Messy strokes wrecked ro.., p.9
Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates), page 9
“It’s a shame,” he sighs.
“Why?”
“I’ve heard grandparents can be pretty awesome. In another world, I’d like Penny to have a set of grandparents she can rely on.”
“In another world, I’d like Penny to have a set of grandparents she can rely on,” I return. “I’d love to reconnect with my parents. But you weren’t there when I told them, and I’m not going to subject Penny to people who don’t want her, ya know?”
“Maybe they were surprised––”
“And maybe they were so disappointed in my decisions they’re going to take it out on their grandbaby for her entire life.”
“And maybe you’re being unfair,” he volleys right back.
“Says the guy who has an even shittier relationship with his parents than I do,” I huff, the words tumbling out of me before I can stop myself.
Shit.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I glance at Milo to find him staring blankly out the windshield. And even though I know he’d never admit it, I struck a nerve.
“The ball’s in their court,” I murmur. “And I highly doubt they’ll ever reach out. Not after the way we left things.”
“Then, it’s their loss.”
“I guess so,” I whisper. “How ‘bout you? Did you call your parents when you found out?”
He shakes his head. “Not a chance in hell am I letting my parents come close to Penny. I haven’t seen them since…”
His voice trails off, but it doesn’t stop me from putting the pieces together. He hasn’t seen them since he beat the crap out of his dad, and his mom called the cops on him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have brought them up.”
“Don’t be. It’s old news.”
“Your mom betrayed you, Milo. You’re allowed to be hurt.”
“My mom betrayed me a shit-ton of times growing up. I dunno why I thought it would be any different.”
“She’s the one who called you, Milo,” I remind him. “You weren’t sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. You were trying to save her.”
“Yeah. And look where it got me,” he scoffs and shakes his head as the memory of the night in question rises to the surface. “I can’t believe I actually fell for it, though. I’d begged her to leave my dad’s sorry ass a thousand times while growing up, but she was always adamant they loved each other. One drunken night, he decides to use her as his own personal punching bag––again––and what does she do?”
“She calls the only person who ever managed to stand up to him,” I answer, resting my hand on his thigh. “You.”
“I was an idiot.”
“You weren’t an idiot.”
“I was. I drove back there. I knocked on their door.”
“You didn’t know she was going to change her mind, Milo.”
“I should’ve, though,” he argues, his voice rising. “She’d done it so many times. Bitching about my dad while she was drunk, only to sober up the next day, her fear dragging her back into his arms. When she answered the door and told me she wanted to stay, I should’ve left. But the bruises…” He shakes his head.
“I know.” My hands clench as my need to comfort him overwhelms me. I don’t know how, though.
But this? This helplessness? It’s killing me.
Lost in the memory, he breathes out, “They were everywhere, Mads. I begged her to leave him. To come live with me. I would’ve checked her into rehab. Gotten her the help she needed. But he had to open his fucking mouth, ya know?”
“I know.” A sting hits the back of my eyes, but I blink it away. “I would’ve hit him too.”
With a sigh, he runs his calloused hand through his short hair. “Didn’t expect my mom to call the cops on me for it.”
My grip tightens on his knee as my frustration threatens to consume me. I grimace, still pissed at how easily his own flesh and blood betrayed him. Where the hell was the woman’s motherly instincts? How dare she? Having her own son arrested for assault against the man who’s not only abused her but abused him and his sister their entire lives until they could escape?
It’s ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
But he doesn’t need my anger. He has plenty of his own.
“Thanks for bailing me out,” he adds, glancing at me. “I tried to call my roommates, but––”
Ticking each excuse off my fingers, I reply, “Gibson was working. Jake had a final the next day. Fender was touring. River was out of town on a shoot, and…” I tuck my hands into my lap. “I’m glad I could help.”
If only I hadn’t opened my big, fat mouth to Marty and told him why I couldn’t hang out when it all went down. If only I hadn’t told him where I was going. I thought it was a good excuse to keep from seeing him. I had no idea it would snowball into wrecking me the way it did. Wrecking us both the way it did.
But I guess hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Picking at my cuticles, I ask, “Did, uh, did Jos ever find out?”
“You know what would’ve happened if he had,” Milo returns.
“So, no?”
“No. He never found out.”
“One good thing, at least.”
“Yeah.”
“Has he sold you the business yet?”
His eyebrows raise above his sunglasses as his head turns my way like he’s surprised I mentioned it. “The shop?”
I nod.
“Not yet.”
“But you’re still planning to buy it, right?”
“I’m surprised you remember.” His mouth ticks up, showcasing his dimples before he replaces it with a frown. “We were supposed to sign the papers a few weeks ago, but he got cold feet and postponed it. Again.”
“Wait. Why does he keep getting cold feet?” I ask, my mama bear ready to go to battle. Milo deserves the shop. He deserves the world. I’ve seen how much work he puts into the place. How much he’s sacrificed for it. Why would Jos keep it from him?
“I dunno,” Milo mutters as he turns onto a side street.
“You don’t know? Did you ask him?”
“He won’t tell me. Keeps pushing me to do things outside of the business, which is a bunch of bullshit. The shop is my life. He should understand. It’s his too.”
“Did he say how long he wanted to postpone the sale?” I prod.
“It’s supposed to happen in the next few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” I repeat, my mama bear retreating. “That’s not too bad.”
“If he sticks to it.”
“He will.”
“Mm-hmm,” he grunts, unconvinced.
“He will,” I repeat. “And when he does, you’ll officially be the owner of Etch 'N Ink.”
Another soft smile, one with disbelief and maybe even a little awe, flickers across his face. Like he hasn’t even let himself think so far ahead, afraid it’ll be ripped from his fingers once more.
“Yeah,” he admits on an exhale. “I guess I will.”
“I’m really happy for you, Milo.”
He squeezes the back of his neck, looking sheepish and adorable as hell.
Grumpy Milo, I’m used to.
Bossy Milo definitely likes to make his rounds.
But shy Milo? He’s a thing of beauty. And I’ve only seen him once when I caught him staring at me with his hands in his pockets after I complimented his clean kitchen the first time we hung out. Cutest. Reaction. Ever.
Yet here he is again.
I dig my fingers into my thighs to stop myself from ripping off his sunglasses so I can get a better view of his blush, knowing it won’t last long until he covers it with his usual cocky persona. But I don’t move.
He glances over at me, the same familiar smile turning my stomach into knots as he pulls into the parking lot. “Come on. Let’s get your number changed.” He motions to the red brick building in front of us, where a Verizon sign is glowing.
My brows pinch as I’m brought back from my drool fest. I’d been so distracted with our conversation, which, for once, didn’t involve yelling or pointing fingers, I hadn’t noticed where he was taking me.
“Milo, I’m with a different carrier,” I protest.
“Yeah. Well. Now, you’re on mine. I share a family plan with the guys. It’ll be cheaper if you just join it.”
Aaaand, there’s bossy Milo again.
“Milo––”
He turns off the ignition and climbs out of the driver’s side without waiting for my rebuttal.
Stubborn bastard.
I don’t bother to argue as I watch him grab Peanut from her car seat and open the company’s door with my baby cradled against his chest. It’s too picture-perfect, too normal, for me to break it with reality.
In a different world, I wouldn’t blink at joining his family plan.
In a different world, I wouldn’t balk at him taking care of me.
In a different world, we would’ve made it. Together.
And I’m too much of a coward to face reality today.
Nope.
Instead, I’m gonna soak up the imaginary world of Milo and Maddie sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
The one where we lived happily ever after.
Without Marty. Or Gibson. Or past mistakes.
Only us.
And our little Peanut.
Sounds pretty perfect to me.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” I tell Milo, my shiny new iPhone in hand.
Slipping on his sunglasses, he mutters, “It came with the two-year contract.”
“Still.” The bright sun glares down on me, burning my retinas and making me squint as I smile at my own grumpy Prince Charming, who bought me something fancy a few minutes ago. “Thank you.”
With a low grunt, he buckles Penny into her car seat in the back of the car, and I slip into the passenger side, waiting for him to join me in the front. The car he bought because he found out he was going to be a father and wanted to be able to drive with her. The car feels like the tip of the iceberg regarding what he’d be willing to sacrifice for my baby girl. Hell, I’ve already seen it firsthand, and it makes me want to kiss him for it.
But kissing him would be a mistake. A huge, catastrophic, unerasable mistake that can never happen. Because no matter how sweet he’s being, it’s for Penny’s sake. Not mine.
Something I desperately need to remember.
Sure, he’s been amicable today. He even bought me a phone, though he’s adamant it’s only because he wants to make sure he can get ahold of me when I have Peanut. Pretty damn thoughtful, nonetheless.
But how long will it last? Until the next time he wants to get laid, and I have to overhear it? Until Marty finds a new way to contact me and ruins everything? Until my guilt finally eats me alive, and there’s nothing left of me?
No, thank you.
“I have work tonight,” he informs me from the driver’s seat.
“Okay.”
“Want me to pick you up some food on the way home?”
Home.
I smile tightly. “Whatever you want.”
He slips on his sunglasses. “Still a Burrito Bandito fan?”
“Did Grizzly Adams have a beard?” I counter.
His chuckle eases a bit of the tension in my chest as he pulls onto the main road. And a few minutes later, without bothering to ask what I’d like to eat, he orders my favorite tacos and drops me off at his home. The one starting to feel an awful lot like my own.
13
Maddie
Car keys in hand, I go through my mental checklist while standing by the front door to be sure I’m not missing anything.
Recently fed baby with a clean diaper? Check.
Two extra outfits and a dozen extra diapers in case baby decides to have another blowout? Check.
I touch the diaper bag’s strap on my shoulder before unzipping the bag to look inside.
Fully charged phone in case of emergency? Check.
“Where are you going?” Milo asks, his footsteps echoing from the kitchen as he makes his way toward me.
With a half-eaten apple in his hand, he takes another bite, his strong jaw flexing. My mouth waters. He got back from the gym about thirty minutes ago, and his hair is still damp from the shower. The shower I could’ve sworn I heard him grunting in while I was feeding Penny, convinced he’d brought another girl home. But when we ran into each other in the hall afterward, he was blissfully alone. I hate how I noticed and have been imagining him having sex. Period.
It’s been a few days since our little trip to the phone store, and I dislike how easily it’s been to acclimate to our new routine. Comfortable, even.
Shaking off the thought, I answer him. “I, uh, I need to go to the vital records office to change Penny’s name from Baby Girl to, ya know, Penny.”
“Let me grab some shoes. I’ll meet you out front.”
“You want to come?” I ask, surprised.
“That a problem?” He takes another bite of his apple, holding my gaze as he chews slowly, his damn dimples teasing me the whole time.
I blink, forcing my attention to the ground instead of on his stupidly handsome face. “No. It’s just…I’m sure you have plans and don’t you work tonight? I don’t want you to feel obligated––”
“Meet you out front.” He digs his keys from his pocket and tosses them to me. “We’ll take my car.”
The scent of his cologne––or hell, maybe it’s his natural scent––wafts through the air as he moves past me and takes the stairs two at a time to his room.
I swear. This guy is the most unpredictable creature I’ve ever met. I shake my head and grab Penny’s car seat, lugging it out to his car, convinced I’m crazy for actually going along with his orders.
As I close the back door of his Subaru minutes later, Milo swaggers toward me and takes the keys from my hand, our fingertips brushing against each other.
“I’ll drive,” he announces.
I ignore the flutter in my chest and go to the other side of the car, buckling up while refusing to stare at the enigma beside me.
I mutter, “You know you don’t have to––”
“So help me, Mads, if you finish your sentence with ‘come,’ I’m gonna spank your ass.”
He starts the ignition, and my mouth snaps shut, but my heart flutters again. I force myself to stare out the window when I desperately want to stare at him instead.
His new tattoos play peekaboo from his T-shirt sleeve. His big muscles are also playing peekaboo from his T-shirt sleeve. The same familiar dimples and chiseled jaw create quite the view, too, if I remember correctly.
Yeah. I could stare at him for hours.
But I can’t.
If I do, I’ll fall again.
And he’s made his stance clear. Penny, he’ll claim. But me? I screwed up any hopes we could’ve had at a happily ever after a long time ago.
And there’s no getting it back.
The drive to the vital records office is short, and the employee at the service window assures us the paperwork is pretty straightforward.
Clipboard in hand, Milo and I sit down on the dark blue plastic chairs lining the front area of the open room. The place kind of reminds me of the DMV. Hell, it even smells the same, except there’s a hint of baby formula wafting through the air from the WIC window a few feet away. I shake off the realization, grateful I don’t need to apply for another government program thanks to Milo’s help, and begin filling out the form while Milo rocks Penny’s car seat with his foot beside me. The lady’s right. Everything is pretty straightforward.
Until I come to the father’s name section.
Shit.
Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I skip it and move to the next section, praying Milo doesn’t notice as I cover the question with my left thumb. I don’t know what to write, and I can’t handle a fight today. Not when we’ve been getting along so well.
The black ballpoint pen scratches along the line of the next question as I hold my breath and fill out the form like a madwoman. Like my life depends on it. Like Penny’s life depends on it. Like, if I can finish this stupid paperwork, I can pretend everything’s okay, and we can both avoid the giant elephant in the room who refuses to disappear no matter how many times I’ve tried to make it go away.
I can feel Milo scanning the paper over my shoulder, but I don’t stop scribbling away until he grabs my left hand and moves it to the edge of the paper so he can read the entire form.
Which means I’m about to be caught.
“You left it blank,” he mutters, his gravelly voice only inches from my ear.
Not a question.
A statement.
“Yup.” I lick my dry lips, clicking the back of the pen a few times and attempting to focus on the next question despite feeling like I’m being analyzed beneath a damn microscope.
He grabs the pen from my fingers.
Tongue in cheek, I look over at him. “There a problem?”
“Why’d you leave it blank?”
“Because we’re not married.”
And because you might not be the father, despite the lie I’ve let you believe. I’m not about to tie you down even further. Nope. My conscience can only handle so much. Thanks, though.
I smile tightly and reach for the pen, but he pulls it away, keeping it out of my reach.
“So?” he challenges. Apparently, he’s not done with this conversation.
Lovely.
“So, I’m not allowed to fill out the father’s name on the birth certificate without him signing an AOP.”
“What’s an AOP?”
“It’s basically a form the dad fills out acknowledging he’s the father of the baby. I think it stands for Acknowledgement of Paternity or something? Now, can I have the pen, please?”
I lift my hand, palm-side up, and wait for him to return it, but the bastard ignores me and gets to his feet.
“Where is it?” he demands.
“Where’s what?”
“The form.”
I grab his arm and tug him back down. “You don’t have to––”
“Why not?”
“I-I don’t know. Using your last name is one thing, but…” My voice trails off as my heart rate spikes. I’ve already Googled this. So much so, in fact, I know exactly the kind of repercussions which will ensue if I put his name on the stupid line and he winds up not being the father after a paternity test is performed. I already know the odds of that possibility. And no matter how much wishing or praying I do, those odds aren’t one hundred percent, meaning I should leave the damn line blank.
