Page 14 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

Without another word, his footsteps echo down the hall, leaving me more alone than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

The front door slams closed a few seconds later, and I press Peanut to my chest, stand up, and rock her back and forth, but it does nothing to stop her tears.

“What do you want?” I whisper against the crown of her head.

I’m not angry.

Simply…defeated.

She continues crying.

“Are you hungry?” I ask her, near tears myself.

Her only answer is more wailing.

Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I search for a place to nurse her while ignoring the pool of dread seeping into my stomach along with the glaring truth—Milo’s right. I have no idea what I’m doing. And it isn’t fair Peanut has to be my guinea pig while I figure it all out.

6

Milo

“You’re calling me,” I grunt.

“I sure am,” my kid sister, Reese, replies through the Bluetooth speaker in my new car. “Is she there? Have you held her? And why the hell haven’t I received any pictures yet?”

“I’m on my way to work.”

“You didn’t take the day off?”

My nostrils flare as I turn on my blinker. “Is there a reason you’re calling?”

“I’m calling because I’m your little sister who also very recently found out she’s an aunt, and I plan on taking the auntie job very seriously, my dear brother. So tell me. How is she? Is she so cute? Do you love snuggling her?”

“I haven’t snuggled her, Reese.”

“Why the hell not?” she challenges.

I grit my teeth but don’t reply. I don’t have time for this. I gotta get to work. I gotta get away from all the shit going on. I gotta get back into my element where things aren’t so messed up, where things make sense.

“Milo,” Reese scolds. “You told me you were going to give this thing a real shot. You always said if you were going to be a dad, you were going to be a damn good one, remember?”

“Get to the point.”

“My point is, if you haven’t even held your baby girl, you’re doing a pretty crappy job of being a good father. It’s not like you don’t know what to do. You practically raised me. What’s holding you back?”

“I gotta go.”

“Liar. I’m tracking your location on my phone, and I have a solid three minutes until you get to work.” I can hear the triumph in her voice.

“Stupid iPhones,” I mumble, my knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.

“You don’t like my nitpicking,” she surmises. “Which I get. But I know you, Milo. If you hold yourself back from getting to know your baby girl, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. So the question is, what’s holding you back? Is it Em?”

Em.

Maddie.

Whatever the hell her name is.

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