Page 41 of Came the Closest

Minutes later, we’re downstairs. He lays a sleeping Milo on the sofa, and we try desperately to stay quiet as we drag the lower-level guestroom mattress into the living room. It takes no less than ten times of silently recharging our laughter by looking at each other, muffling that same laughter by pressing our faces into the side of the mattress, and then shuffling another seven inches before we finally round the arched corner.

By the time the mattress is where the coffee table goes, Colton has settled Milo on it, and we’ve each claimed a couch, I should be laughed out. I should be so tired I fall asleep on the spot. Instead, I roll my head sideways on my pillow. Colton is looking at me.

Chin doubling unattractively, I glance down. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my shirt?”

“No,” he says simply. One hand is behind his head and the other rests on his abdomen. He laughs. “I was just thinking about how I basically lost my job today.”

I bolt upright. My blanket falls around my lap, but Milo is sleeping soundly, so I whisper-yell, “What?”

Colton shrugs noncommittally. “Trav says he’s doing damage control. When he said I’d be off the circuit for a couple months, I told him to make it three. Until the guardianship ends.”

Right.

I haven’t asked what happens with Milo after this. I don’t think I’m brave enough for the answer. It’s been less than one day, and I already feel like time is moving too fast.

I slowly lay back down and pull my slightly scratchy blanket up to my chest. “You got fired. Today.”

“Technically? No.”

“Not technically?”

“I’ve been terminated,” he says in his best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice, whisper edition.

I stare up at the ceiling, my own hands clasped on my stomach. It’s too dark to tell for sure, but I think the blue Fun Tack is still up there from when Mom let us hang homemade streamers for my thirteenth birthday.

That was the year Colton convinced my dad to let him ride for the first time.

“Indi needs to be here,” Colton says quietly. “For the summer. For Milo.”

I don’t say anything because I don’t need to. It’s a conclusion I’d come to before he mentioned it, so I only nod. Three blocks from Sam’s house is three blocks too far when it comes to the bond between Indi and Milo.

“You know, if there was a tornado, I’d for sure pick you to be my tornado buddy.”

My head lolls to the side again. Without lightning flickering anymore, I can barely make out his faint smile. “What?”

“If there was a tornado,” he repeats, matter of factly, “I’d want you to be my tornado buddy.”

“Colton, that’s not a thing.” I pause, squinting into the darkness. I’m pretty sure I can hear a mosquito buzzing somewhere in the house. “But why? If it was. A thing.”

I know his eyes are holding mine when he says, “Because you care about the people you love. And people who care about the people they love would make sure their people took shelter if there was a tornado.”

I don’t say anything in response. It’s not a compliment, not in the most functional sense. But coming from Colton and his complex mind, it’s better than any compliment I’ve received in my life.

Hours later, sleep drowsy and only half awake, I roll onto my side. In the blush of predawn, I smile.

At some point in the early morning, Colton went back upstairs to retrieve Milo’s slightly tattered teddy bear. But rather than falling back onto the sofa, he’s sprawled out on the mattress we dragged into the living room. His features are fully relaxed in sleep, and Milo is curled up beside him, his head resting in the hollow below Colton’s collarbone.

On the sofa in Colton’s place is Indi. Her short blonde hair fans out on the Choose Happy throw pillow, her lips are parted, and her expression is just as peaceful as her brothers’.

Colton can pretend to remain unattached all he wants, and I won’t call him on it. But he went to get someone who will make Milo’s morning when he wakes up. In my book, there’s not a greater definition of love than something like that.

Chapter Thirteen

Nun-Ya Business

Cheyenne

Microwave popcorn doesn’t set off the smoke alarm this morning. For one, no one makes microwave popcorn for breakfast, and two, I had to go and make it original by burning pancakes to activate the alarm.

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