32. Milo
THIRTY-TWO
MILO
Amuffled voice calls out from the hallway. “Sage, why doesn’t my key work?”
Sage’s eyes go wide. “Amy.”
“I thought you said she was with Tyler?” I whisper.
“She normally is. I guess she’s come home.” She stands, already smoothing down her hair. I watch her panic with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.
“Coming!” she calls out, then turns to me with a frantic whisper. “What do I say? How do I explain who you are?”
“Relax.” I stand, brushing crumbs off my shirt. “I’ve got this.”
“Milo. No!”
I’m already at the door, pulling it open with my best hey-buddy-old-pal smile.
The girl on the other side—blonde, petite, confused—blinks at me. Behind her, a guy who looks like he spends too much time thinking about his hair is scowling at his keys.
“Hey!” I say, bright and warm. “You must be Amy. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Amy stares at me. Then past me, at Sage. “Who . . .?”
“Milo.” I stick out my hand. “Old friend of Sage’s. We go way back. Like, way back. Summer camp. Lots of trust falls and friendship bracelets.”
Sage makes a sound behind me that might be a laugh or might be a sob of despair. Hard to tell.
Amy shakes my hand slowly, still looking bewildered. “Sage never mentioned . . .”
“Oh, you know Sage. Woman of mystery. Keeps her cards close.” I step back, gesturing them inside. “Come in, come in. I made pasta. There’s plenty if you want some.”
The boyfriend—Tyler, I remember him from the file—shoulders past Amy, sizing me up with the kind of look that says he’s already decided I’m guilty of something. And that’s cool, because I already hate him. He’s a rapist’s best friend. In my book, that’s grounds for a hanging . . .
“What the fuck, Sage?” He crosses his arms. “Is this the guy you dumped Brock for?”
The question lands like a grenade. Amy winces. Sage goes rigid.
I, however, am a professional and push my rage and disdain down lower.
Later.
“I’m definitely the guy she dumped Brock for,” I say smoothly, sliding an arm around Sage’s shoulders.
“We’ve had a thing for years. On and off since high school.
Then all through our college days. I was never ready to settle down, though.
Commitment issues. You know how it is.” I shrug with what I hope is charming self-deprecation.
“But now I am. Ready, I mean. So here I am. Settling down. And going down, if you know what I mean.”
Sage is vibrating under my arm. I can’t tell if she wants to kill me or kiss me. Or if she’s just really excited about settling down with me.
Amy frowns. “I thought you said you didn’t go to college, Sage.”
Shit.
“She didn’t,” I say quickly. “I went to college. She visited. A lot. Like, constantly. Couldn’t stay away from me. It was very—”
“Hang on.” Tyler’s eyes narrow. “Don’t you work at the hardware store? Dude, didn’t you go to my high school?”
Double shit.
The silence stretches. Amy’s looking between me and Sage like she’s watching a tennis match. Tyler’s got that gotcha expression that makes me want to superglue his loafers to the floor.
I consider my options. Double down? Pivot? Elaborate backstory involving witness protection?
Fuck it.
“You’re right,” I say, dropping my arm from Sage’s shoulders and holding up my hands in surrender. “I have no idea who Brock is. I don’t even really know Sage. We met a few days ago.” I flash my most disarming grin. “But the pasta is real. You want some?”
Tyler stares at me.
Amy stares at me.
Sage looks like she’s calculating how to turn me into a human pincushion since I know she likes getting stabby.
My adorable little murder kitten.
“I’m kidding,” I add. “Obviously. It’s a bit! Sage and I have this thing where I pretend to be her fake boyfriend to mess with people. It’s hilarious. You should see your faces right now.”
“It’s not that funny,” Sage mutters.
“It’s a little funny.” I wink at Amy. “Inside joke. Very inside. You had to be there. Which you weren’t. Because it happened at summer camp. Which definitely exists and where we definitely met.”
Amy lets out a confused laugh, shaking her head. “O-kay. Well. This is . . .” she trails off as if unsure what to say.
Tyler doesn’t laugh. He’s still watching me with those sharp, suspicious eyes, and I can practically see the wheels turning behind them. Filing away details.
Me too, buddy. Me too.
“The lock,” Amy says, clearly eager to move past whatever just happened. “Why doesn’t my key work?”
“Oh, that.” Sage jumps on the subject change like a life raft. “The old one was sticking. Milo replaced it for me.” She pulls the new keys from her pocket and hands them to Amy. “Here. These should work.”
Amy takes them, still looking mildly confused but willing to let it go. Tyler, on the other hand, is not.
“Nice of you,” he says to me. “Fixing locks for people you just met.”
“We met at summer camp, Tyler.” I hold his gaze, keep my smile easy. “Trust falls—keep up.”
The silence stretches a beat too long.
Then Amy claps her hands together, breaking the tension. “Well! This is . . . nice. Tyler and I just stopped by to grab some of my stuff, but—”
“We won’t be long,” Tyler cuts in. His hand finds Amy’s elbow, steering her toward the hallway. “We’ll let you get back to your . . . pasta.”
They disappear down the hall, and I imagine cutting Tyler in half with lasers that shoot out of my eyes. And then I get really mad that I don’t have lasers that shoot from my eyes.
“That went well,” I whisper to Sage.
“Are you serious? That was a car wreck.”
“No, it was a little dent at best.” I glance toward the hallway, lowering my voice further. “The boyfriend doesn’t like me.”
“Tyler doesn’t like anyone right now. He’s been weird since Brock disappeared.”
I still. “Weird how?”
“Asking questions. Doesn’t believe his best friend would take off without talking to him first.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I think he blames me for Brock leaving.”
A thought touches the back of my head. It’s brief, but enough to curdle a little suspicion.
I watch her face, searching. “Should I be worried about him?”
She shakes her head. “He’s all talk. Spends most of his time doomscrolling and microdosing his own paranoia. But . . .”
“But?”
“I don’t know. I just hate that he’s using this to drive a wedge between me and Amy. She was the only friend I had and it’s like he won’t let her be around me for more than five minutes.”
Tyler’s voice booms from the hallway well before we see him again. “You got everything?”
Amy’s first sentence back is a fluster. “Just need to find my shoes! We could always just stay here, you know.”
She comes out ahead of him, carrying a canvas tote crammed full.
Her face is a mask—polite, bright, trying to hide her annoyance as she leans in to hug Sage.
“I’m sorry about him. Call if you need me, okay?
” Her voice is too high. Sage nods, but her eyes are watery.
“Oh, hey—thanks for getting my dress dry-cleaned. It looks brand new.”
If only she knew . . .
“Of course,” Sage says, cool as a cucumber. “Your shoes are back in your cupboard too.”
“Thanks, honey.” Amy goes to hug Sage again but Tyler grabs her by the arm.
“Let’s go,” he grunts.
“Bye.” Amy gives a little finger wave. “Nice to meet you, Milo.”
“Same to you.” I wave at them as they leave, still smiling wide. “See you around, Stephen!”
Tyler stops in the doorway. “Who the fuck is Stephen?”
“Sorry, man,” I say, injecting just the right amount of sheepish into my shrug. “I thought Amy said your name was Stephen. I’m terrible with names.”
He stares at me, mouth open like he’s about to say something, but it seems his brain comes up short. He jerks his head at Amy, all but dragging her out the door.
Sage is glaring at me.
“Stephen?” she mutters.
“Just checking something, kitten,” I say, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before I head back to the kitchen. “Why don’t you relax for a bit? Put on a movie while I clean this up. If you pick something sad like The Notebook, I can eat you out while you cry. Turn that pain into pure pleasure.”
She gawks at me. “You’re actually deranged,” she says, but she’s smiling again. She’s also blushing all the way up her neck, and her eyes are alive, teasing.
“Deranged is the fun flavor, kitten. Trust me, all the best people are.” I make a show of rinsing the plates in the sink, then glance over my shoulder.
“Movie. Seriously. Pick something. The shittier the better. Double points for anything with sparkly vampires or a tragic ending where I can lick the tears right off your—”
“Fine,” she interrupts, “I’ll find something. But I’m not watching Twilight. And I’m definitely not watching The Notebook with you.” She pauses. “Not tonight, anyway.”