Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
The moment Milo saw my eyes on said table, he grumbled to himself and hurried over to clear it. “Sorry. It’s my dad,” he tried to explain, pushing down the bit of embarrassment. I walked over and helped him clean it up. “Don’t worry about it. I can help.”
“You don’t have to. I got this,” he said before standing and running into the side of the end table next to the recliner chair. “Shit!” he yipped, almost dropping the cans in his hand. “Fuck!”
“Are you okay?” I asked, rushing over to him.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, his anger building by the second. The moment he realized his tone, he looked at me and sighed. “Sorry. It’s just a lot right now.”
“Here, give it to me.” I took the items from him and went to toss them into the trash bin. When I came back, I could see how defeated he appeared as he rubbed his leg where he’d hit it. “Can I make you something to eat? Or tea? Coffee?”
He shook his head as his back was turned to me. He stared outside at the falling snow. April was right around the corner, yet snow was still dusting over our town as if it had no plans to vanish.
I was so worried about him but wasn’t certain what I could do.
“Milo…how can I help?”
He turned to look my way and then walked over to me. He pulled me into a hug, and I held on tight. We stayed there for a second before his lips kissed my forehead, then my cheeks, then the curve of my chin, then my neck, then…
“Milo, wait,” I whispered as his mouth trailed down the nape of my neck. Shivers moved through my system as I fought my wants versus his actual needs. Yes, his mouth against my skin felt good, the warmth of his touch trailing against me. I wanted him. There was no denying that fact because I always wanted him. My brain knew it wasn’t right, but my heart didn’t care about right or wrong. All it knew how to do was fall for the broken boy who every now and then let me into his shattered pieces. But it wasn’t what he needed. He didn’t need physical intimacy or a lover at that moment.
He needed a friend.
He needed me to be his friend.
“I want you,” he whispered against my skin. His tongue slipped from his mouth and traced along my collarbone. “I want to taste every piece of you,” he swore, his hands roaming against my waistline.
“Milo, no,” I said, stepping away from him.
The room felt as if it chilled over as confusion flurried throughout his eyes. “What the hell, Star? I just want you right now. That’s it.”
“No, Mi. You’re sad and worried.”
“No, I’m not. I’m fine.”
My heart ached for him because I could feel his frustration. I could sense his want to disconnect. To unplug and lose himself against me so he wouldn’t have to face reality. He was doing everything in his power to avoid facing the truth about his shattered heart.
“You haven’t said a word about your father since we left the hospital,” I calmly stated. “That worries me. We should talk about it and—”
“Don’t,” he whispered through gritted teeth. He turned his back to me, and his shoulders dropped as he shook his head. “If you don’t want to fuck, you can just leave,” he coldly stated.
“Mi—”
“I mean it, Starlet. I don’t want to have a fucking heart-to-heart session with you, all right?” he shot at me. He turned my way, and his eyes almost shattered every inch of my being. His eyes showcased the opposite of what his words were stating. I saw it in his stare—the need for comfort. The fear of his solitude. The pain of the possibility of yet another massive loss.
How much heartbreak could a heart have before it simply gave up on beating?
I moved toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“You need to let it out.”
“There’s nothing to say. Okay? My father’s a drunk who got himself into this situation. End of story.”
“Mi—”
“What?!” he cried out, his voice cracking as he took steps away from me. “What do you want me to say, Star? You want me to talk about how pissed off I am at him? You want me to express how damn traumatic this is for me, not knowing if he’s gonna be okay? You want me to dig deep into how messed up my mind, and my thoughts are, knowing that I could get a call any second now saying he’s gone? Is that what you want?” he asked. He was yelling, but I knew he wasn’t shouting at me. He wasn’t angry with me. He was pissed off at the world. At the injustices of it all. At the unfairness. With just cause.