I smile. He can’t see it, but I know he feels my grin when his hands skim my face. Our mouths are almost brushing and my knees are already crumbling. Milo touches me like I’m perfect and he’s in awe.
“You missed me?” I whisper. His laugh is a silent ghost and turns my joints liquid.
Molten.
Now I’m laughing. “Prove it.”
11
Milo’s lips catch mine and it’s everything I remember: soft, teasing. And then insistent. He presses me into the chair, pinning me underneath him as my hands dig into him, dragging him closer.
Always closer.
“Where have you been?” I murmur against the angle of his jaw.
“Looking for you.”
I start to pull back and Milo cuts me off, covering my lips with his. He’s on his knees now, and I am disintegrating.
Where has he been? What happened? I splay both palms against Milo’s chest and push. He doesn’t budge.
“Milo!” I rip my mouth away from his, hear him panting. “Seriously. Where have you been? We can’t get caught doing—”
“It’s okay. I told them about us.”
“You what?” I kick both feet into the floor and wrench my chair away, putting space between us.
“Ashamed of me?” Milo’s still on his knees, the tips of his fingers grazing the floor. The half-light from the windows has caught his eyes, turning them plastic bright.
“Don’t be stupid,” I whisper, feeling my stomach go cold and oily. “It’s just . . . just . . .”
“Just what?”
“You don’t give people stuff like that.” In the dark, it’s easier to say what I mean. My voice is climbing and I’m struggling to make it stop. “You don’t volunteer info on yourself—or someone you care about.”
Milo stiffens, watching me for a silent moment before pushing to his feet. “Just say it, Wick. You think I gave them leverage on you. You think I sold you out.”
I do . . . sort of. I didn’t tell Hart anything about Milo. I withheld. I protected him. And now . . . I square my shoulders. “You did sell me out. I didn’t tell them anything about you.”
“Maybe you should have.” Milo shrugs. “It’s not like we have anything to hide. Not anymore.”
He’s right of course—all the lies and all the sneaking around. It’s finally caught up to me. I’m paying for it.
But by now the silence between us has stretched too long. I take Milo’s hand in both of mine. “How did they . . . catch you or whatever?”
“Catch me?” His smile is equal parts cocky and amused and perfect. “No one catches me. You should know that.”
I wait, brows raised, until Milo looks away, dipping his face into the shadows.
“Fine. I think one of my customers sourced me originally, but after I figured out you were here, I wanted to come.”
“How . . . ?”
“Circled the block and caught the license plate of the town car. You’re acting like they dragged me here; is that what happened to you? When I saw you walking out of your house with Hart, I thought . . .”
I grimace. “It was a surprise, but only to me. Apparently, Bren had been planning it for a while.”
“Damn. That’s cold.”
“Pretty much.” I chew my tingling lower lip and taste the mint from Milo’s ChapStick. “So what’s the deal? Are you stuck here like I am?”
Another soft laugh. “You mean, can I leave if I want to? Yeah, I can leave.” Milo drops his chin, considering my mouth, my eyes, my ragged Kool Aid–red ponytail. I try to smooth it down as he leans into me.
“However,” Milo breathes, making the words feel liquid against my lips. “I have a fairly compelling reason to stay.”
I grin. “And that is?”
Milo smirks. “I might’ve accidentally blown up the restaurant. Like sky-high.”
“How do you ‘accidentally’ blow—” I stop myself. No, it could totally happen. Milo lives—lived—in a run-down restaurant and had that place rigged with explosives from top to bottom. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”
“Luck has nothing to do with me.”
“Ass.” I give him a shove and Milo gives me a single step back. “What about your dad? Where’s he?”
The mention of his father passes through Milo in a shudder. It’s so quick I’m not even sure I saw it.
“Haven’t seen him,” Milo says. “He hasn’t been at any of the shelters. He isn’t at any of his usual haunts so . . . I don’t know. He could be anywhere.”
Or he could be under an overpass. Or floating facedown in the Chattahoochee. Or in the ground. All the horrible possibilities hang between us and I want to tell him how sorry I am, but that’s never something Milo wants to hear. Ever.
“Anyway,” he continues. “They’ve had me on lockdown while they ran a background check. Now that I’m clear, they’re offering me a place to work—until I get on my feet again.”
I stare at him. Of all the things I’ve ever expected from Milo . . . “Well, that’s big of them.”