Page 52 of We Can't Be Friends

I think Miller is jealous that Aaron taught me how to skate. Aaron and Miller both play hockey, and I wanted to join. Dad surprised me with a pair of skates for my birthday three years ago. Aaron helped teach me before I started lessons.

“You don’t suck,” Aaron tells me. “You are great at skating, Chloe.”

I stick my tongue out at Miller.

Miller groans. “You’re always protecting her.”

“She’s our sister. We are supposed to protect her.”

“Of course, no response from dear ole’ sis.” Miller’s voice snaps me out of the memory.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stutter over the words. Rolling my shoulders back, I sit up straighter. Swallowing down the truth of why I ran, that if Miller really knew, he’d actually hate me; not this fabricated story I’ve concocted in my head. “I’m here now, and I want to help. I’ll talk to my boss about working from home a few days a week. Or if you can move your training sessions to the afternoon, I can be there then.”

Miller stares at me, tossing around my offer better than this Caesar is tossed.

“Please, Mills.”

“Okay.”

I smile softly. “I missed you,” I admit truthfully, resting a hand on his arm.

“I missed you too.”

“I missed you most!” Riley chimes in.

14

CALLUM

Knocking on Chloe’s door, there is no response. Waiting, I knock again.

There’s a light melody coming from inside her apartment, so I know she is home. Turning my ear to the door, the song changes to O.A.R.’s “Love and Memories.”

I try the knob, it’s unlocked.

Her flat is warm, sunlight coating the entire place.

All the windows are open, the breeze from outside blowing the curtains. It smells like the end of summer and flowers.

I spot the vase on her counter, the flowers wilting in the yellowing water. My spine tingles as I rub my thumb on the paper in my hand.

Passing the piano along the wall, I—I didn’t notice this last time or knew she played.

A thin film of dust collects on the pads of my fingers as I run it along the keys. Maybe she doesn’t play.

Peeking into her bedroom, I don’t find Chloe.

“Dais,” I call out for her.

“Outside,” her voice sings before she resumes humming along to the song.

I walk over to the windows. Old enough that they are original to the building, the one on the far left is opened outward.

I climb over the window sill. This might be okay for her height to get outside, but the crouch and bend for my 6’3” body is uncomfortable.

The last note of the song fades seamlessly to the next. Chloe hasn’t acknowledged my presence yet, which is alarming. An unlocked door and not caring who is in her space?

Chloe sings a verse, eyes closed and upper body moving gently as if she’s attuned with lyrics.

---