Page 71 of Tell Me No Lies

So probably not dying then. That leaves shock and anger. And I’m leaning toward the second one. Because instead of worrying about how much blood I’m losing, I’m wondering if Tate will give me that gun so I can go use it on Rick. “Is he dead?”

Tate pushes my hair back from my face as he cradles me in his lap. “He better hope so.” His eyes shift to where Nancy is putting pressure against a spot just beneath my collarbone that’s starting to throb. “You shouldn’t have come out there, Piper.”

“I should have just let him shoot you?” My voice sounds overly loud as it echoes between my ears. “No fucking way.” I blink, the movement slower than I remember it being. “You aren’t getting out of changing diapers that easss…” I swallow, my lids trying to close as I do my best to finish my thought. “That easilll…”

I squint as Tate’s face starts to get blurry and the pain in my bleeding shoulder starts to amp up exponentially. “I think I’m going to—"

It’s yet another sentence I don’t get to finish, because before I get the next word out, everything goes black.

28

THE INSIGNIFICANCE OF BULLET HOLES

PIPER

“PIPER, I SWEAR to God if you move again, I’m going to tie you to the fucking bed.” Tate’s threat reaches me a second before he does, giving me a split second to brace for what I know is coming.

I roll my eyes as my feet lift off the floor and I’m spun in place before being carried back toward the stairs I just came down. “I’m tired of laying in bed. I wanted to come see how everything’s looking.”

“Then you tell me you want to see and I’ll come get you.” His jaw is set as he takes me back to the room I’ve occupied for almost four days straight. “You shouldn’t be walking around yet.”

“I know I wasn’t entirely with it when they released me, but I do know no one said I couldn’t walk.” I point one finger at my bandaged shoulder. “Pretty sure this hole doesn’t affect my mobility.”

Tate’s scowl tightens and his expression goes dark. “If you keep reminding me about what happened, you’ll be lucky if I ever let you out of that room again.”

He’s still mad. I knew he would be. I don’t really care though. If I had to pick mad or dead, I’d pick mad every time. “Me? I’m not the one who’s trying to argue that it would have been better if I’d just let him shoot you.” I lean closer so he can’t ignore my glare. “I should be the one who never lets you leave.” There’s not much in this world that bothers me, but knowing Tate would rather be dead than for me to have to deal with a tiny, insignificant little bullet hole in my shoulder chaps my ass to no end. “Besides,” I snort, “I think at this point the twats in the IGL know they shouldn’t fuck with me.” Sure, I’ve got a few battle scars from our run-ins, but I’ve always come out on top while they ended up in jail or, in Rick’s case, dead.

Tate reaches the smaller room we’re using until the carpet I picked for our bedroom is installed, and carefully lays me across the mattress. He props my back against the stack of pillows that keeps me upright then drapes the blankets across my legs. “I’m not worried about someone trying to come fuck with you, Sugar.” He picks up the lap desk Amazon delivered two days ago and settles it onto my thighs. “I saw how well you listened after your ankle was broken, and I don’t want you to do the same thing with this. Especially when your body is already working overtime.”

I blow out a long breath, because I can’t argue with his reasoning for being such a pain in my ass. I probably didn’t do what I was supposed to do while my ankle was healing and it might have been the reason it took so long for the thing to finally stop aching.

But I don’t use my shoulder to walk, and it’s not like I’m trying to lift freaking weights. I just wanted to see how the tile was coming along in the kitchen. Maybe get a peek at the light fixture going in over the island. Possibly measure the windows to see how long the curtains I want to order should be.

“I’m just excited about the house.” I’m whining, but I think between a bullet wound and morning sickness, I deserve to complain a little. “I don’t want to be stuck up here where I can’t see what’s happening.”

Tate sits next to me, one hand tracing along the curve of my cheek. “Let me take care of you, Sugar. Just a little.” He leans in, resting his forehead against mine as his eyes slip closed. “I need it. Just for a few days.”

Ugh. He knows right where to hit me. I groan. “Fine.” I wait for Tate to open his eyes. “But only if you agree to stop being mad at me for what happened.” My need to look out for the people I love—or those who can’t look out for themselves—is just as deep-seated as Tate’s need to take care of them. It’s how we remind ourselves of who we really are. How we make sure we don’t repeat the same mistakes that caused us so much pain.

Tate’s lips press into a frown. “I’m not mad at you for that Piper.” His hands cradle my face, thumbs stroke my skin. “I’m fucking terrified over it.” The intense blue of his eyes moves over mine. “I could have lost you.” His attention dips to my belly. “Could have lost—” The way his voice breaks hurts way more than my shoulder ever could. “I know you aren’t the kind of person who would ever walk away when they saw someone else in danger, and I fucking love that about you.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “But it’s gonna take me a little time to come to terms with it. Especially now that it’s not just you I have to worry about.”

The admission makes my throat tighten. Not because of guilt over his fear, but because I’m just now realizing I didn’t just put myself in harm’s way. I haven’t had much time to consider what I want to be like as a mother, but I do know I never want to put my child in danger. I certainly don’t want to do it and then pretend I’m not responsible. I know what that feels like. The way it sticks like tar to everything you say or do, tainting it.

“I want to tell you I won’t do something like that again, but if someone tries to hurt you or,” one hand goes to rest against my stomach, “Peanut, I can’t guarantee I won’t try to beat them to death with a wrench.” I plan to stop but feel like I should be fully transparent. “Or a claw hammer.” Again, I should leave it at that, but I want to cover all my bases. “I might also shank them with a screwdriver.”

“And I want to tell you I’m not going to spend most of my days trying to do everything for you, but then we would both be liars.”

I scoff, sitting up straight, fake outrage dropping my jaw. “I didn’t lie. I said I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t shank someone.”

“Knock, knock.” Lydia peeks her head through the door of our temporary bedroom, giving us a hesitant smile. “Are we interrupting anything?”

“No.” I hook one finger in the neckline of Tate’s work shirt, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “We’re just arguing over which one of us is more difficult.”

Lydia grins as she comes into the room, her arms full of bags. “Sounds very on-brand for you two.” She hands one of the bags to Tate. “I think these are yours.”

He takes it and peeks inside, looking over the contents before lifting a brow at me. “You were supposed to be shopping for the house.”

“You live in the house.” I grab the bag from him, dumping the T-shirts out onto the blankets next to me. “And you’re the one keeping me locked up here like freaking Rapunzel, so you have to deal with the consequences.”

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