Breaking The Ice Between Us
I once dislocated my shoulder in a game and popped it back in myself just to skip dealing with this kind of crap.
“How much do you need me to add?” I asked flatly, still staring at the numbers like they’d change if I squinted hard enough.
“Well,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck like he was trying to squeeze sympathy out of thin air, “I was thinking you could just cover the whole thing.”
I looked up, blinking. “Come again?”
“I mean,” he shrugged like this was normal, “You have it, don't you?”
I scoffed. Not laughed. Scoffed. The kind that shoots from the chest and is soaked in disbelief.