"Too bad," Dante said.

He'd never liked being the person anybody tried to take care of, least of all her. But he was used to it; his own dysfunction had turned into such a thick fucking layer of calluses he'd been downright surprised when part of it had been stripped away and exposed skin to air for the first time in years.

But she had no such calluses, and he didn't want her to grow any.

"You're not going to be done until it's done."