My laugh is a single sputter. “Are you trying to say you’re the bad guy? Because that’s stupid, Milo. I know you’re not.”
He considers me, those gorgeous eyes nothing but smudges of dark now. “I am though . . . and I’m okay with that. Or I was. Until you. That’s the thing, Wick. You’re going to want honesty from me, and hell, I’m going to want to give it to you, but if I do, you’ll never forgive me.”
My stomach twists hard. “Forgive you for what?”
“I sourced you to Looking Glass.”
I blink, stare. “I know. You told me you told them we were dating—”
“You’re not getting it,” he says and I can feel his eyes traveling over my face in spite of the fact that I can’t see them. “I sourced you. Not your dad. They never would’ve been able to put a face on you without me. I even made money on it. Wasn’t until later that I regretted it. Well. I sort of regretted it because then we were together. That was because of me too.”
I try to swallow and can’t. “Milo, you took away my life. You made my secrets theirs.”
“Yeah, I did.” He leans forward and I shy away, press my spine into the chair. “But what if you’re better because of it? What if you used Looking Glass as an opportunity?”
If there was regret in his voice before, it’s gone now. Excitement’s piling up the sentences and I know what’s coming next.
Maybe because I always did.
“I was never kidding when I said you could rule the world,” Milo says. “Why play by the rules when you can make your own?”
“Because it’s wrong. I know you know what my dad did. He broke all the rules and look what happened.”
“Your mother followed all the rules and look what happened.”
My breath hitches like Milo punched me. He might as well have. “Don’t you dare use my mother to prove your point.”
Milo shrugs, sits back, and watches me.
“Do you work for them?” I ask. “Is that why you came here?”
“Yeah, they knew you weren’t buying into the program.” Milo takes a deep breath in, holds it, and when his head twitches, I know he’s looked away from me. “They knew if I came in and told you to trust Hart and Norcut, you would—because you trust me. Or you did.”
I’m suddenly falling. I’m falling and I’m falling and I’m sitting so still he won’t be able to tell.
But I can. I can feel every crack and fissure as I break.
“Then all of the kissing and . . . and—” And I can’t say it. I’m Bren now. I’m a coward now. I’m too scared to say the words I need because once I say them, they’ll be real. He faked everything. None of what we had was real.
It was engineered. Just like when they used my mom. Just like Alex said.
I study Milo, try to cram my thoughts into something useful, but all I can think is What do you do when you find out everything you are is made-up?
“No. What we had wasn’t a lie.” Milo looks away and there’s a soft breath of movement by my knees. His hands press together and separate, go to his knees, and move to his lap. “What I had with you might have been the truest thing even if it is the truth that will end us.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
“Because I’m being honest enough to tell you.” Milo laughs. It’s so sudden I jump, maybe even recoil. Everything feels so different and so entirely the same.
Milo watches me. “And that’s the most hilarious part, isn’t it? Before you, I would never have told the girl I wanted—I loved—the truth. Not if it meant losing her. But now . . . now I know that when you love someone they deserve nothing less than the truth.”
“I . . . I . . .” I can’t breathe. He can though. Easily. Milo’s chest rises and falls. He’s relaxed. Unburdened.
Because now I am. He gave his lies to me to carry, to hold, to know.
Tears smear the room and blur his face. I inhale hard. There’s a choice that has to be made now. I have to decide what we’re going to be and somehow, some way, I know if I cry now it’s over. If I lose control, I will lose him.
I hate that. I might hate him. Or I might just hate me. For believing him.
I clear my throat. “Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I need you to run.”
“Why?” I ask. The word is high and reedy and nudging dangerously close to tears again.
“Because I know you’re in trouble.” Milo leans closer, bracing both forearms on his knees. “My mother lied to me too. I really wanted to believe her and she lied. You’re not safe.”
No shit, I want to say. You think? I want to add.
“How can I believe you?” is all I say. I scoot my chair back another inch and he does not follow me. “This could be another lie.”
Milo winces, then nods, like he deserved that and he did. He did.
So why do I feel like I just wounded myself?