And when he finally saw Terrell, his concerns only deepened. He was limping more than usual, and pain shadowed his face. When he finally got close, Terrell muttered, “Every time it’s about to rain, I feel like hell.”
“Can you still—?”
“Operate my bike? Umm, yeah. I wouldn’t have it if I couldn’t use it. And I service the thing myself, too, in case you were wondering.”
The sudden snippiness made Dakota immediately feel guilty. “I’m sorry.” He may have despised Terrell for halting his suicide attempt, but he wasn’t, as a rule, a dick to disabled people. That was low, even for Dakota.