Page 69 of Turning Tides
Cyrus narrowed his gaze at me and scowled. “So basically I’m still an asshole.”
“Yep.”
He cut his gaze over to Archer and Marshall again, then turned his attention back to messing with the food. “You’ve been good for him. He’s happier. Lighter. He’s painting again.”
“He won’t let me see what he’s working on and it’s driving me insane.”
Cyrus just laughed at me and my annoyance. “He’s like that a lot. He’s very particular about who sees what. Always has been.”
I didn’t mention the way Archer had stopped hiding his sketchbook from me when I walked into a room. Or how he often let me look through it if I asked. And when he didn’t want me to look, I didn’t press. I’d like to think that it made him want to share with me more. The painting, however, was driving me nuts. Archer was so clandestine about it, and I might not be half as curious but whenever he came out from working on it, he had the look of a man who was keeping secrets and enjoying every minute of it.
“Do you know what he’s working on?” It was shameful to try and pump Cyrus for information, but I couldn’t help myself. Curiosity overtook my common sense.
“I don’t. And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” He grinned at me when he said it. Clearly he was enjoying my torture and wasn’t about to end it early.
“Are you trying to get information out of my brother, Shane?” Archer came up behind me and slid an arm around my waist, attaching himself to my side. Reaching for my beer, he plucked it from my grasp and took a drink before handing it back.
“I was trying, yes. But your brother is both clueless and loyal. He wouldn’t tell me anything even if he knew.”
“Cyrus might be a pain in my ass, but he’s not stupid,” Archer said smoothly and not without affection.
I wasn’t sure how their dynamic had been before everything went down because I hadn’t seen them together a lot, but according to Archer, things were actually getting better between them. After their fight and their heart-to-heart, they’d done a lot of work in a shortamount of time to let go of things that were getting in the way of them having a better relationship. Archer still expressed frustration about Cyrus on a regular basis, but part of his complaining was just an old habit. Sometimes he stopped himself, and other times he looked at me with an impish smile and admitted that he knew he was being childish, but didn’t want to stop at that moment.
“He would gut me in my sleep if I revealed his secrets.”
“I wouldn’t gut you, but I’d definitely draw you with a shitty porn-stache like they had in the 70s.”
Cyrus shuddered. He’d always been clean-shaven. I’d never seen him with more than a five o’clock shadow. “He would too, the cretin.”
“Oooh, dragging out the insults. He must be feeling threatened. Make that a porn-stache and a bowl cut.”
Cyrus looked at Archer and scowled. “You wouldn’t.”
Archer grinned and reached for my drink again, which I relinquished. When he tried to hand it back, I shook my head. My arm was looped around him, my hand resting on his hip, and I felt the slight vibration of his phone buzzing to life in his pocket.
His brow furrowed as he fished it out. “Sorry, give me a second.”
Archer paused as he looked at the screen. “It’s a hospital.”
He went rigid and answered on speakerphone, probably because it would stop the zillion questions Cyrus would pepper him with after. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Archer Kinsman?” a soft-spoken woman asked.
“Speaking.”
“My name is Janette and I’m a nurse at G.R. Stanton Memorial Hospital. We have you listed as the emergency contact for Clayton Cross.”
Archer reached for me, grabbing my arm with his free hand. I put my arm around him, offering him support both physical and emotional.
“Is he…”
“He’s been injured, but he’s stable.”
Archer let out a deep breath.
“Mr. Kinsman, your friend is going to need some support once he’s released from our care.”
“What happened?”
