Page 122 of Cruel Lies

"Come on, Angel,"I muttered for like the millionth time. "Either you carry me out there, or I’m walkingmy damn self."

Angel had gone from hating my fucking existence to doting over me like I might break at any moment. I couldn’t blame him—I took two bullets to the body, maybe more, and I lost a lot of blood. But I could hear Nash on the other side of the door, and he’d been avoiding me for the last week. The whole time since I’d been shot, he’d made himself scarce any time I was awake.

I wasn’t oblivious to the cold shoulder. It stung more than I cared to admit.

Angel, on the other hand, was equal parts concerned for my health and well-being, and irritated at himself for giving a shit. His latest argument with me was over whether or not I was healed enough to walk around the damn living quarters.

He wasn’t a fan of the idea of moving me at all, it seemed. His pout was childlike, but very on-brand for him, past or present. Every time I sat up, he shoved me gently back down, grumbling about not straining myself.

I had hadenough.I wasinjured,notdead.And sure, it still hurt a bit, but he didn’t need to know that.

"You’re a gunshot victim, Harper," he groused as I reached for him, growling when he ducked out of reach. "I didn’t say you were an invalid. But fuck me, can you maybe take better care of yourself? You do nothing but get into trouble. You’re like a magnet for the shit."

"I didn’t know youcared,Angel," I spat, still a little salty about the way things ended between us. "You didn’t even wannaseeme when I left."

"Just lay there and be a good patient, or Rowan’s going to have both of our heads."

If he thoughta change of topic was gonnastop me?—

—he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

"Angel,I’m going to say this one more time. If you don’t help me out of this bed, I will helpmyself,and if you think you can stop me, there’s a knife in the kitchen I’dloveto acquaint you with."

I watched the violet flash on his face as those gorgeous eyes rolled and he tossed his ponytail over one shoulder. "You’re impossible."

"Thanks," I teased as he leaned down to slide an arm under my knees, and another behind my back. "It’s a gift."

I couldn’t hide the wince when he lifted me completely off the bed, and his scowl told me he wasn’t pleased, but my hands wrapped themselves around his neck and refused to let go, so with a heavy sigh, he carried me to a nearby chair, where he deposited me with a gentle grunt and a stern glare that told me if I tried to move, he’d kick my ass.

"I’m going to change the sheets. You’re going to stay right here and not move." He frowned as I put on the fakest smile I could manage, seeing right through me. "I mean it, Harper. Don’t be a brat with me. Rowan unfortunately decided I was in charge while he was gone, which means what I say goes."

"Yeah, and you always say I’m not ready." I scowled, crossing my arms in defiance. "I’m a damn adult, Angel. I’ve been in this bed for a week, and I’m done sitting still. Either you help me up, or I’m getting up on my own."

"Now you listen here, brat," he snarled, towering over me with a hand on either side of the chair, clutching the armrests as I shrunk into the cushions. "You’re not going to give me any more trouble, or I’m going to make sure you’re strapped to that bed next time I put you in it."

"I want to see Nash," I demanded, nose to nose with him.

"Well, Nash doesn’t want to see you," he snapped back, and just like that, my heart broke.

I could feel it happening in real-time like pieces of it were flaking away, shattered by the arrow dead center, shot from Angel’s bow. His face froze in that hesitant, angry scowl he’d been plastering on as of late, but as mine crumpled and a tear formed in the corner of my eye, he turned his back on me and sighed.

"Listen, I didn’t mean that, Harper?—"

"It’s true, though. Isn’t it?" I deflated as he moved to strip the bed, wishing I wasn’t still so injured so I could be like I used to and confront the bastard instead of hiding here feeling sorry for myself. "If he wanted to see me, he’d have done so. It’s not like I can go anywhere."

Angel swooped down upon me, deserting the half-assed bedding, his eyes flashing deep violet, just like when he was angry. "Don’t you start that shit. I’m not about to listen to you feel sorry for yourself because ofhim."

"I’m not feeling sorry for myself," I tried lamely, but even I could see the truth for what it was. "I’m feeling lonely." He cocked a brow at me, and I cleared my throat to amend the comment. "Present company excluded, of course. It’s just, there’s only so much of your overbearing self-hatred and caring I can handle at once."

"Rowan comes to see you," he pointed out, but it wasn’t the same.

I needed to see Nash.

Rowan thought I was asleep the other day and had a nice conversation about Nash’s self-destruct meter rising every day and how he was afraid he’d go off the deep end. I needed to see him. I needed to know how bad it was. And if it was because of me, I wanted to know.

Even if it would hurt.

"Take me out there, Angel," I tried again, but he made himself busy with the sheets instead, blatantly ignoring me. So I waited until he slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, and then I was up, wincing at the new strain on my wounds, turning the knob of the door slowly so Nash wouldn’t hear me coming and flee.

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