"You 'member Great Pappy's huntin' trips?" Gray asks. He doesn't quite meet her eyes, doesn't quite look at her. Isn't quite sure he wants to see what's on her face. Vannah'll hide it, or she'll go straight for the throat; Day'll ignore it. But this is the worst he's ever been that his baby girl knows about. Even the bullet wound wasn't like this. Some surgeries, some physical therapy. But managed.
His whole face is a mess of bruising, and there's the split lip that makes a lot of talking difficult. At least he's got the bite covered, and that's a small mercy. It's one thing to know someone's been bit and quite another to see the bite itself. And she won't have to see his scars. Not now, not ever.
"It's a lot like those huntin' trips. Bunch'a big guys with guns and little ladies with casserole an' that stuff in the Mason jars you wasn't allowed to touch. It ain't bad at all." He looks back at the prospect for a second, and then back at Maizie. "S'okay, honey. You can come a little closer, just don't touch me, okay?" He holds up his right hand again, the bandage showing a little clearer over the palm. "I promise you'll get a big ol' hug later, when I'm fixed up."
And he hates saying it, because he feels like a liar. He can't promise her anything, and it's not up to him. But nice words are better than if I survive.