“Avery! Are you all right?” Mason is next to me within seconds. I didn’t see them come in, but now looking at the floor and the amount of blood spread around, I feel rather faint.

“The glass. I was…cleaning,” I say, my stomach suddenly feeling sick. “Oh, Mason…I’m going to throw up.”

“I got you,” he says, sweeping me effortlessly into his arms and marching me upstairs to the hall bathroom.

“I’ll clean this. You take care of her,” my dad says, his words seeming to cover more than just the broken glass below.

Mason sets me on the toilet and runs a washcloth under the cold water, quickly putting it on my head. Then he starts pulling things out from underneath the sink, sorting through the cleaners and looking desperately for something to use.

“In the back,” I say, my throat a little hoarse when I speak. He follows my lead and finds the alcohol and gauze quickly, ripping the box open and coming over to kneel in front of me.

“Let me see,” he whispers, taking my hand carefully, unwrapping the kitchen towel now soaked completely in my blood. The cut is still gushing, and seeing it makes my forehead break out into a sweat. I lay forward on the counter, trying to force myself to stay with him. “Shit, Avery. It’s deep. I think I can get it to stop though.”

He’s back under the sink, then moves quickly to the medicine cabinet, tossing everything out on the floor until he finds the jar of Vaseline.

“This is how my mom used to stop my bloody noses. You know, like they do for a boxer. Here,” he reaches for my hand again and mushes a giant blob on the cut, slowing the bleeding immediately. He’s wrapping the gauze a second later, pulling it tight and ripping with his teeth before tucking the end near my wrist. It looks like a giant snow mitt, and for some reason, seeing it gives me the giggles.

“What kind of fights did you get in to get bloody noses like that? I look like Mickey Mouse,” I laugh, half waving my bandaged hand at him, until it stings from the movement. “Ow, shit!”

“Stop moving it, you stubborn woman. Go lay down in my room, I’ll be right there,” he says, picking up the various packaging and putting everything back in its place. I’m still giggling when he comes in to his room, and he just shakes his head at me, smiling on one side of his mouth.

“Seriously, Mason. This is, like, the worst bandaging I’ve ever seen!” I’m lying on my side, still a little dizzy, and rolling my near-cast around the air mattress to admire it.

“One, I didn’t get into fights. At least not back then. I had really bad allergies, and my nose just bled a lot. But thanks for thinking I was a hoodlum,” he says, pulling his shoes from his feet, kicking them to the corner before hitting the lights and motioning me to move over in the bed. “And second, my mom was a bartender, not a nurse. She did the best she could, and so did I.”

Well shit, now I feel bad. I stop my laughter and force my lips into a straight line as best as I can. “Thank you. I’m sorry,” I say, and he just rolls his eyes at me, which unleashes the laughing again.

“Next time, I let you bleed out,” he says, sitting up and pulling his shirt over his head, which now has my laughter completely hushed. I shouldn’t be here. Not with my dad downstairs, not with Max in bed down the hall, not for a second night in a row. This is too much, too fast.

“I…uh, I should go,” I start to get up, but he rolls to his side and lays his arm heavily over my chest.

“Uh uh. Ray’s busy downstairs. And you heard him, he said to take care of you. You stay here tonight. I’ll set my phone to wake us up before everyone else,” he says, his expression not one to argue with.

“I don’t know,” I start, but he holds up a hand.

“You’re staying here. If your father wants to kick my ass over it in the morning, I’ll remind him that it’s probably not a good idea to throw beer bottles at the wall,” he says, and it makes me wince remembering my dad’s outburst.

“Okay…and thank you—for taking care of me. I was careless,” I start, but he puts his fingers on my lips quickly before rolling closer on his side and kissing me gently on the cheek.

“I think I made it pretty clear today, Ave…I’m in this—both feet,” he says, his face serious, the golden lines in his brown eyes lit by the stars outside. I can’t help myself, and I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, looking at it curl softly in my hands. He shuts his eyes when I do.

“I like your haircut,” I say. He smiles, turning his head just enough so his lips catch my arm, and he kisses it.