37. The Storm is Coming Mila
The hum of the oscilloscopes blends with the low whir of the cooling fans, almost making me lose my mind. My hands are sore from adjusting wires and fiddling with equipment, and my eyes burn from staring at the same set of graphs for hours. The project feels like it’s falling apart, and I’m not sure if I’m more scared or resigned at this point.
“Today can go to hell,” Mary snaps. “Straight to hell, no stops, no return ticket.”
Sam snorts, leaning back against the cabinet with a look that screams done . “Hell would probably be more organized than this lab.”
“Or at least less judgmental,” Mary mutters, glaring at the blinking error light on the power supply as if it personally insulted her.
I smile weakly, but the knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. Sam’s right—everything’s a mess. The laser alignment was off, the interferometer kept drifting, and let’s not even talk about the data logger that decided to crash in the middle of our measurements.
“I need a drink,” Sam announces, running a hand through his hair. “A strong one. Maybe two. Just enough to forget this disaster exists for a while.”
I laugh, but it’s shaky. What if I bit off more than I can chew? What if this whole project is beyond me?
Mary grabs a coil of wire and hurls it onto the cart. “I second that. Let’s get out of here before I lose my mind. There’s a pub across the street.”
“Are you coming?” Sam asks me.
“Maybe…” I hesitate, gnawing on my lower lip.
Mary raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, maybe?”
“I’ve never been to a pub,” I blurt, then immediately regret it.
Sam freezes mid-stretch, and Mary’s jaw literally drops.
“You’ve never been to a pub?” Mary finally asks, her voice high-pitched with disbelief.
I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. “I’ve been busy?”
“Busy doing what?” she fires back.
“Apparently being a saint,” Sam adds, smirking. “But tonight, we’re fixing that.”
“Oh, I don’t know…” I try to wave them off, but Mary’s already shaking her head.
“Nope. No excuses. You’re coming with us. End of discussion.”
“We’re not dressed for it,” I point out, gesturing to our lab clothes. Sam’s hoodie is singed at the cuffs, Mary’s jeans have grease stains, and my sweater has a hole in the sleeve from where it got caught on the edge of the cryostat earlier.
Sam shrugs. “We won’t go anywhere fancy.”
Mary grins. “You’ve got to start small anyway. No velvet ropes, no overpriced cocktails. Just a pub where nobody cares what you’re wearing as long as you don’t break anything.”
I am torn between wanting to crawl home and wanting to experience new things.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But if it’s awful, I’m blaming both of you.”
Mary slings her bag over her shoulder with a grin. “Deal.”
Sam throws an arm around my shoulders, already steering me toward the door. “Come on, rookie. You’ve survived the lab. You can survive this.”
We turn off the light as we leave. I can finally take a breath as we walk further and further away from the lab.
The pub is exactly what I expected: grimy, chaotic, and unapologetically loud. I follow Mary and Sam through the throng of people, my senses overloaded by the mix of stale beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. It’s… overwhelming, but not entirely bad.
“Over there!” Mary shouts, pointing to a half-empty booth in the corner.
We squeeze into the booth, and before I can even think, a server appears to take our order.
“Two beers and—” Mary pauses, looking at me. “What do you want, Mila?”
“Uh… I don’t know. What do people drink here?”
Sam grins. “Something that won’t knock you on your ass. How about a gin and tonic?”
I nod. “Sure. That.”
The server leaves. Mary immediately pulls out her phone. “Okay, I have to show you guys this. Look at Biscuit,” she says, shoving the screen toward us.
On it is a fluffy orange cat, mid-yawn, looking entirely unimpressed with life.
“Wow,” I say, genuinely amused. “He looks like he pays taxes and hates every second of it.”
Mary laughs so hard she snorts. “Right? He’s such a grumpy little dude.”
Sam leans over to get a better look. “He’s adorable. Do you have more?”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty .” Mary starts scrolling through an endless gallery of photos of Biscuit.
Our drinks arrive, and I take a cautious sip of my gin and tonic. It’s sharp and fizzy, not as good as what I’m used to, but still nice.
“This isn’t so bad,” I admit, setting the glass down. But there is something bothering me…
What if the alcohol brings back the thoughts I’ve been struggling to shove away since this morning? The thought of how much I missed Rafael, how I woke up surrounded by his scent, as if he’d been right there beside me. It must be my mind playing tricks on me,
“See?” Sam says, raising his beer. “You’re officially not a pub virgin anymore.”
Then Sam’s phone rings.
“Ugh, hang on,” he mutters, pulling it out of his pocket. “Hello?”
He listens for a moment, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to outright panic. “What? Oh, no. No, no, no…”
Mary and I exchange worried looks.
“What’s wrong?” Mary probes as Sam lowers the phone.
“My neighbor,” he says. “Apparently, there’s a burst pipe or something. My whole apartment floor is flooded.”
“Oh, crap,” Mary says, wincing. “What are you going to do?”
Sam rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know. I guess… find a cheap motel for the night? God, I don’t even know if there’ll be any rooms available on such short notice.”
There’s a tremor in his voice and I can see the tears welling up in his eyes. My heart clenches.
“I wish I could help,” Mary sighs. “But my dorm’s girls only, and they’re strict about it.”
I hesitate, my mind racing. Rafael’s face flashes in my head with his ever pressing need to control every aspect of my life. But there’s no way I can let Sam suffer because of that .
“There’s room at my place,” I hear myself say before I can overthink it.
Sam’s head snaps up. “What?”
“I mean it,” I insist. “There’s no point wasting money on a motel if I’ve got an empty guest room just sitting there. You can stay for as long as you need.”
“Mila, that’s really nice, but I don’t want to be a bother—”
“You won’t be,” I cut him off. “Seriously. I’ve got four bedrooms in that ridiculous apartment. You’ll have your own space, and it’s only temporary.”
“But …” He starts to protest.
“You’re my friend, Sam. I’m not going to let you stay in some sketchy motel if I can help it.”
For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue, but then he exhales, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I say, giving him a small smile.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
Mary claps her hands together. “Crisis averted! Now let’s finish these drinks and get going.”
I’ve just invited chaos into my already complicated life, but for the first time in a long time, it feels like the right kind of chaos.
After we are done, we wave goodbye to Mary at the curb. Sam and I climb into the backseat of a cab, both slightly tipsy but not enough to be incoherent. The driver nods when I give him the address. Sam leans back with a sigh, his head resting against the window.
“Thanks again, Mila,” he says after a beat. His voice is soft, almost unsure, like he’s not used to people going out of their way for him.
“It’s no big deal,” I reply. “Just don’t snore, or I might kick you out.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
When we finally pull up to the building, Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.
“This is it?” he asks, stepping out and craning his neck to take in the towering structure.
I shrug, trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. “Yeah.”
We take the elevator up to the penthouse, the mirrored walls reflecting Sam’s increasingly wide-eyed expression. When the doors slide open, his jaw practically hits the floor.
“Holy—” He steps inside, turning in a slow circle. “This is insane. Do you live here alone ?”
“Yeah,” I say, dropping my bag on the kitchen counter.
He whistles low, wandering over to the living room. “This isn’t an apartment. It’s a freaking palace.”
“Oh my God,” Sam gushes, spotting the flowers. He walks over to the cluster of vases and arrangements scattered across the room, some on tables, and others on the floor. “Who’s growing a garden in here?”
I flush, already regretting my decision not to toss out the flowers Rafael keeps giving me. I just can’t bring myself to do it. “They’re… a thing. Don’t worry about it.”
He picks up one of the small cards tucked into an arrangement of pale pink roses, his eyebrows shooting up as he reads. “‘You are the moonlight in my darkest nights.’ Damn, Mila, someone’s poetic. Is he a boyfriend?”
I snatch the card from his hand, shoving it back into the bouquet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Sam raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But, uh, whoever this guy is? He’s obsessed with you. Like, obsessed obsessed.”
I ignore him, grabbing a blanket and pillow from the linen closet. “Come on. Let me show you your room.”
The guest bedroom is one of the smaller ones, but it’s still nicer than most motel rooms. Sam looks around, clearly impressed, as I set the blanket and pillow on the bed.
“You’re sure this is okay?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“I’m sure. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, Mila. Really.”
“Goodnight, Sam,” I say quickly before he can say anything else.
“Goodnight.”
I head to my own room, shutting the door behind me. The second I’m alone, the weight of what I’ve done crashes down on me.
Rafael will find out. He always does. And when he does, he won’t appreciate another man staying here. It doesn’t matter that Sam is just a friend, or that he’s probably more interested in the bartender we saw earlier than he’ll ever be in me. Rafael won’t see it that way.
I lie awake for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling and replaying every decision that led to this moment. I tell myself it’s fine. Sam needed help, and I couldn’t just let him fend for himself.
But deep down, I know the storm is coming.
And I’m not sure I’m ready to face it.