The Kitchen
Elowen
The doorbell rings while I have a forkful of braised short rib halfway to my mouth.
Perrin is already up, heading toward the front door.
Adam takes a bite of his food and lets out a moan so loud that it's almost inappropriate. "Oh my god," he says, eyes closing briefly. “This is exactly what I needed.”
We hear Perrin's voice from the hallway.
"Can I help you?"
Someone speaks, and I go still.
"Yeah, uh." He clears his throat. "Is Elowen here?"
I turn toward the entryway, a little shocked. What the hell is Milo doing here?
Adam looks at me. "Who is that?"
"Someone I worked with," I say, setting my fork down carefully, "at the Morder."
I slip off my barstool, making my way to the front door.
Milo is standing on the front porch with his hands shoved into the pockets of a worn denim jacket, despite the fact that it’s ninety degrees outside.
And the first thing I think is that he looks terrible.
He's thinner than I remember, his jaw too sharp, and the skin under his eyes dark and slightly sunken. His dark curls are lank and longer than he used to keep them, and he’s clearly lost weight. His T-shirt and jacket hang off his shoulders, exposing his pointy collarbones.
He looks up when he hears me, and an odd expression moves across his face.
"Hey, Pérez," he says quietly. "You look good."
I come to a stop next to Perrin, close enough that our arms brush, and look at Milo across the threshold. "What are you doing here?” I glance past the beta, toward the driveway. I half expected to see Anton, but there’s no one else here.
Milo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his hands still buried in his jacket pockets. His eyes move briefly to Perrin, then back to me.
"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," he says. "Wanted to make sure you were okay." He attempts a smile that doesn't quite land. "The lab isn't the same without you."
My mouth pulls into a smile, but I don’t say anything. I mean, what am I supposed to say?
Behind me, I hear Adam's footsteps moving closer.
"You want to come in?" the omega asks, appearing at my shoulder.
Perrin cuts his brother a sharp look, clearly not happy with the invitation. Honestly, I’m not either, but it’s fine. It won’t kill me to chat with Milo for a minute.
“What?” Adam says as he stares at his brother. The look on the omega’s face makes it very clear that he doesn't exactly think Milo is a threat, and I have to agree.
Milo is harmless.
“Come on in.” Perrin steps to one side.
Milo comes in, ducking his head slightly as he crosses the threshold, and Perrin closes the door behind him. He touches my arm briefly, just two fingers, warm and grounding.
"We'll be in the kitchen," Perrin says, his eyes on mine, "if you need anything."
I nod, and then turn to my old co-worker.
Milo glances toward the kitchen, then back at me. He knows they're listening.
“How have you been?” I ask as I move into the living room, putting a little more space between us and the kitchen. Milo follows, standing awkwardly as I settle onto the arm of the couch with my arms loosely crossed.
"Are you coming back?" he blurts out. "To the lab."
"No." I say simply. "I have a pack now."
Milo nods, eyes on the floor.
I don’t know if he can smell my omega scent. Betas have a much more muted sense of smell, but even if he couldn’t, pack betas have a lot of responsibilities, so expecting me to come back to work is a little ridiculous.
"Right,” he says. “That's good. Really good, Pérez."
He doesn't sound like he thinks it's good.
"Can I get you something to drink?" Adam slips into the living room. His expression is completely innocent, doing a very convincing impression of someone who just happened to wander over.
Milo's hand moves to his arm, fingers scratching absently at the inside of his elbow. "Yeah, actually." He clears his throat. "A soda would be great. Something with sugar. Nothing diet."
“Coming right up.” Adam gives a polite smile, then he disappears without another word.
I watch Milo scratch his arm again, noticing a slight tremor in his hands.
“This is a nice place.” Milo looks around the living room, and I realize he’s sweating despite the AC being cranked up. He's also twitchy in a way I don't remember him being.
Back at the lab Milo was relaxed to the point of being annoying about it. This version of him is the opposite of that, all barely contained restlessness with shaky eyes that seem unable to focus on anything.
Is he high?
Adam reappears with a can of soda, sets it on the coffee table in front of Milo. “Anything else?” he asks in his most polite tone.
“I’m good.” Milo cracks the can open and downs almost the entire thing in one go.
Adam turns and looks at me, while Milo gulps his drink. His brows lift slightly, silently asking me if I’m good.
I give him the smallest nod.
“Okay.” The omega holds my gaze for one more beat, then straightens up and heads back toward the hallway. "Perrin and I are right in the kitchen," he says, loudly enough that there's absolutely no ambiguity about who else he's talking to. "Hollering distance. Literally."
"Thank you, Adam," I say.
"Yep," he says, and disappears.
Milo looks around the room for a second before dropping onto the couch across from me. He sets the can on the coffee table in front of him, then he leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the floor.
"You don't look so good, Milo," I say quietly.
He lets out a short breath that's almost a laugh. "Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "Rough few weeks."
His hand drops to his arm, fingers finding that same spot on the inside of his elbow, scratching slowly through his jacket. His pupils are slightly off.
He definitely has to be high.
"Are you sleeping?" I ask.
"Sure," he says, in a way that means no.
He picks up the can, realizes it's almost empty, and sets it back down. His eyes drift around the room again, landing nowhere for very long, and his knee has started a small, restless bounce that I don't think he's aware of.
Then he looks at me.
"Can I ask you something?" he says.
Something tightens in my chest, but I keep my face still. "Sure."
Milo pulls in a slow breath through his nose, his palms pressing flat against the tops of his thighs and rubbing once, twice.
He's working up to something. I can see the effort of it in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes drop to the coffee table before coming back up to mine like he's made a decision he can't take back.
"Cassville Care Pharmacy." His eyes don't leave mine. "You never actually told me if you were related to the owners."
Something cold moves through me the second he says it, spreading outward from my chest before I can stop it. I press my feet flat against the floor and hold his gaze. "You already asked me that,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Remember? At the shop. A few weeks ago."
Something flickers across his face. "Right." He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. I forgot."
He forgot.
The words sit in the air between us, and I study his face, the tight line of his mouth, the slight tremor in his hands where they're resting on his knees. He's not well. Whatever he's been taking, he's taking too much, and it's starting to show in ways he probably can't see himself anymore.
I want him to leave.
The thought arrives firmly, settling into my chest like a stone dropping into still water. I want him out of my house and away from my pack and back into whatever version of his life he's been living since I left the Morder.
"Milo." I keep my voice gentle. "It's been really good to see you, but I should probably—"
"She looked like you," he says.
I go still, not sure what the hell he’s talking about.
"I only saw her face for a second." His eyes are on the coffee table, unfocused, like he's looking at something I can't see. "But I can’t stop thinking." He stops and swallows. "She had the same eyes as you."
“Who?” I ask as I look at Milo's face, trying to follow the thread of what he's saying. But he doesn’t seem to hear me.
His eyes are unfocused, his words coming out slightly disconnected from each other, and I can't tell if he's building toward something or unraveling out loud.
"She had the same eyes as you," he says again, quieter this time.
I have no idea what he's talking about.
I glance toward the kitchen, then back at Milo. He's pressing his fingers against the outside of his jacket pocket, and his knee bounces again.
"Milo." I keep my voice careful. "Who are you talking about?"
He blinks, like the question surprised him. Then he looks at the empty can. "The woman from the pharmacy," he says. "The one who owned it with her husband."
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
Is he talking about my parents?
"I think you should probably go," I say gently.
Milo doesn't seem to hear me.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small square of aluminum foil, folded over several times into a tight little package. His fingers work at the layers slowly, and two small blue pills drop into his palm.
He looks at them for a second.
Then he looks at me.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, but I’m not sure he's talking to me. It’s almost like he’s talking to the room.
Milo tips his head back and swallows both pills dry, then he crumples the foil into a small ball between his fingers. His eyes drift back to the empty soda can on the coffee table, and he picks it up, dropping the foil inside.
Then he shakes it.
The sound it makes is thin and metallic and irregular.
Tnk. Tnk. Tnk. Tnk.
The world stops.
I don't move.
I can’t breathe.
My hands are very still in my lap, and my eyes are fixed on the can in Milo's hand, and somewhere very far away I can hear my own heartbeat.
I know that sound.
I’ve heard it in every nightmare for the last three years.
I just never knew what it was.