Page 4 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Are you kidding me right now?” I seethe. Peanut whimpers against me, her little lips pulling into a frown from our rising voices. As I look down at her, the anger burning inside of me is doused almost instantly. I can’t do this. Not in front of her.

With a deep, staggered breath, I rock her softly and drop my voice low. “It doesn’t matter, okay? You made it very clear we’re through, and it’s––”

“Imade it clear?” he challenges. A dark laugh escapes him. “Whatever, Em. Or is it Madelyn?” He scratches at his chin, condescension oozing from every pore.

“Can we…notdo this?” I ask, ignoring the stares coming from the nurse’s desk. He’s gonna be thrown out of here if he can’t keep his anger in check. We both will.

“You don’t think I deserve an explanation?” he growls.

“Yes, you deserve an explanation. But can’t it wait? Please? When we don’t have an audience standing fifteen feet away from us who looks more than ready to throw us out right now? When I’m not freaking out over the well-being of my baby and the fact she’s in the freaking hospital?Please?”

His nostrils flare as he looks down at me, the intensity rolling off him in waves.

“Please?” I repeat, my tone softer this time.

The same heated look, the one I fell for all those months ago, warms me from the outside in as he scrubs his hand over his face and rocks back on his heels. “Fine.”

A weighted silence settles around us, along with the occasional squeak from Peanut and the constant machines pulsing around the NICU as I fuss with her blanket again. But I’m afraid if I break the quiet with my voice, it’ll only cause another fight. And I’m so sick of fighting. But this weighted silence? Well, it’s no picnic either.

My hands––hell, my entire body––shake as I peek up at him again and extend the proverbial olive branch. “Do you…want to hold her?”

Indecision paints his handsome features before he tears his gaze from mine and looks at Peanut. As if in slow motion, his big, burly hand rises from his side. He runs his calloused finger along her soft, silky cheek, barely grazing the tube attached to her button nose and brushing against her strawberry-blonde peach fuzz.

And just like that, my frustration, my anger––all of it––vanishes into thin air, like wisps of smoke swirling with fresh, clean oxygen. Yeah, our past still taints this moment, but maybe it’s still manageable. Maybe he’ll accept her as his own. Maybe she won’t be a burden to him, no matter how clear he’s made it Iamone.

“You can hold her,” I offer again.

He drops his hand back to his side. “I don’t want to hold her.”

“You sure?” I ask. “I can show you how––”

“You’re moving in with me.”

“What?” I shake my head, convinced I heard him wrong while trying to process how the hell we got fromdo you want to hold hertoyou’re moving in with me.

“Milo, you can’t be serious––”

“Will you…”–– his fists tighten at his sides––“listento me? For once in your damn life?”

A lump the size of Texas catches in my throat, but I swallow it back. “I don’t need you––”

“Not true anymore,” he growls, his gaze dropping to the bundled baby in my arms. “Where are your keys?”

Panicked, I stutter, “W-what? Why?”

“I’ll get your shit packed at your place while you stay here with her.”

I blink slowly, convinced I’m in theTwilight Zoneand have no idea how to escape it.

“Keys,” he barks. “Now.”

“Milo, I’m not moving in with you.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

He shakes his head, a low chuckle vibrating up his throat, sending chills down my spine. “Wanna talk bullshit? We had a good thing going, and you left. Now, you have a damn kid who I’m supposed to take care of––”

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