11. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Milo
W hat do you do if you watch your roommate - the one you’re massively crushing on - get a blowjob from a guy who your dick likes but the rest of you finds frustrating? You run. That’s what you do. And that is exactly what I did.
I saw, I came, I ran.
Fuck, fuckity fuck. It was all a fucking mess. After leaving our apartment, I made my way to Central Park, where I walked around for hours before taking a cab (that I couldn’t really afford) to meet Mia at a coffee shop near our father’s house.
My legs were restless, and I rubbed constantly at the back of my neck while sitting at the table, a dark black roast in hand. Mia had been happy to see me but luckily for me she had been so caught up in her own life drama - of which she shared every detail with me - that she didn’t notice my restlessness. I had no desire to discuss any of what had happened with her. I barely wanted to think about it - or the implications of it. The act itself though, I played on repeat like my favourite music video.
That had been almost a week ago and I had done a very good job of avoiding Branson since. Taking longer shifts at work, going for walks with Mia in the evenings, and on the few occasions I’d run into him, disappearing into my room as quickly as possible. We had shared the odd idle chit chat but neither of us brought up the ‘incident’. Meeting his eyes was suddenly so fucking difficult. I hadn’t seen Noel again. Mr Moneybags had obviously decided to retreat back to wherever it was he laid his stupidly handsome head.
As I reached the front of our apartment, tired after a long day at work, my arm aching from the new ink I’d had done at the shop earlier, I was annoyed to find a large black sedan parked on the curb. A well-dressed man stood against the driver's door, looking at his phone. Not a care in the world that he was parked in a no parking zone nor that he was making entering our building difficult.
I huffed as I passed, letting myself in and trudging up the stairs. Shower, food, bed. That was my plan for the evening. I hoped that Branson wasn’t in but as I opened the door, I knew I was fresh out of luck.
“Just like that, daddy.” A breathy voice in an accent I couldn't get enough of, pleaded as I pushed the door open fully to find Branson slouched on the sofa, his legs resting on top of Noel with Noel’s hand somewhere up the leg of the younger man's shorts. By the pink tinge on Bran’s cheeks, I could guess the exact location.
“It all makes sense now,” I said, shooting a cold glare at Noel.
“What makes sense?” Branson asked, subtly pushing Noel’s hand away from his crotch.
“The big ass car haphazardly parked outside the building. It’s his, isn’t it?” I pointed to Noel who, infuriatingly, was smiling at me. Why the fuck was he smiling? He wasn’t going to win me over with his perfectly pretty smile, he could take it and shove it up his perfectly toned ass.
“Correct. I asked Raymond to stay close while Branson packed.” Noel gestured behind him to where a large silver suitcase stood against the wall. “And then we got a little sidetracked waiting for you to get home, little artist.” His lips twitched and the movement, along with the nickname, sent heat simmering along my skin.
Coughing to clear the sudden dryness in my throat, I asked, “Where are you going and why are you waiting for me?” I went to rub at an itch on my forearm before remembering the new ink my boss, Zachary, had put there.
Branson got up, sitting on the sofa on his knees, a huge, excited smile on his face. “Noel is taking me to The Hamptons for the weekend. He has a house there.”
“Of course he does,” I huffed, and Noel smirked. No matter how hard I glared at him, metaphorical daggers flying from my eyes, he didn’t even flinch. Smug fucking idiot.
“Two actually, but who’s counting?” Noel winked at me and the heat I’d felt earlier bubbled into an inferno. We had a family home in the Hamptons too, not that I was planning to mention that. Nor did I actually ever go there - some of the worst nights of my life were in that house.
“Anyway, Noel is taking me, and we want you to come with us. You’ve been working so hard this week, you deserve a break.”
A weekend watching these two grope at each other? Not happening. I shook my head. “Ha, yeah. Nope.”
“Oh, okay.”
My stomach sank at the sudden look of disappointment on Branson’s face. Dark emotion swirled in Noel’s eyes as he moved his gaze to the man next to him. Noel pulled him into his arms and kissed the side of his neck, offering him comfort. Was Branson really that upset that I didn't want to go with them?
Maybe my answer had been a little curt, so I added, “I have plans with Mia this weekend.” Oh, you sneaky little liar.
Branson’s face lit up and he sprang off the sofa with all the energy of a labradoodle. Clapping his hands together, then coming over and placing his hands on my shoulders. His touch sent little fissures of electricity through me. He smelled like a dessert, sugar and vanilla mixed with something a little citrusy - sweet and delectable - and it was near impossible not to lean in closer to him.
“Bring Mia with!” Branson exclaimed. “She will love it. I’ll text her right now.” He spun around and ran down the hallway, presumably to message my sister who, no doubt would say yes.
I hung my head, taking a deep, steadying breath when Noel approached me. He didn’t touch me but instead stood a few steps away. Lifting my head, I flipped the strands of my dark hair out of my eyes and took in Noel’s tall form. He was bigger than me, but not by much. He wore tailored khakis, designer shoes and a Tom Ford shirt, the top few buttons of which were left undone, showing off a sprinkling of hair on his chest. The shirt was tight, tight enough that I could make out the shape of his nipples underneath. My eyes honed in on his right nipple and what appeared to be the outline of a barbell or some piece of jewellery.
The man was a constant surprise and for a split second I considered asking him if he had any ink on his body but thought better of it, opening my mouth and then slamming it shut again.
Dressed in ripped jeans and a white t-shirt from Target, my hair gelled into spikes save for a few floppy strands, with arms covered in tattoos, and a small piercing through my right eyebrow, I was his complete opposite. While Noel exuded confidence and swagger, I was withdrawn and sullen. My boss had to keep reminding me to smile at customers. I had no business acumen, no charisma and as of today, having paid next month's rent, no money.
Noel took a step closer to me, reaching out and gently pulled my arm straight, turning it so he could see my new tattoo. Through the transparent adhesive protecting the design, you could make out the text underneath. It read Not Broken in curly handwriting.
“Interesting choice of words. Does it mean something?” Noel’s thumb rubbed over my naked skin, being sure to steer clear of the plaster. Abruptly pulling my arm away, I wrapped it around my waist. His warm hands felt too good, too comforting for someone I wanted to dislike.
“No, they’re just words. They don’t mean anything,” I lied.
“If you say so, little artist.” He tilted his head in that way he did that said he was assessing me. I got the feeling that was how he was in his business life. Always appraising the people he was talking to, scenting out their weaknesses. You didn’t run a multibillion dollar empire without being able to read people.
“Don’t ,” I hissed, feeling tiny under his scrutiny.
Noel took a step back, pulling up his sleeve to look at his watch. “I’m going to guess your sister will jump at the opportunity to tag along and Branson wants you there. Are we really going to play this game where you pretend you don’t want to come with, or are you going to go pack?”
“I don’t want to come,” I bit out, and a second later I heard the words I had just said - the double entendre. Noel was fast, a salacious glint in his eyes.
“Are you sure about that, Milo? I’d say you’d love to come, right along with our dear, sweet Branson.”
My fucking brain and my dick and my cheeks all betrayed me, and I stumbled over my words. “That’s not… I didn’t… I meant…. urgh, fuck you, Noel.” I stamped my way down the hall towards my room but didn’t miss his response as I kicked open my door.
“That’s not off the table.”
“Woah, this place is epic,” Mia stated as she swept her gaze around the spacious entrance hall of Noel’s holiday home, “So much nicer than D-,” I nudged her with my elbow, giving her a stern look and effectively cutting off her words. I’d told her a few times that I didn’t want Branson or Noel (or anyone in my new life for that matter) knowing about our father. Didn’t want them to know what he had, who he was, or the shame I carried at how weak he made me. In short, I wanted him erased from my memory altogether.
But memory could be a stubborn thing. The more you pushed away parts of it, the more it pushed back. Set off by sounds, smells or any tiny trigger, memories had a way of holding on to you, tight and unforgiving. As I stepped further into the house, breathing in the ocean air pouring in through the open sliding doors, a sharp, painful reminder of my past surged to the forefront, knocking the breath from my lungs.
“Where did you find that?” My father asked, pointing to the purple cardigan I had wrapped around me. I looked down at the well worn fabric, wondering why his voice was so hoarse, why his lips were stretched into a thin, tight line.
“I found it in the closet in one of the guest rooms. It was mom’s, I can remember her wearing it here.” I ran my hand over the sleeve, picturing my mother’s smile as she walked down the beach, her feet kicking up sand as she did, the sleeves of her cardigan pulled up so she could reach down and run her hands through the water.
“Take it off, right now!” Father yelled and I startled, taking a step back as tears burned behind my eyes. I missed her and this small scrap of fabric made me feel a little closer to her. It had been two years since she’d died, and the moment of her death was what my father now referred to as my biggest mistake. I’d been the only one home with mom when she’d cried out that the baby was coming but that something was wrong. It was too early for my brother to arrive; we were meant to head back to the city before he came. Mom had collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around her and I’d panicked. I ran to the neighbours, but they were not in, so I tried the others further over. It never occurred to me to call 911, though I had been taught that was what I should do in an emergency. But I was ten and scared and didn’t think. My father says my lack of thinking killed my mother and brother. Useless, he'd called me. I carried that blame, etched into me as solid and integral as my bones.
“I don’t want to. I like it. It reminds me of her.” Tears blurred my vision, and I wrapped my arms around my waist, gripping the cardigan tightly. Father stepped forward, grabbed at the hem and tried to rip it from me.
“I said, take it off.” Anger flashed in his eyes but I held firm, buoyed on by the thought of my mother in it, by the thought of having this one thing of hers that I could hold close.
“No!” I shrieked, knowing that disrespecting him was a very bad idea.
My father seethed, his nostrils flaring, and I flinched as he reared his hand back and landed it across my cheek. Pain, like none I had ever felt before shot through me. It was both physical and emotional - a complete shock that this man who was meant to love and protect me would lay a hand on me. I stumbled backwards, hitting my leg on the glass coffee table behind me, but managed to regain my balance. He hit me again, his eyes dark and unseeing, a monster in place of my father, and this time, I fell backwards, smashing through the glass table top. Pain radiated through my back, my skin burned and tears fell like rain down my cheeks, landing in salty drops on my lips. Beneath me, I could feel a liquid seeping through mom’s beautiful cardigan.
“Fuck!” Now look at what you’ve done, Milo!” he yelled. But I couldn’t respond as a sob lodged in my throat and my heart started to beat rapidly - too fast, too loud - and I gasped, trying to breathe past the pain and the shame. Past the defeat and the sadness.
“Milo, hey, Milo, are you okay?” A soft hand rubbed against my cheek, as another grabbed my hand. With my eyes squeezed shut against the tormenting memory, I took in a deep breath, releasing an ache in my lungs that I was all too familiar with. I came back to the present, opening my eyes slowly, waiting for the blackness around the edges of my vision to pass. I’d panicked, holding my breath until my head spun and they'd all witnessed it. Mia, Branson and Noel. In front of me, his grey blue eyes shimmering with concern, stood Branson, his hand rubbing gently at my cheek, wiping at the traitorous tears that refused to stop falling.
Next to me Mia squeezed my hand. She’d always been my comfort and I found myself overwhelmed with gratitude now. I would never leave her side, if I didn’t have to. She was all I had left in this big, scary world.
Clearing my throat, I took a step back, pulling my face away from Branson’s touch. I was painfully aware that his hand on my skin was one of the most beautiful things I had ever experienced. No one had touched me with so much concern or affection before and it hurt because his touch wasn’t mine to covet.
“I’m fine. Sorry, um.” I looked around and found Noel standing quietly behind me. For once he didn’t wear a smug look or his usually devilish smirk. His features were softer, his eyes a swirl of grey and blue matching that of the churning sea outside, and he worried his lip between his teeth. “I suddenly don’t feel very well, do you mind showing me where I’ll be sleeping. Please?”
Noel nodded, “Sure, let me show you and why don’t you,” he looked at Branson, “and Mia go lay out some snacks around the hot tub?” Mia kissed me on the cheek and I squeezed her hand before dropping it to follow Noel out of the room.
Up the stairs and down one of the cream carpeted halls we walked. “Do you want to talk about it?” Noel asked in a quiet voice, so unlike the cocky man I thought him to be. There was no playfulness to his tone, only a delicate offering of empathy.
I shook my head at the same time I replied, “No, I’d rather not.”
Noel pushed open a door to a large bedroom housing a king-sized bed overlooking the ocean. A balcony stood to one side and luscious green pot plants were lined up along it. The room was minimalist in creams and greys with the odd ode to the beach here and there.
“I understand. But Milo, sometimes those demons we keep trapped in our minds are more dangerous locked in those cages than they are out in the open.” With that, Noel walked out of the room.
Not for the first time, I wondered if letting those demons out would set me free or if it would only make more people hate me. Mia never learned the truth of our mother’s passing - she had been too young and out with the nanny at the time. I wasn’t so sure that she wouldn’t hate me the same way my father did if she knew how badly I'd messed up.