Clara couldn't help but let out a chuckle upon hearing those words. The laughter was so hearty it tugged at her wound, causing her to wince and suck in a sharp breath of cold air.
Ian shot Chase a swift kick. “Damn it, you mutt, you made my wife hurt herself.”
Chase glared at Sasha, whose expression was as frazzled as a cat in a thunderstorm, and drawled, “What’s the big deal? You touched the ugly mug, and now you want to blow a gasket. Sasha, have a heart, would ya? Who's been looking after you these past few days when you were down in the dumps, huh?”
Sasha bristled even more at that. “Chase, just you wait, I'll give you a piece of my mind tonight! Enough, I can't even look at you. Pass the phone to Clara.”
Chase handed the phone to Clara without hesitation and muttered to Ian under his breath, “I’ve never seen such a hotheaded chick. Which poor sod’s gonna end up marrying her?”
Ian gave him a meaningful look. “Could be someone far off, or maybe right under my nose, you unlucky guy. Help me rub my arm, will ya? Can't lift it.”
Chase was about to help when it dawned on him that Ian was referring to him.
He couldn't help but snort softly, “If I marry her, I might as well call you Dad.”
“Sure, son. Get to it and give your old man a hand.”
“Get lost! You never quit, do ya?”
While the two bantered, Clara and Sasha chatted on their end.
Sasha, who had been giving Chase the cold shoulder just moments earlier, now spoke in a gentle, soothing tone.
“Clara, that wound of yours still hurting? I’ve sent you some snacks. I'll be shipping them to Chase’s office at the hospital. Make sure he hands them to you. A little snack might just take the edge off the pain. Worked for me when I broke my leg.”
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