Page 86 of Convict's Game
“That’s not the point. I’m so… You lied to me,” she spluttered.
“How? You never asked about him.”
Mila balled her hands into fists on her knees, slices of streetlight cutting over her. “A lie by omission is still a lie. What else are you keeping from me? I can’t believe I started to trust you.”
My stomach gutted out. Everything was wrong. What I’d done was perfectly reasonable. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t see that. “Let’s make one thing clear. I’ll do anything, lie, steal, kill, to keep you and keep you safe. I won’t apologise for that.”
“Great. Then this conversation is over.”
The short drive took us into the underground car park, and inside the apartment, Mila kicked off her shoes.
“It’s after midnight. I get my two hours away from you and I’m taking them now. I’m going to bed. Don’t follow until you have to.”
She disappeared into her bedroom and slammed the door. The sound of running water followed. I trudged to the guestbedroom and showered alone. Then I sat on the floor outside her room, lonely with my thoughts and waiting out the two hours.
If I’d ever been a boyfriend before, which I doubted, I didn’t remember it. I had no clue on how to be a good one. Messing with relatives didn’t hit.
I’d fucked up.
When my phone buzzed to tell me the time was up, I entered her room and climbed into bed. She slept in full pyjamas, facing away, and with her brow still lined. I curled around her. Mila shifted away from me.
The tight ache in my chest didn’t budge even in my sleep.
Nor did it the next afternoon, when Mila got up early and didn’t wake me. She spent most of the day on the phone and with her nose buried in her laptop or talking to needy relatives who seemed set on guilt tripping her, and giving me yes or no answers.
A couple of times, I noticed her checking the news, presumably for an update on Esther. From my own cursory check, the story hadn’t broken.
I ordered us food. Borrowed a pad and pen and started designing games for the warehouse. I had all kinds of ideas. Dark and twisted ways for people to connect. But that disconnect between Mila and me was a weight on my chest I couldn’t shift.
Except in the night when she let me fuck her. She wouldn’t meet my eye, but she came so prettily on my tongue and my dick that it gave me something to cling to.
The pattern continued for several days.
Mila could hold a grudge, that was for sure. Luckily, I was a stubborn fuck who could wait her out. It gave me a chance to play a new game with her.
At her laptop, she’d pointedly ignore me. Unless I worked out on the floor and stripped my shirt. If I scrubbed down the kitchen in just my shorts, her gaze would scald my skin.
I’d purposefully catch her staring. Each time I did, I’d win a point. If I got her to sigh, it was five. A hand to her lips, chest, or thighs gave me ten. Then in the night, I’d reward her with her points winning prizes by way of orgasms.
She could be as pissed off as she liked, but that didn’t stop me adoring her.
In between my game, I searched through the box of possessions I’d got back from the Linnet Road address, finding no phone or wallet but enough information so I could order a new driver’s licence, thank fuck I had one of those, and get a form of ID back.
Arran sent photos of younger versions of us, triggering small flares of memory. Mila listened when I told her, as I never stopped sharing, even if she gave little reply.
At last, near the end of the week, she broke the stand-off.
“I promised some of the family that I would see them face to face. They want me to know how much they’re struggling, and I can’t say no anymore. Will you drive me?”
“I will do literally anything for you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Including scoring points off me. Can we stop with the games?”
“Never.”
Her sigh of defeat lit me up as if I’d hit the jackpot.
Over-fucking-joyed to have her attention again, I drove her across the England-Scotland border and up to the small town of Selkirk.
