouchie?”
“Nurse speak,” Newman translated.
“Looks like it’s healed up okay.”
“Is now a good time for I told you so?”
“Definitely,” Ethan said. “Get it in while you can.”
Brad pulled his shirt back on.
“So this friend of yours.”
“Mark.” It hurt even saying his name out loud. “And I don’t want to talk about it, Annabelle.”
“All the more reason to do so if you want to heal.”
