Page 72 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“You’re not being fair,” I argue.

“Maybe not. But you also agreed with me when I said I’d love for Penny to have a set of grandparents. Maybe this is your chance.”

I suck my lower lip into my mouth, hating how he’s managed to turn my own words against me.

“Every family’s different, though,” he adds, sensing my hesitancy. “I can’t make this decision for you.”

“Well, can you find someone who will?” I joke. “‘Cause I’m not a fan of this particular situation.”

His mouth quirks up on one side. “If you decide to go, I’m coming too.”

“You don’t have to––”

“I know.”

“So why would you?” I ask, unable to help myself.

I want to know. Why is he willing to come with me? Why is he willing to let me live under his roof? Why did he put me on his stupid cell phone family plan? Why is he willing to let me work with him when we’re obviously more like oil and water than anything healthy or stable?

But I guess it’s why I’ve always liked him.

Hedoestake care of me.

In spite of my flaws and shortcomings––in spite of my flighty response to life in general––he’s my rock in the storm. The one I can rely on. Or at least, I thought he was before the truth was shoved in my face.

But who’s fault is it really? I made plenty of mistakes when I told him I wanted to change our relationship. I should’ve been more open. I should’ve been more vulnerable. I should’ve told him how I felt without being too prideful or scared to look him in the eye. I should’ve told him about Marty, airing out all my dirty laundry so I could stop being terrified every second of every day.

I should’ve done a lot of things.

Hell, I shouldstilldo a lot of things.

Like calling him out for yesterday’s bruising kiss and his shitty assumption about my attention span where he’s concerned.

Like telling him the truth about Marty, and my past, and Penny’s potential paternity results.

Yup. I should do a lot of things.

But I guess I’m still a coward because I don’t say a damn word as I watch him shrug one of his broad shoulders, then leave me alone in his house with a baby in my arms.

18

Maddie

The car seat digs into my forearm, so I set it down on the front porch to search for my keys. It’s been a long-ass, lonely as hell day. The house has been silent since this morning. No idea where Jake or Milo are. No idea what they’re doing or why I care.

I shouldn’t care.

But I’m burnt out, emotionally drained, and ready to drown my sorrows in fried chicken and lemonade. As I slide the house key into the lock, the door swings open, and I clutch my chest.

“Holy shit, Milo––”

“Where the hell have you been?” he growls, his big, brooding body taking up the entire door frame, making me feel small and insignificant.

My eyes widen in surprise. “E-excuse me?”

“Where have you been? I got you the damn phone for a reason.” He holds out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“Excuse me?” I repeat. “You need to calm the hell down.”

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