Living with Oliver for the past week has been insufferable. I'm not even entirely sure how he convinced my dad to let me stay with him in the first place, but I'm sure it involved several bribes and a lot of yelling.

My wound has been healing nicely and his were almost gone completely thanks to Lydia's surprisingly delicate medical skills. Things were finally starting to feel normal again, or at least they would, if Oliver would let me leave the goddamn house.

All of his business was being conducted out of his home office, and when he wasn't working, he was in the gym he had built in a spare bedroom, slamming around weights and being an overall grump.

The only time I was allowed to leave the house was to go out in the backyard where he set up a gun range. Everything had been focused on training lately, preparing ourselves for the next big attack.

I appreciate the effort he's making to keep me safe, but I'm on the verge of going stir crazy. I just want my life back.

I want my best friend back.

We've hardly spoken to each other this week. When we did, it was all based on training or my recovery. I head downstairs to rummage through the fridge again. I'm not even really hungry at this point, but I seem to have mastered the art of bored eating.

When I turn to sit down at the kitchen table with my sandwich, I hear Oliver screaming at whoever is in the room with him.

I glare at the door and throw my sandwich on the table. Being a royal pain in my ass is one thing, but he's been taking all his frustrations out on his employees and making working for him unbearable. I can't stand it anymore and I'm not going to let him lose good men because of some misplaced anger.

Without bothering to knock, I slam the office door open. Oliver is standing behind his desk, his hands gripping the edge of it painfully as he scowls at two men I don't recognize sitting across from him.

Three pairs of eyes snap up at my entrance.

"You two. Out," I tell them.

Oliver growls angrily at me.

"I'm not done with them."

"Yes you are. Both of you need to leave. Go home."

They get up and push past me quickly, not wanting to miss a chance to dodge Oliver's wrath. I close the door behind me when they're gone and make my way over to where he's standing. I push him to sit down in his desk chair while I take a seat on his desk.

The position reminds me so much of how we were at the warehouse what feels like forever ago and I feel heat pool in my stomach at the welcomed memory.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you lately?" I demand.

"Nothing," he grumbles, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

"Bullshit. You've been uptight and pissed off since we left the hospital. Spill."

With a sigh, he opens the drawer on the side of his desk and pulls out a small envelope. He tosses it gently onto my lap, refusing to look at me. I open it wearily, my brows furrowed, and peer inside.

"A bank card?" I question.

It's a heavy, sleek black card with my name on it for a bank I don't go to.

"That's your cut of the job. Despite it being an absolutely botched mission, we actually made away with a sizable chunk of Jasper's shipment."

His voice is soft and steady, but I can hear the bitterness in his words. He starts cracking his knuckles and when I look up, his nostrils are flared and his jaw is clenched.

"But I didn't do anything. I didn't help, I was more of a burden than anything. I don't deserve this."

"Doesn't matter how much you did. We go in as a team, we leave as a team. We all get an equal cut."

"Okay. I can see now is not the time to argue with you about this..."

Oliver quirks an eyebrow at me, picking up on the way my words trail off.

"But there is something you want to argue about," he sighs.

I look off to the side of the room, guilty as hell. I slide off the desk slowly and walk behind Oliver's chair. He's slumped against the armrest with his head in his hand, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers. I gently pull him back by the shoulders and begin to try and massage the tension there.

Slowly but surely, he relaxes into it and a soft sigh escapes him.

"I want to go see Marley. Maybe we could sit at the bar while she works?"

He tenses up again and pulls away from me.

"Absolutely not. Are you fucking crazy?" He practically shouts, jumping up from his chair.

"Come on, Oliver! You've had me hidden away for a week now. I miss my friends. Besides, it's one of your bars anyways, I'm sure it's packed with security."

I fold my arms across my chest and look over at him sternly, but he shakes his head vehemently. He's not budging this time.

"No. I won't argue with you about this. You're still recovering and it's still not safe. I promise I have a plan, but you need to be patient and stay here where you're safe."

"I'm practically healed! And you're driving me fucking nuts. You're moody and hide away in your office all day and I never see you," I whine.

I was serious about missing Marley- it feels like a lifetime ago that I went out with her and Mila, and they had no idea that I was even in the hospital. Oliver had given them some bullshit excuse for my absence. I want to see them terribly, but honestly, I miss Oliver more.

Being cooped up in the house all day wouldn't be so bad if he'd just come out of his office every once in a while.

His expression softens as he takes a single long stride to stand in front of me. He places his hand delicately under my chin and pulls it up so my eyes meet his.

"I have been moody and absent, haven't I? Let me make it up to you."