Page 1 of Discord
Brandon
“I’m busy. Make it quick.”Milo’s No.1 response made it painfully easy to crack his veneer, egging me on.
“What’s the forecast for today in Chicago?”
“I’m going to hang up if you don’t get to the point.”
“Would you describe it as sweater weather?”
Milo was quiet on the other side. He didn’t hang up, but I could taste his frustration through the phone.
I had been pushing his buttons more frequently as of late. Misery liked company, and since it felt like Milo had robbed me of everything, he owed it to me to join this miserable club. I was tired of suffering alone.
I wasn’t sure which emotion would take the lead if I ever sawMayaMia again—bewilderment, anger, or lust. Turned out that all three intermingled to create an explosive mix ready to obliterate everything in the vicinity. To have found her again, my last remaining semblance, only to give it up because of fucking Milo. For I might have complicated feelings about our friendship, but even I couldn’t justify chasing after his teenage sister as obscure.
It was wrong. Plain and simple.
“I’m assuming Aldo didn’t give you the news you had hoped for about that girl.”
I gritted my teeth.
Perhaps Icouldjustify it. It’d be so easy to turn the fucker’s world upside down. Sometimes my hands visibly shook for control to abstain from doing so. Especially on the days he played dirty to get a rise out of me.
“I’ll take your silence as my answer.” He sounded bored. “But I fail to understand how moving to California will make things better or why you are doing this in the first place.”
Because that’s how much space was required to fight the urge to seekherout. “Because then I don’t have to live in the same city as you,” I said with equal amounts of ennui. “Just the thought makes me happy.”
“If it makes you so happy, why did you take it out on our routers?”
Instead of responding, I ran my fingers through my hair.
After our altercation in Nice, I returned to my monotone life with lethal fury inside my chest. I had fought hard to escape my past and hadn’t made a single mistake in ten years.
Then Hurricane Mia hit me—category infinity. The little attention seeker catfished me. Served me right. Women were filled with deceit, and I should have known better than to let one of them under my skin.
For too long, I had put my life on hold because of her, convinced I hadn’t conjured up a weekend. Turned out it was imaginary. I had spent months obsessed with a fictional character. I had exercised considerable lapses in judgment for a girl so insignificant it was damn near infuriating. Not to mention unattainable.
It wasn’t just about waiting for Mia until she turned eighteen. Milo had witnessed too many of my errors to rectify. After Mom passed away, I indulged in lines of blow, alcohol, reckless behavior, impulsive trips, irresponsible tattoos, and even jail time in Nice. All around bad choices and the worst choice for his baby sister.
My only redeeming quality was my aversion to being a man whore. But it wasn’t enough of a saving grace, not for Mia—Milo’s pride and joy.
If I pursued her, I’d have to go to war with her brother no matter what age she happened to be. Ultimately, it’d be all for nothing because she’d still pickhimover me. She confirmed it herself.
The latter left me resentful of Milo. It also made me decide to move to California.
Bitter irony filled me.
How long had I searched for her? What had I not done to find her? Tracked anyone in Paris matching her description or using that alias. Recounted my every move for clues. All dead ends, only to find out she had been under my nose this entire time.
Utterly absurd because finding her had forced me to put the distance of a country between us. That’s why I spearheaded this project to open a new branch on the West Coast. Otherwise, my resolve would break before she turned eighteen. If I waited to pursue her, I’d be able to face myself in the mirror, though Mia’s allegiance remained the bigger hindrance.
Despite the rational decision, pestering thoughts of her refused to leave my mind. One fucking weekend had fueled an obsession. I had dreamt of it and replayed the moments repeatedly to relive them inside my mind. I had never wanted something so bad. It left a physical gnawing under my skin, rendering me incapable of an ounce of peace until finding myself at the Sinclair home.
“Brandon?” Reid held open the door, surprised. Rightfully so. “Hey, long time. Come on in.”
“Hey, man.” With trepidation, I followed him inside. My eyes inadvertently swept the place, searching for a glance of golden hair.
“Since when do you migrate out of Noho?”
