Page 221 of Never Fall for an Angel

It’s been four days since I was turned into a kabob, and my side hurts. My head hurts from listening to Christian and my Mom. My back hurts from lying in the same place for so long.

. . . my pride hurts because I have to be carried to and from the bathroom, and painkillers are hell on your system. I haven’t had even a spare second worth of privacy, and it’s driving me insane.

Great way to really break in a new (to me) marriage.

Now that I have their attention, I turn the TV back down.

“We need to talk,” I start, and Mom’s already cutting me off.

“You need to relax—”

“You need to shut up for five seconds and fucking listen.”

Mom’s mouth clamps shut.

Christian hides his smirk by brushing a thumb over his lips.

“Sorry,” I wince. Did I mention painkillers make me cranky? “Look, I love both of you, but you’re smothering me.”

“We’re just trying to do what’s best for you,” Mom says, and Christian shoots her a look, which she shoots right back.

I feel like I’m in the middle of an old-west showdown.

“What’s best for me right now is just rest. I can’t do that if I’m worried about you two at each other’s throats.”

“You can rest when we get home,” Mom says, and ice slips up my spine.

“Excuse me?”

She blinks.

“When we get back to LA . . . Youarecoming home, right?”

Is she serious?

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not safe here, Mila.”

“In case you forgot, I was raped and beaten half to death in LA, Mom. Nowhere is safe.”

She winces at the mention of what happened, her eyes growing pained. I’ve always tiptoed around that night, but if there’s anything being stabbed taught me, it’s that you can’t hide from the pain.

Sooner or later, it’ll find you, and when it does, it’ll reap hell on your emotions if you bottle up for long enough.

“I know you’re still struggling with this, Mila, but I want—”

“What about what I want?” I ask, and a hush falls over the room. Christian leans back against the dresser, his eyes on the floor in front of him and his shoulders stiff.

Mom, on the other hand, has nothing to say.

I do, though.

“I’m not leaving. I’m staying . . . with my husband”

Christian’s eyes snap to mine. As if he actually thought a knife to the stomach would be enough to send me packing.

At this point, I’m not sure a nuke could tear me from his side.

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