Head down, Milo went dangerously silent. “I guess that answers my question.”
“Well, you know what they say about assuming,” I said. “When you’re ready for the answer, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I left him to stew, more to get my own shit together. The darkness writhing inside of him mirrored the shadows housed in my own skin. War changed people. So did prison.
Milo had been at war his entire life. First, he battled for his mother, then his sister. Then he gave up his sister to protect her. Along the way, he found brothers to protect. Battle after battle, he’d waged in the war life had given him. It could have cost him his soul, but by some miracle, he’d held onto it.
After the last few weeks, particularly his reaction to Emersyn—fuck she was Ivy, that was never not going to mess with my head—after his reaction to her and how hard he wanted to push her away? I worried he’d lost more than time to the prison, that he’d come out with his soul in tatters.
The kitchen boasted a sink full of dirty dishes and a garbage can overflowing with trash comprised of empty take out cartons. A glance in the fridge didn’t say much for the supplies on hand. Yeah, this was hitting all of them.
It’s hitting you too, asshole. The snide little voice in the back of my head could fuck right off. I sacked up the trash and changed out the liner. Then I started on the dishes. I wanted to make coffee, but it would have to wait until I could actually clean out the pot.
It took a half hour, but I scrubbed down the dishes and the kitchen, even the damn coffee pot. After I got fresh coffee brewing, I took the garbage out. That helped improve the smell. I’d just poured a cup when Milo walked into the kitchen. He hadn’t changed his clothes, but his hair was wet and his eyes seemed more alert.
The stink of beer wasn’t on him.
It was an improvement.
Saying nothing, I sipped the coffee and cleared the way so he could get his own.
“How did you know?” Milo asked with his back to me, as he got one of the cups I’d cleaned out and filled it with coffee.
“Hard to miss when all the signs are there, Kid.”
“Right.” Not that he sounded like he believed me.
More silence filled the room around us, but it wasn’t a harsh or uncomfortable silence this time. It was easier, allowing us to take a breath. Allowing him to take a breath.
“Mickey?”
“Yeah?” I pulled out a chair and sat down.
“What was the answer?”
I shoved out a chair from the table with my foot in invitation then waited. He huffed a breath, but carried his coffee over. Once he’d taken the offered seat, I studied him.
“It doesn’t,” I said, bringing us back to the conversation about the agitation and the buzzing. “It gets quieter. Sometimes you can soften it, but it’s there because you’ve been put in a place between survival and dying. It’s a cold place, the fight is the same, the only difference is you get up after one and you don’t after the other.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Milo shook his head. “That’s not the answer I want to hear.”
“That’s the only answer I have.”
“Didn’t you do something when you got out?” The question, however serious, amused me.
“I did lots of things—I went to a burn unit and fought to make it through each day. I learned to walk again. I finished the last of my degree. Got my medical license.”
“While you were recovering?”
“Yep, because if I didn’t do something, then the pain won. I wasn’t going to let it win.”
“You’re better now?”
“Depends on who you ask.” I took another drink from the coffee and stared into the cup. “I try to focus on the good I can do. The healing. Helping others. I have more good days than bad.”
The quiet ballooned again. The dreams didn’t change though. No matter how many good days I had. Course, a good day was a day where I didn’t have to think about what I’d done or explosions that killed the guy standing next to me or the smell of flesh burning where chemicals splashed on my skin.
Yeah, those were the good days.
There was a sound, faint, but of a woman yelling. At the shout, I glanced at Milo who just sighed.
“Lainey’s pissed I locked her in my room.”
Eyebrows raised. Did I want to know? There’d been issues with her when she first came, but… Yeah. Fuck it. “Why is she locked in your room?”
He shrugged. “She threatened to go after Ivy herself. She had some pretty headstrong ideas. Figured she’d be better off—safer—here, where I can keep an eye on her.”
Right.
“Milo,” I said. “This habit you boys are developing regarding kidnapping girls for their own good? Not a good plan.”
The other man paused, then straightened as he stared at me. Eyes narrowed as a frown took over his forehead, he glared at me. “It’s not a habit.”
“Well, your boys did it and now you have. Seeing a trend here.”
“We didn’t kidnap her. She came of her own volition.” Then Milo took a swallow of his coffee. “Just not letting her leave right away.”
“Cause that makes all the difference in the world.”
His grunt said he couldn’t argue the point. I sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Fine, but don’t leave her locked up in there by herself for too long. That’s cruel.”
“She’s fine,” he argued and this time I did roll my eyes. “Trust me, she’s got teeth and claws. She’s fine.”
I snorted. “Little Bit has teeth and claws too, you wouldn’t want her caged up that way.”
His expression tightened all over again.
“And you’re going to have to stop hating on the boys for wanting her.”
“Shut up.” There was absolutely no heat in the statement. “This wasn’t—”
“No, she should have grown up in that apartment with you and your mom,” I reminded him. “Not the foster system and not with strangers. And I hadn’t…”
“Mom would have gotten the drugs from someone,” Milo told me. “It didn’t matter that it was you. It was just a job to you.”
“That doesn’t make it better, Kid,” I told him.
“It doesn’t make it worse. Like I said, Mom would have gotten the drugs. She could barely function on them, but she didn’t function at all without them. What matters is what you did after.”
When she died. Fuck my life. Leaning back in the chair, I stared at the ceiling. The woman’s shout carried, it was faint but definitely there. “You might want to make sure she doesn’t hurt her throat.”
“She can go for hours, it’ll be fine.”
Nope, not touching that with a ten foot pole.
“You might also want to remember she’s your sister’s best friend.” At least that was who I thought she was. I hadn’t really focused on her details too much.
“Yep, that’s why I’m making damn sure she’s all right.”
Okay, Milo, whatever you need to tell yourself.
“Mickey?”
His question stopped me from standing to refill my coffee cup. “What’s up?”