“I’m sorry about your injury,” she said.

“I’ll sleep better knowing that.”

“Is the sarcastic bastard act specifically for me, or are you sharing it with everyone?”

He turned his back on her.

She supposed that was an answer of sorts, even if she wasn’t sure of the specifics.

She’d missed him, she thought sadly, staring at the familiar broad shoulders. His dark hair was military short, which suited him. The scar on the side of his jaw wasn’t one she remembered and she remembered everything about Mitch’s body.

He’d been her first love, her first lover and there had been a time when she would have walked through fire to be with him. But she hadn’t been willing to defy her father. Had that been a mistake?

“I wish things had been different,” she said, before she could stop herself. She meant the past, but then he spun toward her, his eyes narrowed, his mouth a thin line, she realized he thought she was talking about his leg.

“I don’t need your pity,” he growled. “I don’t need sh-”

He lost his balance and started to go down. Skye reacted instinctively, springing toward him. She grabbed him around the waist as he reached for the rocks. The prosthesis dropped to the ground.

He was heavier than she’d anticipated and the weight of him knocked her sideways. Her foot slipped. She scrambled to stay upright, then they were both falling.

The ground was hard. She landed on her back, him on top of her. Rocks jabbed her but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t draw in air.

Mitch was off her in a second. “Breathe,” he said, propped up next to her. “You’re fine. Just breathe.”

She sucked in a breath, then another.