41. Lissie
Chapter 41
Lissie
“I hate goodbyes with you.”
M ilo hoists his bag, slightly grimacing as he clutches his side. His wound seems forgotten as he moves with determination, ignoring the pain etched in his features. It’s like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he states, guilt lacing his tone. His shoulders slump as if the weight of regret is pressing down on him.
“They don’t know who Lissie is or where she lives?” Mason asks Milo for the second time since he announced they were leaving.
“No, I made sure,” Milo replies.
I bite my nails as I stand there, my nerves getting the better of me. Letti wraps me in a warm hug, whispering goodbye. Mason steps forward, his expression serious, instructing me to call if I notice anything suspicious. And then there’s Milo, lingering at the edge of the group, his eyes searching mine as if he’s trying to say something but can’t quite put it into words.
“Bye, Lissie,” Letti says, hugging me extra tight before she and Mason walk out.
“Are you okay?” I ask Milo.
He keeps his distance from me. “Yes.”
I rub my hands together to stop myself from biting my nails, my anxiety building. “Will I see you again?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly as hope invades my words. My eyes search his face for any sign of reassurance, my heart aching for a positive answer.
“No. I won’t visit again,” he says bluntly, his words cutting the air. “But you know where I live.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks out the door without a touch or backward glance. A small part of my heart chips away, leaving an aching voice in its place.
No goodbye.
No, I’ll check in on you .
Does he blame himself?
I don’t blame him.
I know who he is, and a small part of me knows the dangers that being around him could bring.
Yet I choose to see him anyway.
I stand there as he walks out, taking a piece of me with him.
And I’m left wondering, What did he want to tell me?
A few weeks later, with absolutely no contact from Milo, I received a message from the lawyer saying I needed to go back to finalize the divorce paperwork. Apparently, Cody is ready to sign.
Honestly, I thought that would never happen. I haven’t heard from or seen him in months. Not that I was hoping for either of those things to happen.
“You shouldn’t be here.” I turn at the sound of that voice.
Milo stands there, dressed in his leather jacket, boots that could probably kick down a tree, and black jeans that make you want to tear them off to see what’s underneath.
But I already know.
How did I not hear him approach?
“I’m here for business,” I tell him, hugging myself and looking back to the house that I shared with Cody.
“He signed the papers,” he states.
“Yep.”
“Good. No other reason for you to come back, then.” I flinch at his words, and he moves until he’s standing next to me. I peer at him from the corner of my eye because it’s too damn painful to look at him directly.
“You never want to see me again?”
“No. You can leave anytime. The sooner, the better.” I don’t outwardly react to his statement, but inside, a new slice appears in my heart, a sharp pain that lingers. The coldness of his words echo in my mind, each syllable deepening the wounds in my heart. My face remains stoic, but my cheek tightens as I struggle to keep my composure, the hurt threatening to consume me.
He doesn’t say anything else before he turns and heads down the driveway. I see his bike parked on the side of the road. He sits on it, starts the engine, and puts his helmet on. Not once does he look back at me. I pick up a rock and run a little way down the driveway before I throw it at him. He was just about to take off, but he stops, flips the kickstand down with his boot, and then tears off his helmet to glare at me.
“Fuck you, you mother fucking asshole!” I reach down to pick up another rock, and just as I stand to throw it at him, he gets off his bike and stalks directly toward me, his helmet gripped tightly in his hand. When he reaches me, both my hands are fisted at my sides. I squeeze the rock, and his jaw tics before his lips thin, and he leans in closer.
“ Leave , Pretty Lady.” His words are dripping with warning. “This life isn’t for you. Stay, and I’ll drag you down with me.” His words make my brain stop in its tracks, their gravity sinking in. Milo is probably one of the smartest people I know, and hearing him sends a chill down my spine. The intensity in his eyes is undeniable, and for a moment, I am frozen, caught between the urge to flee and the desire to stay despite the risks.
“Why would you drag me down?” I ask.
“You know why.”
I shake my head. “Tell me why you would drag me down,” I push.
“Because I would never let you go.” He turns and goes back to his bike.
Drag me down?
Little does he know, all he would have to do is ask, and I would willingly drop at his damn feet. “I’m falling for you, you fucking asshole,” I scream at his back.
“That would be a mistake,” he says, sitting on his bike and securing his helmet.
“Loving you is a mistake?” I ask.
He looks away from me and starts the bike. “Loving me is toxic.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Yes, you can” are his last words before he drives off.
After walking into Letti’s apartment, I sit on the couch. Nothing much has changed, but you can tell a man lives here now. Mason’s smell is everywhere. His shoes are at the door, and his things are scattered throughout every room.
“How long are you planning to stay? I would have made your bed, but I didn’t know you were coming,” Letti asks as she sits down next to me and rubs her eyes.
“I only intended to fly in to finalize the divorce, but then I saw Milo.” I sigh.
“Yeah, he’s been even quieter and more broody since we got back. He stays at the clubhouse and hardly goes home.”
“He told me to go home and to not come back,” I inform her.
“Well, he has no right to say that to you. This is your home as much as it is mine.” I know she’s trying to side with me, but his words remain lodged in my mind.
I wanted him to want me.
That’s the issue.
I didn’t expect him not to.
“Can I shower?” I ask, standing up. “Oh, and can I stay?”
“Of course you can. I’ll get the bed ready. Take your time.”
I pick up my bag and head to the bathroom. Dropping the bag on the bathroom floor, I strip off my clothes. Turning the water as hot as possible, I step under it. The water heats up and burns my skin, but I don’t pull away.
Ever so slowly, anger starts to simmer within me. I’ve been angry at a man before—my husband, for sure. But Milo evokes a different type of anger, one I can’t quite put into words. It’s deeper and more complex, and I struggle to fully understand it or even describe it. This anger isn’t just about hurt feelings. It’s entangled with severe disappointment, frustration, and a sense of loss. Milo has touched something I didn’t know existed, stirring emotions that leave me feeling raw, exposed, and open.
After quickly washing myself, I step out and dry off. I reach for whatever clean clothes I have before I pull the door open to find Letti there, holding some bedsheets.
“Can I borrow your car?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“Lissie,” she calls out as I turn away. I stop and look back at her. “Please be safe.” I don’t answer, so she waves me off. “Bye.”
I try to calm myself down on the drive to the clubhouse. It’s getting late, and the sun has already set. When I pull into the driveway, I find Morris standing there waiting for me. He has a beer in his hand, and he shakes his head when I turn off the car. Letti must have warned him that I was coming because he didn’t look surprised to see me.
“Lissie, really?” he asks as I shut the car door.
“Where is he?”
“I didn’t tell him you were coming. He’s had too much to drink.” I swing my head in his direction. Milo will drink, but he never has too much . Not since I’ve known him. “You can leave and walk away; he will never know you were here.”
“But I am here,” I say.
Striding past him, I don’t stop when I reach the bar area. I look around until I spot Milo. He’s sitting on a stool at the bar, a drink in one hand, the other hand running through his hair. He’s alone.
He doesn’t know I’m here yet, and I wonder how much he’s actually had to drink. Mason spots me, and he taps Milo’s shoulder, making him raise his head. And before I can move another inch, he swings around on his stool, and those fucking eyes meet mine.
It takes him a moment to register that I’m really standing here. Everyone has gone quiet. You can hear the fire crackling not too far from where we are while people breathe heavily, unsure of what to expect.
He stands and has to steady himself against the stool. I guess I have my answer—he’s had way more to drink than expected.
Mason goes to touch his shoulder, but Milo shrugs him off, pushing him away as he makes his way over to me. I smell the whiskey on his breath first, but not long after, I smell the familiar sandalwood and the leather that rubs off on his skin. He has anger in his eyes as he stares at me. Pure hatred. It almost makes me step away. Almost.
“Pretty Lady.”
“Do you drink like this often?”
“Fuck you,” he seethes. Now, I do take a step back. He throws his head back, and an evil laugh escapes him. “You should be scared, Pretty Lady. I’m a bad, bad man—”
“Prez.” Morris steps up and throws an arm around his shoulder as he looks at me. “You should leave, Lissie.”
A part of me thinks I should, while the other wants to know why he hates me so much right now.
“I’m going to kill him,” he says to me.
“Who?” I ask, taken aback, but then realize who he’s talking about.
“Lissie, please go,” Morris insists.
I step up to Milo and place my hands on either side of his face.
“You fell for a fucking loser. You love a man who doesn’t deserve you,” he says.
“It’s not him I love,” I spit back.
His eyes go wild, and he leans in. “And it’s not my fucking fault I’m falling for a fucking married woman whose husband I plan to kill.”
“I’m going, but only because you’re drunk and mean right now.” I drop my hands and step back. “Find me when you’re neither,” I say, walking off.
He doesn’t say another word.