Page 62 of Organized Chaos
“I do,” Milo replied patiently. “Brandon being here doesn’t change that.”
It changes everything.
“But this vacation was supposed to be only the two of us.”
“It is. I doubt we’ll even see him.” Milo nudged his head toward the bar where Brandon had once caught me ogling him. “He hasn’t even left that godforsaken bar since he arrived.”
My back stiffened.
Brandon is less than fifty feet away.
Unable to focus on the conversation any longer, I stammered, “Oh-Oh, okay. Think I’m going to head back to my room.”
“Alright.” Milo eyed me carefully. “I still have one more meeting. I’ll come by to check on you after.”
Remaining impassive, I simply nodded and bid Milo a hasty goodbye with a hug. My heart raced, heels clicking against the marble floor while making quick footwork toward my hotel room.
An invisible cloak prickled my senses as if someone was following me. Hastily, I kept my gaze forward. I was being paranoid. If someone were behind me, I would have heard their footsteps by now.
I swiped the key card against the pad of my door and this time felt cocooned into an embrace, heat enveloping my back. My breath caught, blinking at the unfamiliar sensation before the sound of deep breathing reached my ears.
I turned quickly and barely caught a glimpse of the palest blue orbs before I stepped backward, and the door fell open.
Brandon.
Without a word, he followed me inside the room.
Brandon didn’t appear normal, more like a torn-down version of his former self. A ruffian with the new five o’clock shadow he sported, tousled hair, and red-rimmed eyes. The hypnotizing crystals gleamed for a horrifying moment.
I was aware of how close we stood and could see the muscles flexing under his shirt. Face carved with fury, his larger-than-life stature loomed over me menacingly. “Fuck,” he muttered.
I had hoped for a different scenario when the ruse was up. In the best-case scenario, I had hoped it’d be on my death bed.
In the worst-case scenario, we’d run into each other years down the line after he had forgotten what I looked like.
Instead, it had only been six months, and the wound was much too fresh. He might be angry over my identity, but he had hurt me just as badly.
“Mia?” His mien was incredulous.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” I asked softly.
“You’ve...” he looked me up and down, “...changed.”
Yes, I changed. But still, he didn’t recognize me at all, not even a little?
“I realized who you were when I saw you with Milo,” he added.
For several moments, he said nothing more before the shock subsided and a different conflict dawned on him.
“How old are you?” he asked, slow and cautious in his dialogue.
“I turned seventeen a couple of months ago.”
His head snapped back, mind reeling. He was calculating my age the first time we had sex. I was sixteen at the time, perfectly legal in France.
“We didn’t do anything illegal,” I quickly added.
Brandon seemed far from reassured. He ran two hands through his hair and breathed heavily, sweat beads forming on his temple. I knew where his mind had fled—his dad. To him, history was repeating itself in the most horrifying way. The guilt hung heavily on his face.
