If she and Mike wanted to hold sex up as some sacred thing between soulmates, more power to them, but I didn’t see the point of giving one person so much power over you that they could ruin you with a goodbye and there wouldn’t be anything you could do about it. And I was right, as it turned out, because Mike almost destroyed my sister when he left her.
I switch the engine off and grab my purse before stepping out and heading for the front door of Milo’s. I sigh in both pleasure and anticipation because, as predicted, waking up to the sounds of the ocean is incredible. And—bonus—Felicity’s room has a window perfect for watching the sunrise. Well, I assume it is. I haven’t exactly been up that early in the two nights I’ve slept here.
Hopefully, Milo is in a good mood tonight. I know I made him uncomfortable this morning pointing out how many favors he’s doing me. From what I remember of him, he doesn’t like any fawning. Like, at all. He also only likes to talk when it’s his idea, which sucks for him because I’m a talker. Something he surely remembers about me. The thought makes me grin as I close the door and pass through the entryway. “Honey, I’m home!” I can’t resist.
But there’s no smartass comeback, I’m sad to say. He must have passed from the mildly annoyed stage to Captain Grumpypants already. I should really cut him some slack, I remind myself, resolving to just make myself scarce and head up to bed.
It appears Milo’s already in bed and just left the lights on for me because the TV is off and he’s not on the couch where I expected to see him. I turn to hit the bathroom when my heart rolls over in my chest.
“Milo!” I drop my purse on the floor and run the few steps to the kitchen where Milo lies motionless on the floor, one leg tucked under him and his cheek flat against the cracked linoleum. “Milo!” I shake him like an imbecile before remembering my basic first aid. Please, please, please.
He’s breathing, thank God, and I can feel his pulse. So I go back to shaking him. This elicits a groan that makes me double down on the promise I made to God a few seconds ago that I’d never sneak candy into the movies ever again if he’d just make Milo wake up. I also promised never to lie or watch reality TV again, but let’s be honest about human limitations here.
“Milo, wake up. Please.” I cup his cheek in my hand and realize I’m crying. When he blinks his eyes open a few times, I do that awful snotty laughing/crying thing that has never in the history of the world been cute and bend down to kiss his head a couple dozen times.
“You’re awake.” I am a master of the obvious.
He sucks in a breath and rolls to his back, bringing his right thigh with him and holding it to his chest. “Fuck.”
That is now my new favorite word.
“Fuck is right. What happened to you?” I cup his other cheek too, reveling in the warmth of his skin and the soft feeling of his beard against my palms.
“My leg.” He groans again.
I release his face and lean back to take in all of him. He’s wearing his normal uniform of jeans and t-shirt, but both are stained with something dark and he smells like turpentine, I just now realize. Which would explain the blue towels and paintbrushes scattered across the floor.
“What do you need me to do?” My mind flashes to a memory from years back. “A bath,” I blurt out.
“Yeah.” He grits his teeth, and I practically hurl myself to standing and over to the bathroom.
“Don’t move!” I yell behind me because Milo is exactly the kind of man who would drag himself across a pile of broken glass just to prove he doesn’t need anyone’s help.
Good thing I’m exactly the kind of girl who would tackle him to the ground for trying.
It takes an eternity for the water to run hot in the tub, but as soon as it does, I shove in the plug and race back to the kitchen. Milo is in the same position as before, leg hugged to his chest and eyes squeezed shut against the pain.
“The water’s running. Let’s get you to the bathroom.” I kneel beside him and try to figure out how exactly I’m going to maneuver him the twenty feet or so to the tub. He’s quite a bit bulkier than he was at eighteen, and from what I’ve glimpsed, it’s mostly muscle. He’s clearly been keeping up with his swimming in the years since we saw each other last. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to help me out here. I haven’t exactly been keeping up with my weight training.”
He’s in too much pain to laugh at my lame joke, but he manages to roll himself to his stomach and push up on his good knee. I quickly grab his arm to help him stand. We clumsily drag/walk him to the bathroom where he drops to the floor again, this time propped against the tub. My hands work on his boots while he sheds his t-shirt, and then we tackle his jeans together. It’s all very clinical and done in silence, punctuated by the occasional grunt or groan from Milo.
I shut off the tap and help him crawl into the steamy bathwater, where he sinks into it with a giant sigh. I’m practically panting from all the stress and exertion, but I need to keep busy, or I’ll lose it. So I take his dirty clothes to the utility closet and shove them in the washer before pouring in way too much detergent and slamming the lid closed. Then it’s on to the kitchen where I throw the paintbrushes in the sink and set to the task of scrubbing the dried paint off the old linoleum where the brushes landed.
My mind won’t stop flashing back to the seconds before I saw Milo blink, when I thought he was dead or in a coma or something. His whole body was slack and lifeless. I breathe in deep, but it catches on a hiccup, and the next thing I know I’m sobbing into the skirt of my stupid dress.
I should have gone home to Sunview instead of staying here. Home means hugs and jokes and silly games with my sweet, funny nieces. It means heart-to-hearts with Jenna and ganging up on Sam just to see him pretend to be mad. It even means Hank with his taco Tuesdays and dumb video games and awful taste in music. There’s no heartache there. No fighting. No horrific moments when you have to imagine never seeing or talking to someone again.
“Jill.” Milo’s voice calls from the bathroom. I take a deep breath, then drop my dress and swipe at my eyes with my knuckles before jumping to my feet.
“Coming!” I dash to the bathroom doorway and take in the scene of a mostly naked, full-grown Milo stuffed in a tiny tub of steaming water, his eyes closed and head tilted back against the tiles. I can see the tension draining from his features, and I make a concerted effort to control the tremble in my voice. “Are you okay?”
His head lolls to the side like he’s drunk, and he opens his eyes to gaze at me. “Come here.”
I’m stepping forward and dropping to my knees before I know it. My palm cups his cheek again, and there go those swirling colors in his beautiful eyes as he scans my face.
“You make one pretty mountain girl,” he murmurs.
My lips twitch. “Did you take some drugs I should know about?”
“Not yet, but I fully plan on doing that as soon as humanly possible.” His mouth curves in a lazy grin, and my belly swoops and spins.
“I should have thought of that. Tell me where they are, and I’ll get them.” I move to stand, but he reaches out a wet hand to grab my arm.
“In a minute. Don’t go anywhere yet, mountain girl.”