(Book 2 in If I Could series)
"What do you want, Lily!?" he yelled, his patience on the verge of snapping. "You keep telling me you hate me but clearly you don't, you want me but you won't accept it either. You're stubborn and crazy and I- just tell...
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Jenny gasped as she took off in Miller’s direction, her eyes trained on his injury and the gauze rolled around his fingers. She rushed towards him, taking his injured hand in hers as Miller only stared at her, bewildered and confused. “Oh my God, what happened?” Jenny asked, worried.
I watched as Miller struggled to answer, his eyes snapping to mine, his brows furrowed as if asking me to take over so I just stood there, folding my hands across my chest and looked at him, not bothering to answer. “I— uh, well,” he stuttered. The tips of his ears turned pink and my lips threatened to tip up in a grin. Was he flustered right now?
“Did Lily have something to do with this?” Jenny suspected, narrowing her eyes in my direction as she looked between the both of us.
I threw my hands up in surrender and tried to hide my limping left leg as I walked towards them. “Absolu—” But Jenny’s eyes roved over the way I pressured my right leg and her eyes widened before she pulled a chair for me and urged me to sit down.
“What happened to you now? Why are you walking like that? Limping like a kangaroo.”
“But doesn’t a kangaroo jump?” Miller interrupted and when both mine and Jenny’s gaze slid to his, he slumped in his seat, draining his glass of water. “Never mind. It limps, alright.”
Jenny’s right corner of the mouth tipped before she shook her head and was in my care before I could blink. “Do you need me to get you any ointment? Relief spray? Is it bad? Did you see a doctor?” Then, she frantically turned to Miller, examining his wrapped hand. “And you, young man, did you get into a fight? Who wrapped this for you? Did you apply any ointment? Does it hurt? Are you two ok—”
“Breathe,” I interrupted her. “Take a deep breath in,” I instructed, holding my hand out and making Jenny sit on the chair beside me while Miller took her hand on the other side and rubbed soothing circles on them. “Now let it out.” Jenny did as I instructed a few more times before exhaling through her mouth.
“We can postpone this meeting. You must take care of yourselves if you’re hurt. And please tell me you ordered the food and not make it yourself because moving around would’ve made your injury worse—”
“She was dancing when I came in,” Miller provided smugly. “Wouldn’t that make the injury even worse than if she had made food?”
“Wha—”
“I was listening to music, asshole,” I cut off Jenny’s sputtering. “And he drew his beast with those bloodied knuckles.”
“Yeah, well, small cuts to my knuckles don’t really hinder my skills of driving my Harley,” he retorted.
“So are you saying my almost-broken ankle would’ve hindered my ability to make food?” It would have. Totally. But while I was bantering with him, I didn’t fucking care that it was stupid or this whole argument was juvenile and immature. I needed to have the last sentence.
