Chapter 23
It’s hard to storm in Converse sneakers. —Noah Hardaway
Somehow, two days after that terrible phone call with Stan, I still haven’t talked to Milo.
Not about anything important, anyway. You might think it’s impossible to avoid a potentially life-altering and time-sensitive conversation about political subterfuge with your roommate slash the guy you’re dating, but guess what?
I once hid inside a wall for over two hours in the name of survival. I may not be a lot of things, but I am resourceful.
The night Stan and I talked, and Scout showed up in Devon Falls, I claimed I was too tired for any big discussions.
The next day, I made sure I was busy helping Scout get set up with housing at this inn where Gabe used to work, and then I took my time giving Scout a tour of the center, and then last night I made sure Milo and I got invited to dinner at Gabe’s place.
This morning I left him coffee on the counter and breakfast sandwiches in the oven, and I brought Bear over to the center to work on finishing the painting project in the workout studio before it was even light out.
Gabe just got here, so I think I may have successfully avoided any more conversations I don’t want to have for at least a few more hours.
Not that I’m even sure what I think I’m avoiding anymore.
What, exactly, do I think I’m accomplishing by refusing to talk to Milo about any of this?
Eventually, I know, I’ll have to deal with what Ezra’s doing to Uncle Stan.
Uncle Stan’s already left me four texts asking when I can come to New York for family therapy, and I’m not dumb.
I know that if Ezra’s pulling stuff like this with me, he can’t be trusted to support the clean campaign Uncle Stan will say he wants to run after he announces his primary bid.
So there’s Milo’s mother to consider here too.
And Milo. And me. And Milo’s inevitable departure from this community center, which I somehow conveniently let myself forget about, right up until it was shoved in my face when Scout arrived.
“Bear,” I tell the dog, who’s currently curled up in the corner of the room across from me, well away from paint cans while she chews on a bully stick. “Why am I such a disaster?”
“You’re not a disaster, Chucks.”
I whirl around at the sound of Milo’s voice. He’s leaning against the doorway, blue and green Nikes stacked on top of each other. I wonder what year they’re from.
All I want is to run across the room and bury myself against him, because that’s the same thing I want every single time I see Milo. But I stay where I am, paintbrush in hand.
“Gabe and Scout are picking up decorations for the prom with Tom.” He tilts his head at me. “I thought maybe you and I could finally talk.”
Bear makes a whining sound from the corner, like she’s echoing my thoughts.
“I know we should.” I fiddle with the end of the paintbrush. “I’m just not sure what to say to you, Milo.”
He crosses the room in a few steps to stand in front of me. “I’m not sure what to say either,” he finally says, his voice more of a whisper. “Let’s start with some easy stuff.” He grins and pokes at the flannel shirt I’m wearing. “What t-shirt do you have on underneath that today?”
I smile as I finally drop the paintbrush into its tray and slowly undo enough buttons for him to see the front of my shirt. There’s a picture of a cinnamon roll on it. Synonym Rolls, it says. Just Like Grammar Used To Make.
Milo lets out a long, loud laugh. “That’s a good one.”
“It’s okay.” I do the buttons up again. “Listen, Milo, I’ve been thinking.” I push my shirt back into place and force myself to stand up as tall as I can, which means I’m still a full foot shorter than him. “I think I’m going to go back to New York and do this family therapy thing with Uncle Stan.”
“What?” Milo’s eyes go wide. “Noah, why? That asshole Ezra is gaslighting him!”
“Hear me out.” I put my hand up. “I think, in therapy, I can convince Uncle Stan to listen to me, okay? This is the only plan I can think of, Milo.” I shake my head.
“I don’t want Ezra hurting you, or your mother, and it sounds like Uncle Stan’s getting really close to his primary announcement.
I need to stop Ezra. And I can’t lose my father in all of this. ”
“I agree Ezra needs to be stopped,” Milo says simply. “But no way are you going off to fight him alone.”
Given what I know of Milo, his words probably shouldn’t surprise me.
But for some reason, they’re like a freight train running into my chest. “Excuse me?” I say.
Does he think I can’t handle talking to my own father?
All this time, I thought Milo was the one person in my life who didn’t see me as a total weakling. I take a step back from him.
“Noah,” he says. “I agree that you need to talk to Stan. But Ezra’s clearly deep in his ear, and I don’t want you lining up for more trouble all by yourself. Look, let’s talk again about going to my mom and getting her help. Oh, and my sister’s got a PI looking into Ezra, so—”
“What?” I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. Milo hired a private investigator? Without even talking to me? “You got someone to dig into the background of my dad’s staff? And you didn’t ask me first?”
“Chucks, it wasn’t like that.” Milo shakes his head.
“Listen, Mia has this woman on retainer; she wasn’t some brand-new hire or anything.
I just wanted to get us some leverage, you know?
Plus,” he says. “You’ve made it damn clear you didn’t want to talk about any of this, okay?
What was I supposed to do? Stand perfectly still until you were ready to make a move, or least have a conversation with me? ”
I’m not a person who gets angry very often.
I’ve spent the majority of my life avoiding conflict at any cost. But right now, looking at Milo, I can feel a red-hot resentment moving through my body.
The same resentment, I think, that’s been boiling since the other day when he offered his salary to Scout.
“I don’t know, Nikes,” I tell him, and I’m a little surprised to hear my voice come out more like a hiss.
“What am I supposed to do after the community center opens? Follow you to New York? Pretend nothing between us ever happened? Say goodbye and watch you drive off into the sunset to find someone else to take care of?”
Because I don’t get angry very often, I also don’t get to make dramatic exits from arguments very often. But I have to say, it feels pretty good to storm out of that workout room.
Well, it’s hard to storm in Converse sneakers. But I do manage to slam the door behind me.
“What am I going to do, Bear?” I ask the dog, who’s followed me outside to a bench beside the silent gondola station. “Thanks for coming with me, by the way. That must have been a hard choice for you.”
She looked back and forth between me and Milo at least five times before she jogged with me out the door when I made my dramatic exit. Bear doesn’t answer, but she does lick my hand.
“Thanks.” I sigh and lean back against the bench. “Seriously, what’s wrong with me, Bear? I tell Milo I like it when he protects me. I tell him I want him to be the alpha to my omega, or whatever. But then he does something because he wants to look out for me, and I get so angry that I—”
“You speak up for yourself,” a voice says softly. A voice I know all too well. Bear bounces up and runs to where Milo is standing a few feet away, then looks back and forth between us like she’s not sure who she’s allowed to ask for pats.
“Traitor,” I tell her, but there’s no heat in my words. How can I begrudge her running to Milo when I want to do exactly the same thing right now?
Milo sighs and runs a hand over his short hair. “So. Noah. Remember how I told you that I worry I can be too much sometimes? Too controlling? Too overbearing?”
“I seem to remember something like that,” I say carefully.
I’m not quite sure how to wade into this conversation.
Do I owe Milo an apology for freezing him out the way I have been?
I probably do. Looking at him now, staring at the features I’ve memorized over the past few weeks—his long eyelashes, the dark red-purple color of his lips, the soft, hollow look in his eyes he has now, the one he gets when he’s sad—I realize what a slap in the face that must have felt like.
“Maybe I owe you an apology too,” I say. I shake my head. “It’s a reflex, you know? Avoiding conflicts, fighting, anger.”
Milo nods as he makes his way to the bench and slides down onto the other side of it, Bear at his heels. “Because of your mom?” he asks quietly.
“Her moods weren’t exactly stable.” I close my eyes as I remember the dances I’d do around her, the work I’d put into double-checking every facial expression to see if I needed to make her laugh, or hold her while she cried, or stay as far away as I could from her.
I can feel the heat from Milo’s body as he slides a little closer to me.
“See?” I murmur as he pulls my body against his.
“I’m still that little kid in the wall.”
“Oh, Chucks.” Milo kisses my forehead. “That kid in the wall was, and is, fucking amazing in every single damn way. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to him before I got my sister involved in this mess. He’s smart as hell, and strong, and he should have been part of that conversation.”
“Do you plan to keep talking about him in the third person?” I ask.
Milo shakes his head and booms out a long, hard laugh. “Hopefully not.” He nods toward the gondola. “Memories, huh?”
“Memories,” I say softly.
“Listen, Chucks,” he says. “Am I leaving the community center after it opens? Yes. Don’t look like that,” he adds, and I don’t even want to imagine what my facial expression looks like right now.
“Listen. Leaving the community center isn’t leaving you.
I need to move on from this place, figure my shit out.
Decide if I might be ready to be a doctor again.
But what’s happening here, between you and me?
” He leans over and presses his lips to mine, gently and quickly, before he pulls away.
“There’s no way I’m ready to walk away from that.
We’ve still got waters to test here. I promise I’ll try to do better about going all alpha and swooping in to save the fucking day.
Knight on a white horse shit, my sister calls it. ”
I laugh. “I don’t hate when you rescue me, Milo Warner. I think we both know that. And I really am sorry I shut you out the way I did after Scout came.” I shake my head. “I hid from you, right in plain sight. I know that.”
He nods. “I understood why you did,” he says softly.
“Well.” I clear my throat. “No more hiding. I’m ready to make some plans. But I want to make them with you. As…”
I can’t quite bring myself to say the word, but once again, Milo Warner comes to my rescue.
“As a partner.” He says the word almost reverently, and every cell in my body lights up at the sound.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. I want us to do this together. But first, take me back to the cabin, okay? Right now? Please?” The last word comes out more as a whimper.
Milo’s eyes darken as he licks his lips. “Yeah, Chucks? You want me to carry you?” he asks.
I don’t even hesitate before I answer. “Heck, yes,” I tell him.