Page 63 of The Jock
Milo had patched over the wounds and moved on with life and had mostly forgotten all about them. But then he’d met Neville and let him slowly steal away all the things that made Milo happy. And for reasons that maybe he’d never understand, or maybe he didn’t want to look close enough at to begin to understand, he’d let him.
Neville cheating on him, breaking his trust, almost felt like a favor now instead of an injury. It had lit the fire under Milo and had finally given him the strength to walk away. He wasn’t about to send Neville a thank you card or anything, but the new perspective soothed some of the old hurt.
Randy got Milo to the shelter on time and offered him a ride when he was done, but Milo assured him that he already had a lift.
“We should hang out sometime, you know, outside of work,” Milo said as he grabbed his makeup kit.
“I’d like that.” Randy looked at Milo like the sun shone out of his ass. “Take it easy, Milo.”
Milo watched Randy pull away and then he turned his attention to the shelter. It was just a house. A small, well-kept house with a sturdy fence. Milo slipped through the gate andwent up to the front entry. It was a thick door with a peephole and no windows. There was an intercom to the right of it and he pressed the buzzer. Once he’d been identified, the door swung open and Milo was greeted by a woman who was no more than five feet tall. Her hair was short and curly and she wore an apron. She had a spot of flour on her arm and another smudge on her cheek.
“Come in. You must be Milo. I’m Patricia. I was showing Josie how to make bread. I’ll introduce you around while we wait for Hannah to come downstairs. She’s getting dressed.”
Milo followed Patricia into the house. A couple teenagers lounged in the living room, glued to their phones and paying Milo no attention as he walked through the house. It reminded Milo of Gino’s Gran’s house back when he was a kid. Warm and inviting and a little cluttered. An array of pictures hung on the wall, covering the soft floral wallpaper. They told a story of a woman who had a lot of love to give. They were family pictures, but definitely not all from the same gene pool.
Milo followed Patricia into an open-concept kitchen. A woman who looked to be in her mid-forties stood at the counter, kneading bread dough. Another woman sat at the counter, holding a cup of coffee, her frail-looking fingers wrapped around the mug.
“Ladies, this is Milo. He’s going to help Hannah with her makeup this morning before her interview. Milo, this is Josie.” She motioned to the bread kneader. “And that’s Winnie.”
“It’s lovely to meet you both.”
“I’ll get you a cup of coffee, love, and you can set your stuff up right over there.” Patricia motioned to the large dining room table at the other end of the room. It sat next to a set of garden doors that led out to a spacious backyard with another tall fence.
“The light in here is great.” Milo carefully set his makeup kit down and started opening it up. “You have a lovely home.”
Patricia carried his coffee over to him. “Thank you, dear. It’s a lovely thing you’re doing. Normally, we don’t let strange men in here, but the girls spoke so highly of you. They said to say they miss you.” Patricia laughed. “Well, they said a few other things that I can’t repeat.”
Patricia was referring to the girls Milo used to perform with. He’d stopped in at the club to see if there was a spot for him on stage anytime soon, and his friends had welcomed him back with open arms. They’d have let him perform that night if he’d been ready, but Milo insisted on not putting anyone out.
Then he’d talked to them about his plans to volunteer and his friend Laurence, aka Starla Bright, told him about Patricia and the work she did sheltering women and LGBT people who were leaving abusive relationships and Milo asked her to put in a word for him.
By the time Hannah emerged, Milo had convinced Josie and Winnie to let him do their makeup after. Patricia kept them supplied with snacks and drinks and even the silent teenagers appeared in the kitchen. They skirted around like ghosts and Milo saw one of them tuck their fingers in the sleeves of their hoodie, hiding their chipped nail polish.
Without looking at them, Milo nudged the case of nail polish he’d brought. “Help yourself, if you want. There’s remover and about twenty different colors there to choose from. Or, if you want, I can do your nails after.”
Milo went back to chatting with Hannah, who was interviewing at an office later. It took a few minutes, but eventually the case of nail polish moved to the other end of the table and the teens sat there. The taller one helped with the removing and reapplication process.
Milo was on his way out some time later when a familiar hoodie-wearing teen poked their head out of the living room.
“Thanks.” They vanished before Milo could say anything to them.
He stopped and set his cases down. He dug around in his nail polish until he found the color the teen had used. He handed it and a fresh bottle of remover to Patricia. “It looks better on them, anyway.”
“You come back anytime, Milo. Even for a chat.” Patricia leaned in and embraced Milo. Wrapping both her arms around him she squeezed him tight as if she’d known how much he needed a hug. Maybe she did.
“I’ll be back,” he promised. He left feeling ten million pounds lighter than when he’d arrived.
CHAPTER 27
COLBY
“The two of you are impossible.”Taylor threw his hands in the air. “Jonah only has button-downs and old, raggedy t-shirts. And all you have is fucking gym clothes.”
“Well, I do work in a gym.”
Taylor’s glare was sharp as knives. “Not helpful.”
“Most of the time, I’m not going anywhere that a nice t-shirt wouldn’t be enough.”
