Miller
Stupid. Idiotic. Fuckup.
Take your pick. I replayed the afternoon as if I expected my mind’s eye to show me a different version of what happened.
My boots crunched on the gravel that littered the pavement after I’d thrown the truck into park and stormed out of the lot beside the conference center. The evening light washed over the looming lake in the background as the last rays of sunlight dipped below the still water. I was agitated, clenching my fists and feeling my pulse roar with every step. I pulled my hat off, running my hand through my hair and wiping the light sheen of sweat from my forehead.
I couldn’t relax until I saw her. Felt her. Ran my fingers over her smooth skin and caressed her cheek, ensuring she was unharmed. Unwanted visions plagued my mind, bringing forth images of her on my doorstep with swollen eyes and shaking hands, sharing her story of being fired after her bastard of a professor came on to her. He never put his hands on her—he wouldn’t have any left if he had—but the damage was done, like a part of her disappeared with that pink slip of paper that relieved her of her contract.
That same wrongness I felt when I opened my front door and pulled her into my arms pulsed in time with my heart as the automatic doors to the conference center swished open, and the air conditioning cooled my overheated skin. My cell phone buzzed almost continuously, but I couldn’t be bothered to care. The messages could wait. Anyone else could wait. The only thing that mattered was getting to her.
That desperation to find her, interlaced with my shame at how quickly I let my temper carry me from the room, surrounded me like a wet blanket, making it feel like my boots were lined with lead. I replayed my anxiousness to get to her, becoming violently aware of how that emotion overruled common sense. When she questioned my actions, the Neanderthal part of my brain screamed to defend my decision.
The walk to my truck from the conference center, with my hands stuffed into the pockets of my fucking dirty jeans, was like walking to my execution. I knew I screwed up. As the hateful words spewed, I knew, but like a bastard, I ignored the noise in my brain screaming warning, danger imminent.
In my infinite stupidity, I didn’t have the good graces to shut up, so I decided the next best thing was to stick my finger in that sweet girl’s face and accuse her of things.
Things I knew weren’t true.
Things I knew would hurt her.
What did I expect? For her to run toward me, jumping in my arms and giggling that I was her knight in shining armor while leaving dirty handprints on her satin dress?
Perhaps I expected her to tug me closer, kissing my cheek and professing her thanks for saving her from the evil clutches of the governor’s board. Maybe to confess that she was done with online dating because she only wanted me, regardless of the way things were left after that failed dinner—that damn delicious dinner she made where I never gave her a chance to give me an answer.
Yes.
That was what I wanted.
I wanted her to kiss my cheek and introduce me as her boyfriend.
I wanted to sweep her into my arms and hold her close.
I wanted her to look at me every moment we were together like she looked at me when I called her ‘baby.’
I wanted her to love me as much as I loved her.
Well, fuck all.
Why did my brain jump from whatever we were to love? Was it a pathetic attempt to turn my lust into something more? I wanted Emma, certainly. Needed her, sure. But was I in love with her? I scoffed, wishing I was at home to drown these thoughts in a few fingers of whiskey. Tilting my head back against the headrest, I closed his eyes.
Love.That was big and bold and could lead to disappointment as easily as it could forever. It hurt, leaving wounds that made physical scars pale into insignificance. I cared about her, but love?
Yes.
It made sense, clicking into place like that puzzle piece you found under the couch a week later so you could finally finish the five-hundred-piece monstrosity on the kitchen table.
I slammed my hands on the steering wheel of my truck and let out an agonizing groan. That was why I’d become an unrecognizable dick face. I fucking loved her—and had no idea how to deal with that realization.
I needed her in my life like I needed oxygen to breathe. I no longer wanted ‘his house’ and ‘her house.’ I wanted to live in a place we called our home. I wanted to wake up with her in my arms and fall asleep with my face buried in her curls. Still life images of us spending lazy Saturdays in bed and taking cooking classes every other Wednesday flashed before my eyes.
A seedling of what we could be had taken root in my brain, blooming with such fierce intensity it overruled my fears and insecurities. I’d wasted enough time trying to convince myself she was going to turn me down—better to stop her and push her away before she could prove me wrong.
Right? Nope.My new path forward should be showing her everything she wanted was right in front of her. Emma deserved better—she deserved the best, and I would spend the rest of my days giving that to her. No, I would give her more. I would throw myself at her feet with my chin tilted toward her face and an apology on my lips.
I’d tell her I was a jealous, stupid bastard who didn’t have the mental fortitude to understand what had been in my heart for weeks. Perhaps some grand gesture would do. It would be a nice story for her to share with her friends—and make me sound like less of a fucker. She wasn’t a flowers and chocolate kind of girl. She deserved something big and beautiful.
I was a helpless fucker against the beautiful woman who’d been absent from my bed for too long. She wouldn’t appreciate me storming to her house now, all dominant and possessive, demanding she hear my apology. Now that I knew beyond any doubt that I wanted her in my heart and bed, I’d focus on fixing us.
This was one of those moments when the loss of my dad was like a physical weight on my chest and I wished I could go to my parents’ place—back before Mom moved into the condo.
Dad would take one look at my face and nod. He’d disappear inside the house and return with two beers, passing one to me and motioning to the back yard, where we’d get lost among the trees, knowing the paths and twists would eventually lead us back home.
He wouldn’t break the silence until I did, and then he’d wait. Wait until I huffed and vented, trying to put into words what had been bouncing around in my head. Then he’d slap me on the shoulder, agree I was a dumbass, and throw down some life advice that fit the situation perfectly.
The next best thing was my brothers, but something about talking to them over our group messages left a foul taste in my mouth. Whether I thought they would make fun of me or give me shit advice was yet to be seen.
Not having a better solution, I turned on the overhead lights in the truck and thumbed to the thread, hovering over the last messages I exchanged with Emma and frowning.
Me:I need help.
Magnum:Yeah, we know.
Mark:What else is new?
Maverick:What’s going on?
Magnum:Were you looking for something more than sarcastic commentary?
Ugh.This was a mistake. I should cut my losses, go home, sulk, and rethink my life choices tomorrow. Nothing good could come from a conversation with them. Not with my brain shredded and my ability to carry on a rational discussion growing dimmer by the second.
Me:Never mind.
Magnum:Nice try.
Mark:Need to meet at the bar? Or want to come over to the house?
Magnum:I vote bar.
Maverick:Your vote doesn’t count.
Maverick:What’s going on?
Perhaps some unforeseen force in the sky was taking pity on me, and going back to our childhood home was what I needed. Or I’d see how happy Mark and Jenna were with the baby, and I’d sink into a self-induced pit of despair.
Me:I’ll come over unless it will disturb Eloise.
Mark:Nah. Jenna put her down an hour ago. Come on.
Magnum:I’ll grab a case of beer. Lots of beer.
Maverick:Or is this a hard liquor kind of night? I have that double-barrel Woodford Reserve ready.
Me:Fuck. I don’t know.
Maverick:Both, it is. Be there soon.
Magnum:*GIF of an explosion*
Me:*Selfie of me holding up my middle finger*
Mark:*GIF of laughing babies*
I sighed, turning the light off and starting the engine. The drive was silent, or maybe my brain was screaming too loudly at my shit choices that I couldn’t hear the radio.
My brothers were sitting on the porch nursing a round when I pulled up in the truck and turned off the engine. The overhead fans moved lazily in the evening breeze, and I shoved one hand in my pocket as Mark lifted his beer in greeting. I raised two fingers and rubbed the back of my neck, my boots crunching on the gravel as I walked up the steps and lowered my stiff body to the comfortable white wooden swing.
Maverick reached into a small cooler between his feet and removed a beer, twisting the top and passing it to me. He raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, reminding me of our dad. Of the four of us, Maverick got his mannerisms—and his eyes. Him, creeping on the tail end of forty, only highlighted the similarities, and I rubbed the center of my chest, taking a long drink of the cold, frothy liquid.
“Dad would have loved the renovations to the house, Mark,” I said, motioning with my beer to the freshly painted wrap-around porch and brightly colored shutters.
“Dad would have tried to wire the porch fans himself and started a small electrical fire,” Magnum said, laughing as our eyes flicked to the fans.
“That’s why Mom insisted on a fire extinguisher in every room,” I said, feeling lighter as laughter permeated the night air.
“I still do.” Mark tilted his rocking chair back and reached underneath the low-sitting table to remove a small red extinguisher. Our laughter increased, and I raised my beer in a silent toast to the man as we clinked bottles and drank deep. I put the empty bottle on the table, and Maverick groaned and reached into the cooler again to hand me a second. I nodded my thanks and pressed the cold bottle to my forehead.
“Rough day?” he asked, passing a beer to Magnum. Mark declined another, and I took a moment to savor the liquid before answering.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Well?” Mark said, leaning back in the rocking chair. “I’ll take any excuse not to discuss baby shit and the shelf life of breast milk.”
“Damn, dude.” I chuckled, suppressing a shiver and shaking my head. “Paternity leave getting to you?”
“No. Not really. I’m so fucking happy I can barely stand it, but sometimes the adult conversations can be lacking. Between diapers and interviewing daycares…” He waved a hand as his voice trailed off, taking a long pull from his beer. “The distraction is nice. I’ve missed this.”
He gestured to us like he wasn’t used to expressing complex emotions. I tapped my foot on the floor, running a hand through my hair and cracking my neck.
“Jesus, Miller. The suspense is killing me,” Maverick said, tossing a bottle cap at me. I caught it, laughing, and threw it on the table beside several others.
“My day started okay, but then I got caught up over at the project on Alan Street. Spent an hour in a dank crawl space trying to cobble together how the store got the shitty wiring working to begin with.”
They waited, sharing a silent conversation involving raised brows and rolled eyes as I set the bottle on the table and spread my legs, resting an elbow on each knee and dropping my head. “I left the job early because Emma sent me a panicked text from some useless work event, saying she needed me.”
“Huh,” Mark said, and I raised my head, watching him scratch his short beard. “Shame you weren’t able to help. I’m sure she would have appreciated it.”
“Oh. I know she appreciates all his talents,” Magnum said, reaching over and slapping me on the arm. I scoffed. He’d been spending so much time with his girlfriend he was barely at the house anymore, let alone around enough to comment on my sex life.
“She likes your assets, yeah?” Mark joked, chucking and threading his hand behind his back and tilting the rocking chair.
“I’m sure as much as Jenna appreciates yours,” I said, nudging him with my shoulder. He hissed as my elbow connected with his stomach, rocking forward in the chair as we laughed again.
Why don’t we do this more often?
“What did you do after you set the wiring to rights?” Maverick asked, helping himself to another beer. I reached forward, grabbing a cookie from a small plate on the table, missing when Jenna stepped onto the porch to say hi and set down the plate.
“Hm? Oh. No. I went to the work thing.”
“What? Dressed like that?” Magnum said as he leaned forward and turned toward me. I clenched a fist under my chin and closed my eyes.
“Yes. I know. I panicked, and it went about as well as you think.”
“You look wrecked. What happened?” Magnum asked, slamming the bottle on the table hard enough that my gaze darted to his.
“I overreacted, okay?” I said, standing. I paced the length of the porch, then turned and did it again, raising my head to the sky and wishing Simon was here with one of those fancy cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t smoke. My hands needed to stay busy, to do something other than run through my hair and clench.
Smoking seemed reasonable; it was a better decision than others I’d made tonight.
“She said that she was in a pickle. That she needed me, okay? I panicked. Freaked out. Choose whatever fucking verb you like. I threw my phone in the truck and sped to the hotel. It wasn’t until she turned to me in this beautiful, backless dress that I realized how badly I misjudged the situation.”
“Ah,” Maverick said, rubbing the ‘eleven’ between his brows. “I take it you being there in muddy work boots and a rip in your jeans wasn’t what she planned?”
I hummed, not bothering to fill in the blanks. They could do the rest. Let them think the worst of me. I deserved it. Sure, her words were cruel, but I provoked them. I snatched my beer from the table, but the flat, cool suds did little to quench my thirst because it wasn’t what I wanted. Getting pissed and going on a bender this weekend wouldn’t solve things.
“You know what Dad would do, right?” Maverick said, moving to rub his right temple.
“He’d ask for help fixing something not broken,” I said.
“Yep. Then tell a story about him and Mom.”
“My favorite was the one about him always making sure he’d open the door for her,” Mark said. I leaned against the railing, remembering that story well. “So she could always walk in first with his hand on her back.”
“Mom once told me it was because he liked to check out her ass,” Magnum said, suppressing a shiver.
“Gross.”
“Yuck.”
“Really, dude?”
Magnum laughed, leaning forward and bracing his hands on his knees as the three of us reached for beer bottlecaps and pelted them at him. He raised one leg off the floor, trying to cover his head, but failed miserably as almost a dozen caps came barreling toward him.
“Hey. Hey. Cut it out. Jackasses. We are here to save Miller’s sorry ass from whatever hole he’s dug himself into. Not maim my handsome face.”
“Then stop commenting on our mother’s sex life,” Maverick said, taking two cookies off the plate and throwing them at Magnum since the bottlecaps had already been used as ammunition.
“I need to fix this, guys,” I said quietly. I scratched my chin and frowned, seeing the dirt under my nails. What a pathetic fuck-up this was.
“So, apologize,” Mark said, shrugging. He picked up the bottle of bourbon from the table and read the back, letting out a low whistle and staring at Maverick. He nodded toward the rocks glasses lying on the small table by the porch swing, and Mark grabbed them before opening the bottle and pouring us each two fingers of the amber liquid.
I finished the last swig of beer before accepting the glass from my youngest brother, swirling the liquid around as the caramel and smoke aroma rose high enough for me to smell.
“It’s going to take more than an apology. She deserves more. Much more.” I stared at the floor, leaning back against the railing on the porch and crossing one ankle over the other. The bourbon burned as I took a sip, holding the liquor in my mouth like I wanted to punish myself for how I treated her. Swallowing the gulp down, I sighed. Damn.
“How badly did you fuck things up?”
I raised an eyebrow, staring at Maverick. The smooth flavor and rich aroma did nothing to squash my unease.
“Ah. I see,” he said, leaning back in his chair and resting his glass on his right knee. “You love her, don’t you?”
“What?” Magnum said, jerking his head from the ground where he’d been searching for the rogue bottlecaps. “Miller? Is that true?”
Taking another sip, I pressed the glass to my forehead and nodded. Murmurs and groans filled the space, drowning out the crickets chirping in the evening breeze. I dragged my boot against the porch, kicking a pebble lodged between the boards.
“So, we need something more than an apology?”
“Yeah,” I said, raising my head to face Mark, who nodded and sipped his bourbon.
“Do you know when her next work thing is?”
I shook my head, stuffing the hand not holding my drink into my back pocket to keep from fidgeting. “But I could find out.”
I tilted my head, removed my hand, and rubbed my lips, wondering how many trips to the bakery it would take before Mrs. Bella divulged the details of the next event. It was some sponsorship, right? Lacrosse?
She would need a date.
Someone she would be proud to have on her arm.
Someone who knew not to bring her appetizers with cheese and who remembered she had two left feet.
“I think I know how to fix this,” I said, finishing the drink in one gulp and setting the empty glass on the railing. “But I’m going to need to dig my tux out of the closet and get some help.”
Maverick stood and stepped forward, slapping me on the back with a smile. “Say the word, man. What can we do?”