My confusion increases. Letting me off the hook is so unlike Milo.
“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” I say, sounding as lost as I feel.
He smiles, but it looks all sorts of wrong. Forced, plastic, fake.
I remain standing in the soda section even after he leaves the gas station. I wish I had the guts to chase him down and apologize for what I did before I left. But, like always, I avoid the problem, letting my fear own me.
Chapter Nine
For the rest of the drive home, my thoughts remain on Milo, which is a nice break from thoughts of that night, I guess.
I can’t get over the fake smile he gave me. The Milo I knew was such a genuine person, had been since the day we became friends back in middle school.
Back then, I was a gangly girl who hadn’t grown into her height. I was made fun of a lot, but I never gave a shit. Milo was the same way: all gangly, too skinny, and got picked on a lot. Somehow, he always silently flipped everyone the bird. That’s what made us so awesome together. We were tough and pretty badass for middle schoolers, although Milo was definitely nicer than me. Still, I had felt an instant connection to him the moment I laid eyes on him, like I’d met him in another life or something. When I admitted how I felt to him, he told me the same thing, that he knew he had to get to know me the instant he saw me.
After that, we were almost inseparable.
Eventually, as we got older, we grew into our looks and bodies, and by senior year, we were pretty popular. I was a cheerleader and spent most of high school dating slightly older guys. Milo played sports and, for most of our senior year, dated Sophie, one of my good friends. We remained really good friends and hung out a lot, spending hours talking about our dreams, our hopes, life.
Milo was easy to talk to, and I probably told him more than I ever meant to. That’s what I remember most about him. That and the look on his face after he told me he was in love with me. I remember that as clearly as the guilt I felt over rejecting him.
We drove up and parked at the local make-out spot, a hill that overlooked Honeyton. I can’t even remember why we drove up there, other than maybe because I was leaving for London in the morning and we were both dragging out the goodbye. We weren’t planning on kissing or anything, although there were people in other cars going at it.
We sat on the tailgate of his truck beneath the starry sky and stared at the town below that looked even smaller from up in the hills. That was one of the happier times in my life. I had a whole future ahead of me, spending days in a different city where I would learn how to cook and make beautiful cakes and other delicious treats. I would shop and drink, and spend time with the new friends I knew I was going to make. That’s what I had envisioned, anyway, but hardly anything turned out like I planned.
“What’re you doing?” Milo gives me a curious look as I pretend to pinch the town between my fingers.
I shrug. “Seeing what it feels like to be a giant.”
He snorts a laugh. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“That’s why you love me.” I lower my hand and nudge him with my shoulder. “Just admit it; you’re going to miss my weirdo-ness.”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes glued on the view in front of us.
I rest back on my elbows with a teasing smile on my lips. “Or maybe you’re relieved you won’t have to deal with my craziness anymore.”
He doesn’t say anything right away, his gaze still fixed on the city. I know he isn’t happy I’m leaving, but I didn’t expect him to give me the silent treatment over it.
I am just starting to worry if he will never speak to me again when he lets out a sigh and leans back with me, looking me in the eye.
“Jessa,” he says very seriously.
“Milo,” I mimic his grave tone.
He struggles not to smile. “I’m being serious right now. I need to tell you something important.”
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” I tease with a grin.
He continues to stare at me, unimpressed.
I raise my hands in front of me. “All right, I’ll stop with the jokes.”
He clears his throat. “So, I’ve been thinking … about us.”
At first, I am thrown off. I think he is just going to give me a speech about how we have to promise to stay friends while we are thousands of miles apart. Then, this intense, nervous look fills his eyes, and I grow worried.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
When he doesn’t answer, I sit up.
“Milo, just tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”
He sits up with me, yanking his fingers through his hair. “I’m not trying to scare you … I’m just nervous.” He takes my hand in his. “Jessa, I think …” His fingers tremble as he skims his thumb across the back of my hand. “No, I know I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. It’s part of why I broke up with Sophie. I couldn’t lie to her or myself anymore … I wasn’t in love with her—I never was. I love you. I swear I have since the moment I saw you—since we felt that connection with each other. I want to be with you. I know you’re moving and everything, and I’m supposed to go to UW, but I was thinking … Maybe I can take a year off. I’ve always wanted to travel. I can start in London … and maybe you can come places with me when you have time.”
I gape at him, struck speechless. I didn’t see this coming. Only a month ago, he was dating one of my good friends. I thought they were in love. Now he is saying he never loved her and that he loves me? It doesn’t make any sense. Milo can’t love me, not in that way.
“I love you, too.” I choose my words carefully. “You’re one of my best friends.”
“I don’t just love you as a friend.” His voice shakes, his eyes begging. “I’m in love with you.”
A massive lump wedges in my throat. He is being completely serious. Milo is in love with me. Milo, the only friend I ever told about my storm ability. Milo, the guy who stuck with me through my dorky, middle school days. The guy who held my hair back during Danny’s blow-out bash after I got trashed and spent the night yacking my guts out. The guy who punched Jay Morellison when he spread a rumor about me that I was a cocktease. The guy who held me when I cried my heart out after Ben Amberlen dumped me on prom night. The guy who has always been there for me, who protects me, even when I screw up and don’t deserve his help.
Milo has always been there for me. He means the world to me.
“Milo …” I start, trying to think of the best way to handle this situation.
I don’t want to break his heart, but I can’t lie to him. I don’t think I am in love with him. Not in that way. And the last thing I ever want him to do is give up college to follow me to London. For years, Milo has been referring to college as his “ticket out of Honeyton.” I never once heard him mention a dream of traveling.
“I care about you a lot, but …”
He slips his hand from mine. The look on his face makes me hate myself. “But you’re not in love with me.”
“Not like that.” My heart pounds deafeningly in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
The silence that follows feels like it lasts forever. I can hear every unsteady breath he takes, my heart racing in my chest, the soft flow of music drifting from the car beside us. I don’t know the song, but the singer is making promises of finding a love that can last. I hope she’s right. I hope Milo gets over this and finds a love that will last forever. Otherwise, I don’t think I will ever forgive myself.
“We should probably go,” he finally mutters, hopping off the tailgate without looking at me. “It’s getting late.”
I nod, hop down, and then we climb into his truck.
We don’t talk the entire drive back to my house. I’m pretty certain he doesn’t want to talk to me, but it feels like I need to say something since this is the last time I am going to see him for a while.
“I really am sorry,” I tell him when I am unbuckling my seatbelt. “I just …” I don’t know what else to say.
I wish I could tell him I love him, too. Then the entire situation would be easier. But that would probably only cause him more pain further down the road.
“You’ll still text and call me, right? I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t talk to you every day.”
He smashes his lips together, gripping the living daylights out of the steering wheel.
I’m starting to wonder if he will ever answer me when he mutters, “No, I don’t think I can … It’ll be too hard.” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep inhale before looking at me. So much passion burns in his eyes that, for a split second, I think he is going to kiss me.
And, for a split second, I let myself imagine what his lips would feel like.
“We could’ve been really amazing together, Jessa,” he whispers, sounding like he believes his words more than anything else in the world.
For a heart faltering moment, I do, too, almost enough to want to take back what I said on the tailgate. We could have been great together, and deep down, I may love him. But admitting all that would do no good. Tomorrow morning, I’m going to London where I will start the life I always dreamed of.
He releases the steering wheel, hurt and anger pouring from his eyes. “You should probably go.”
With a shaky breath, I get out of the truck.
Part of me wishes I never asked him if he would call me. Like, if I had given him time then called him myself, he would have forgiven me. Looking back now, I know that wouldn’t have mattered. I will always be the girl who broke Milo’s heart, and what we once were, we will never be again.
I will always regret that.
Just like I will always regret not saying how I truly felt.
Just like I’ll always regret going to London, for many reasons.
Chapter Ten
By the time Loki parks in the driveway of the two-story home we grew up in, I’m so emotionally drained I can barely keep my eyes open.
I yawn, glancing at the clock on the dashboard. “I think the time change is already killing me.”
Kill. You killed her.
My stomach ravels in knots.
“I asked Zhara to clean up your old room and put new sheets and a blanket on, so you should be able to go up and crash if you want.” He reaches for the door handle. “They’ll probably want to talk to you for a bit. You think you’re up for that?”
I nod, letting a shaky breath ease from my lips. “Of course. They’re my siblings.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want you to get too overwhelmed too soon.”
“Is that something the therapist said to you?”
“He did, and I think he’s right. Overwhelming yourself isn’t going to help you recover.”
Frowning, I unbuckle my seatbelt. “You make me sound like an addict.”
“I’m not trying to make you sound like anything,” he promises, pushing open the door. “I just think you need some time to recover.”
“I need to figure stuff out.” Like what the hell I’m going to do if Nolan and Cole do show up. I grab my bag from off the floor. “I spent way too many weeks lying around, doing nothing. It only makes stuff worse.”
His brows arch in surprise. “Really?”
I nod, shoving the door open. “If I lie around in bed, I’m going to sink into a funk again.” And think about that goddamn night.
He sits back in the seat, huffing out a breath. “So, what do you want to do, then?”
“I want you to stop worrying about me.” I hop out of the car and grab one of my suitcases from the backseat. “I’ll figure out stuff. I promise.”
A voice in my head screams that I’m a liar. The text on my phone proves that.
I ignore the voice, hike up the pathway toward the front porch, and push open the front door.
Memories instantly spill over me: the time Annabella and I slid down the banister together and just about broke our arms; when my mom and I hung up the Victorian-style chandelier we bought at an antique store—she was so proud we managed to get it up on the foyer ceiling all by ourselves—all the Christmases we spent around the living room fireplace, opening presents and eating a cake my dad and I baked; practicing cartwheels in the hallway; all the smiles we shared, stories told, tears shed, and the hugs that followed.
I smash my lips together, struggling to keep myself together. I miss all those moments. I want that time back. I want to be happy again. I want to be in a life I feel like I belong in.
“You okay?” Loki steps up behind me.
“Yeah.” I exhale, trying to free the pressure in my chest. “It just looks the same … like they’re still here.”
He gives my shoulder a squeeze, his fingers quivering ever so slightly. “I’ve been meaning to go through their stuff, pack some of it up, and move it to the attic. Mostly just the stuff in their bedroom. I figure you guys can pick out what you want to keep. I just haven’t gotten around to doing any of that yet.”
“I can do it if you want me to.” My voice cracks.
Wariness floods his expression. “Are you sure? Because it might get a little—”
“Please don’t say overwhelming.” I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Where is everyone, anyway? It’s really quiet.”
“Easton texted me about half an hour ago, saying he was taking Nik and Zhara out for ice cream. Alexis is at some art show or something, and Anna’s probably rock climbing. She does that a lot after she closes up the store.” He steps past me, heading for the kitchen. “They should all be back in an hour or so.”
Leaving my suitcases in the foyer, I follow him. “Anna rock climbing? What about her leg?” The idea surprises me. Annabella was in the car accident that killed our parents. Her leg is forever messed up because of it.
“I don’t think the wall’s very steep.” He picks up a stack of mail from the kitchen island and sifts through them. “Luca—the guy she’s dating—got her into it. She seems happy, and Easton gave her the go-ahead.”
“Is Easton her physical therapist now?”
“He was for about three months. She doesn’t need it anymore.” He pulls a face at one of the envelopes then tosses the mail down.
I sink down onto a barstool. “I feel behind, like everyone has these lives I know nothing about.”
He stares at the counter with a pucker in his brow, lost in thought. “I’m sure you’ll get caught up on everything.”
My gaze flickers between him and the abandoned mail. “Is everything okay? You suddenly seem more stressed out.”
He offers me a tight smile. “Everything’s good. I’m just trying to figure out what to do for dinner.”
The little liar. Is he lying not to overwhelm me, or is it something else?
Maybe I’m not the only one with secrets.
“I can cook dinner if you want. I did, after all, almost become a chef.” Admitting the almost part is like taking a kick to the gut.
“Are you sure you want to?” He rubs his hand over his hair. “You said you were tired in the car. I can just have Easton bring back some takeout.”
“No way.” I shoo him to the side as I weave around the kitchen island and open the fridge door.
There’s not much, but after digging around through the drawers, I decide to make some lemon pepper chicken, scalloped potatoes, and a salad. I start piling the ingredients onto the counter while Loki returns to staring at the mail.
I wonder what’s in there that has him so bothered. An overdue bill or something? That seems weird since our parents left behind a decent amount of money.
“So, what’d you tell everyone?” I ask, bumping the fridge door shut with my hip.
“About what?” he asks distractedly.
I swallow my anxiety and guilt before speaking. “About why you went to London.”
He tears open an envelope, takes out a paper, and then his expression plummets further. “I just told them that you needed some help packing up your stuff.”
I open a package of chicken breasts. “Do they think I’m moving ba
ck here?”
He shakes his head. “I just told them that you weren’t keeping your place while you were here for the summer to save some money. They already thought you were coming out here next week, so no one really questioned it.”
“Good. I don’t want them to know.” About any of it.
He reads the paper, scratching his brow. “If you don’t want to tell them, that’s fine. But …” He swallows hard then sets down the paper and focuses on me again. “I want you to talk to someone.”
“I already told you I would.” I can’t look him in the eye, worried he’ll see how uneasy I am.
“I know, but I want to get an appointment scheduled ASAP.”
“I already told you I can handle this. This is my mess. You don’t need to fix it. I’ll call a therapist and make an appointment.”
He shakes his head stubbornly. “I’ll make the appointment for you. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Why are you being so persistent about this?” I bend down to grab a mixing bowl from one of the bottom cupboards. “If I say I’ll make the appointment, I will.”
“That’s what Anna used to say about physical therapy. For months, she said she was going, but she hardly ever did. I don’t want that to happen again. I want to know you’re getting better. I can’t …” He works to breathe steadily. “We can’t lose you. Whether you think so or not, this family needs you.”
Tears burn my eyes as sadness, guilt, and regret press against my chest. God, what have I done? He’s already dealing with so much, and now he has to worry about me, too.
“Okay, you can make the appointment,” I utter quietly.
I really don’t know what to tell a therapist. Not the truth. Definitely not the truth.
He nods, his eyes watering up. Then he clears his throat. “So, what’s for dinner? Is it anything I can help with?”
I laugh, but the noise sounds all sorts of wrong. “You cook? Ha! I’d like to see that.”
“Hey, I’ve gotten better,” he protests. “I kind of had to.”
I eye him skeptically. “The only thing you used to know how to make was pot brownies, and even those always turned out burnt.”
Reclaiming Madelynn (Reclaiming Book 1) Page 7