Now Milo’s laughing. “And you sound different. Better.”
“Do I?” I hate how hope wings my voice higher, but I’ve lost a lot and if Looking Glass is my ticket home and Milo trusts them . . .
“Definitely. You sound lighter.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek. “I like the new color. It’s about time. I’ve been waiting for you to get better. When we met, you were so broken.”
“I ruined everything.”
“No, you didn’t.”
My fingers curl into his shirt. “How can you be sure?”
Milo doesn’t answer. He just pulls me closer.
12
The next morning, I sit at my computer station, chewing the skin next to my thumbnail and watching the hallway. All I need to do is just ask Norcut what she had me working on that first day. I should’ve just asked her when we started. It would’ve been natural.
Normal.
I am not normal. I have a laundry list of reasons I will never be normal. I bite down hard and wince. I can fix this. I just have to remember Norcut isn’t my dad. She isn’t Joe. She damn sure isn’t Carson.
There’s a flash of shadow in the hallway and Hart appears—suit and smile, just like always.
Milo’s with him.
Our eyes meet through the glass. He grins and I grin, and somehow, this feels so much easier because Milo’s going to be here.
Hart bumps open one door and motions for Milo to go ahead of him. Everyone stops, stares. It’s pretty much a repeat of my first day, but it’s also Milo. He’s a little over six feet with a lean build, dark skin, and darker eyes—black eyes, honestly. Milo has a grin that can drop jaws . . . and panties.
He’s sexy as hell.
And he knows it.
“Can I have your attention?” Hart asks. It’s totally unnecessary because everyone’s already staring, but Hart’s pretending not to notice our lack of manners. “This is our newest addition: Milo Gray. He’s a hardware expert and I hope you’ll take advantage of his expertise.”
There’s a soft murmuring to my left. Connor and Jake.
“I also hope,” Hart continues, “that I can count on you to make him comfortable and feel welcome.”
Hart’s staring at Kent. Kent’s staring at Milo. And Milo? Milo’s staring at me. It’s like no one else exists.
Maybe for us they don’t.
Milo was the first person to see me, really see me, for what I am. He wasn’t shy then. He’s not being shy now. I kind of want to cringe. I’m still not used to the attention, but then I remember that I don’t have to hide anymore and I grin at him, daring him to laugh.
Kent clears his throat. “Oh, you can count on us to make him feel at home, Hart.”
Milo’s mouth twitches. He’s chewing down that laugh and, suddenly, so am I. If Kent thinks he’s going to bully Milo, he can think again. The jolt of happiness is furious and hot and entirely Milo.
Entirely us.
Sometimes I think most of our relationship is based on how we look at each other and then, together, how we look at everyone else. It’s a constant shared joke, a song we can’t get out of our heads. Like we’re alone, even though everyone else is in the room too.
I used to think it made us dangerous. Maybe it’s actually what makes relationships—real relationships—work.
Maybe that’s something else I’m learning.
“I’m glad to hear you’re eager to help, Kent.” Hart’s iPhone beeps and he checks the screen. “You all know what to do, right? Dr. Norcut won’t be in until later.”
Our cue to get back to work. Everyone shifts around in their seats and the sound of tapping fills the room. Hart’s striding toward me to get to the door. It’s now or never.
“Hart?” I ask as he passes me. “Can we talk?”
Hart stops. “Of course. How are you liking it here?”
“It’s good. It’s fine.”
“Is everything okay?” He sounds like a talk show host again and I try not to squirm. Calling Hart a talk show host isn’t exactly fair. He’s more like a Boy Scout. Which is a nicer description, but makes me feel worse because it reminds me of Todd.
I force my chin up and push my foster father under.
“Yeah, I just . . . I wanted to ask you about my second day,” I say. “About what I was doing.”
Hart’s laugh is a soft burst. “From what I understand, you took a skills assessment test—something about accessing a remote device.”
“I know that. I don’t know why. It makes me . . . nervous that I was turning it on and off. It seemed weird.”
“Weird?”
I try not to grimace. Yes, weird. Just like how I’m acting now.