Milo
OF ALL THE mistakes I’d ever made, this one was the worst.
There were two soft knocks at the door before it creaked open, and Oliver appeared in the doorway. I stole another glance over at the balcony where Jasper was still lingering outside, hands stuffed into his pockets. Our eyes met through the glass, and he quickly looked away.
“Hey, Mi.”
I whipped back to Oliver, my heart on the verge of cracking open with regret.
“Hi,” I said stiffly.
The door closed behind him, but he didn’t move to take off his shoes. He knew he wasn’t truly welcome, and I took more pleasure in that than I probably should have, because I was still pissed at him.
“I’m sorry.”
“So you’ve said.”
He looked down at the floor, clenching his fists.
“I shouldn’t have slept with him,” he acknowledged.
“I know,” I bit out.
“You know how I get when I drink.”
Of course I fucking did.
He had no self-control. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a couple of drinks and gotten stupid, either. I remembered the last time we partied together, and he was drunk, throwing himself at me and telling me how much he loved me with no regard for Sofia being in the room.
“I got all emotional again about almost losing you.” He flinched. “Started saying shit I shouldn’t.”
At first, I was confused. I didn’t understand what it had to do with fucking my brother. But as I pictured Oliver drunk and spilling his guts to Jasper about his feelings for me, the image became deeply unsettling.
If I weren’t the brand of fucked up that tried to kill themselves just to keep their girlfriend from abandoning them, maybe I wouldn’t have seen it.
I wouldn’t have noticed the way Jasper had kept me from confronting Sofia when she came to collect her things, or how he’d pulled me away from Nina when I was trying to flirt with her at my party.
Jasper hadn’t wanted Oliver.
He’d wanted to keep me to himself.
I looked back at the balcony one more time. Jasper was still outside, his back to the railing, watching us. His gaze slid to Oliver, and then back to me, a silent question in its depths.
What was I going to do?
“Go home, Oliver.” I turned back to face him fully.
“Milo, please.” His voice cracked.
I shook my head, taking a half-step back toward the balcony.
“It won’t happen again,” he reasoned.
“I know,” I said impatiently. “Because you can’t be here anymore.”
“Are you serious?” He groaned, throwing up his hands. “It was a mistake. You’re acting like I slept with your girl and not your brother!”
The autumn chill swept over the carpet, a shiver rolling through me—the balcony door opening and closing far too loudly in the charged atmosphere. My heart hammered between my ribs, the scent of marijuana and menthol finding me before the warmth of Jasper’s chest bled into my back.
“Yeah, Milo,” Jasper muttered next to my ear. “You’re acting like he slept with your girl.”
Never in my life had I wanted so badly to punch and kiss someone at the same time.
“I wonder why that is?” he wondered aloud.
His hand found mine at my side. He cupped it, his thumb brushing over my bandaged palm. I jerked back instinctively, but he squeezed, his finger digging into the wound that hadn’t fully closed and making me wince.
I was so thoroughly embarrassed, I thought I might die.
“Oh,” Oliver said quietly, recognition dawning on his face.
“Oh,” Jasper repeated smugly, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I cleared my throat. “Please go.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said for a second time, unmoving.
The humane thing to do would be to put some distance between us, so that Oliver could move on. I’d done so much damage by keeping him close and letting him misinterpret our relationship for my own benefit, thriving on the attention, and now he couldn’t let go.
Jasper was right. I needed to stop giving him the wrong idea.
“I know,” I rasped. “But now you need to go.”
Oliver stood there for a beat longer, on the verge of tears, tensions high.
Then his shoulders finally slumped, and he gave a defeated nod, turning to grab the doorknob and taking a deep breath. He left, the door clicking shut softly behind him.
Jasper tugged on my hand, spinning me around and crushing me against his chest.
“He’s always waiting,” he said bitterly. “He thinks if he waits around long enough, you’ll change your mind.”
“Is that what you think, too?” I eyed him.
About us.
“No.”
He lifted my hand, unwrapping the bandage and letting it fall to the floor between us. The cut from the shard of glass was angry and red, the skin healing poorly without stitches. It would turn into another scar, like the one before it.
“You’ve always been mine.”
He placed an open-mouthed kiss on the wound, his tongue dragging over the split skin agonizingly slow and making me whimper.
“Tell me again,” I rasped.
“Tell you what?” He pretended not to know.
“Fuck you.”
“You’re mine.”
My insides turned to liquid heat.
He moved quickly, grabbing two handfuls of my ass and lifting me with ease. I gasped, hooking my legs around his waist and scrambling to grab fistfuls of his shirt, afraid he might drop me.
He carried me to my bedroom, kicked the door shut behind us, and moved to the bed. I stared up at him as he lay me down, my heart threatening to bruise my ribs from its violent pounding.
“Your turn,” he murmured.
“My turn for what?” I asked breathlessly.
“Tell me.”
His hands dipped under my sweater, pushing it up and exposing my stomach to the cool air in the room. He lowered his head, kissing from my navel all the way up to the bottom of my sternum.
“I’m yours,” I whispered.
“Close.”
He wanted me to stake my claim, too.
“You’re mine,” I corrected myself.
He moved higher, until we were face-to-face. He braced his hands on either side of my head, the mattress dipping under his weight. I couldn’t help the way my bottom lip trembled, my eyes stinging with emotion. I was euphoric. Terrified. Relieved.
He kissed me then. It was soft, tender.
I wanted it harder.
I sucked his bottom lip between my teeth and bit down, urging him to handle me with the same roughness he had just a few nights ago. He squeezed my jaw hard with one hand, disapproval rumbling low in his chest.
“I want to be soft with you,” he said, thumb brushing my bottom lip.
“I don’t like that,” I admitted.
His eyes searched mine. “How would you know?”
The question split me wide open.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t answer.
“What does it mean?” I pressed, on the cusp of breaking.
“Do you think I don’t know you?” His voice wavered. “That I haven’t watched you settle for scraps for seven years?”
“I don’t.” I hiccuped. “I don’t do it on purpose.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I know you don’t, Milo.”
There was nowhere to hide. He fully cupped my cheek with one hand, swiping away tears before they could reach my temples. As my chest heaved, he kissed me again, swallowing the sob that bubbled up.
“I’ll give you everything,” he whispered. “You just have to let me.”
I wanted to.
“I’m scared.”
He hushed my admission with another brush of his lips. Soft. Hard. Patient, and yet somehow demanding—threatening to reach inside of me and suck everything out.
“What are you scared of?” His fingers curled around the back of my neck, thumb brushing over the shell of my ear.
I shook my head.
“Milo,” he soothed. “Look at me.”
“I’m needy.”
“Yes. We know this.”
We’d had this conversation a dozen times before.
“I’ll get jealous.”
“You already do.” He grinned.
I paused, reaching into every dark corner, looking for a reason this wouldn’t work.
“You’ll blow up my phone?” he supplied. “Definitely haven’t done that before.”
“I’m being serious!”
He grunted. “And I’m not?”
I studied him, searching for hesitation that was nowhere to be found. I’d been here before, in the sparkling eyes of girls who swore up and down they could handle me, who looked at me like I was a project. Something they could fix.
“It won’t get better,” I said grimly. “There’s no fixing me.”
“I don’t want to fix you.” He shrugged. “I want to love you.”
My heart stopped, then restarted twice as fast. Heat rushed to my cheeks, excitement and embarrassment tangling up inside me. How could he say something so devastating, so casually?
The urge to fight rose.
Then plummeted.
“Me too,” I rushed. “I want that too.”
“Want what?”
“To love you.”
A faint blush crept up his cheeks. He adjusted his glasses to hide it, but I could see the corners of his mouth tipped up behind his hand.
“Good.”