Chapter 116

It takes a couple of more days before I start truly feeling like my old self again. My illness still sits heavy in my bones. Being bedridden for so long made me feel sluggish and tired. How many hours have I slept the past few days? I was definitely asleep more than I was awake.

But now, I can at least shower and dress, and I even feel hungry. So I slink out of my room and into the hallway.

Archer, Beau, and Steven are in the living room. Whatever they were talking about before seeing me abruptly stops the moment I come into their line of sight.

It’s unnerving, having three sets of eyes look at me so carefully. Do they think I’ll contaminate them?

“I’m not sick anymore,” I say.

Archer stands and comes nearer. He blocks my route to the kitchen. I feel a bit like he’s trying to trap me.

“Tell us how you got so sick,” he demands.

“Why does it matter?” I ask.

Beau chimes in, like I haven’t said anything. “I remember seeing you covered in mud. Then you were sick.”

I shrug.

Archer’s eyes narrow. “How did you get covered in mud, Chloe?”

“It had just rained, remember? There were a lot of puddles. Maybe I got too close to one, and a car drove by.”

I don’t know why I didn’t implicate Wyatt. He certainly deserved any animosity it might garner him, and I had no overwhelming desire to protect him.

But… well, I guess I feel like if I implicate Wyatt, the brothers wouldn’t believe me. Or, even if they do, they might think what Wyatt did was funny, not something to be condemned.

The guys have been nicer lately, most of the time, but I have not forgotten their general cruelty to me over the past two months.

Archer crosses his arms. He tilts his head back and looks at me down the length of his nose.

“You should be more careful,” he says, and it’s patronizing, like he’s talking to a child. “If you watched where you were going…”

“I watch where I am going fine, thank you,” I say.

“Obviously not,” Archer says. The simplicity of it irks my entire nervous system. Maybe I’m not myself yet. Maybe the sickness is trying my patience. But I really hate when he talks to me like this, like I wouldn’t know my left hand from my right.

“Obviously nothing,” I snap.

“Why are you mad at me?” Archer says, suddenly matching my tone. “I’m not the one who led you into a puddle.”

“No, you aren’t,” I say. “Wyatt is. He pushed me. Not that you care. You probably think that’s my fault too.”

Archer goes very still.

Beau and Steven stand up from the couches.

“Did you say… Wyatt?” Steven asks.

“That cretin pushed you? He made you sick?” Beau asks.

Their reactions aren’t what I’m expecting and take the wind from my sails.

“I don’t know that he made me sick, exactly,” I say. “But he did push me into the puddle right as the car hit it, and I got soaked.” The brothers trade looks. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Archer says.

“You must be hungry, Chloe,” Steven says. “Why don’t I join you in the kitchen?”

“Uh, okay…”

Archer steps to the side, and I’m able to walk by him. Steven meets me in the hallway and we continue walking.

I don’t know what to think. None of that went how I expected it to go.

Are they actually going to take action against Wyatt?

My stomach growls something fierce, and reminds me of my purpose. As I walk with Steven, I forget about Wyatt for a while and focus on food and getting better instead.

I enjoy a nice lunch with Steven, before he returns to his lab. I’m feeling a bit tired so I start heading back to my room.

I’m surprised by how quickly my exhaustion sets in. I shouldn’t be, maybe, since I’ve been so sick, but it’s frustrating. I want to be 100% again as quickly as possible. If only my body would cooperate.

Distracted by my aches and pains, I turn a corner too quickly and don’t realize my mistake until I almost plow nose-first into Neil’s chest.

He stops when he sees me. “Chloe?”

I blink up at him. I wasn’t expecting him either. Last I checked, we still aren’t really talking to each other. He didn’t even visit me when I was sick.

He drags his gaze down the length of me. “You look good,” he says. He sounds surprised.

“I’m feeling a bit better now,” I say. Though I am tired, I would not share that with him in this moment even under punishment of death.

“I’m glad,” he says, but it’s hollow. As I watch him, the light dims in his eyes. It’s strange to watch it happen in real time, like I can actually see him retreating inside of himself. He’s building a cold shell between us.

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods, and I glance down at him. He’s standing weird. Am I imagining it? No, he’s definitely holding his arm funny, like he’s favoring one side.

In the days I was sick, Neil must have faced the fallout for what happened at the dinner event. I am mad as hell at Neil for giving me such a harsh brushoff, and then not even checking on me when I was sick. But... I can’t help but be worried about him.

The bastard wormed his way into my feelings. I’d need a surgeon to cut him out now.

Or at least, a good long while away from him.

Like when I leave in a month.

For now, I ask, “How are you? You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, all crisp, cool confidence. Yet, subtly, he rubs at a spot on his chest. Up high, almost near the shoulder on the left side.

I’m so damn tired of being lied to. I’m tired, period.

Maybe I should have more grace. Maybe I shouldn’t want to take matters into my own hands.

But I’ve been sick, and I’ve been exhausted, and I’m done sitting around and watching things happen.

I’m done watching the people I care about be hurt. And then they have the gall to lie to me about it?

So I step forward, right up into his space.

He looks down at me, a bit of curiosity seeping out through the ice.

I grab his button up shirt. His eyes widen.

I rip it apart. Buttons fly.

“Chloe,” he says harshly, but it’s too late to stop me. I know where to look.

I pull the shirt out of the way of the upper left side of his chest, and I immediately see what he wanted to hide.

It’s a fresh scar, still ugly and red. It’s long and straight and red, not clean enough to be surgical. It looks a hell of a lot like someone stabbed him.

His father?

Neil is an Alpha werewolf. His body is enhanced to heal quickly. That this wound still looks so horrid only hints at how terrible it must have looked in the days before now.

I look up into his face, ready to confront him.

He stares down at me, and I pause.

The surprise is gone from his features. The anger too.

He looks numb. Blank.

Hollow.