Page 8 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

With a nod, she squats down to Peanut’s car seat. “I’ll see you around, little girl. Don’t give your mama too much trouble, okay?” Brushing her finger against Peanut’s dimples, Stephanie smiles softly and stands back up. “She really is the cutest thing ever.”

“I know.” My mouth curves up in the corner as my chest swells with pride. I might not deserve to be a mom, but I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so deeply until I held her in my arms.

“Thanks again for everything,” I add. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She waves me off. “It’s my job, Maddie. I’m happy to help. But don’t be a stranger, ya hear?”

Hooking my arm beneath the large plastic handle of the car seat, I reply, “I definitely won’t be.”

We walk out of the NICU side by side until we reach the hospital’s exit. The cool air hits my cheeks, but I breathe it in, letting it ground me as I face my future. Alone.

“Where’s your car parked?” Stephanie asks.

I point to the right parking area. “It’s over there.”

“I’ll wait here with Peanut while you bring the car around.”

“I can take her––”

“Sorry, Maddie. Rules are rules. I have to make sure the car seat base is installed properly.”

“Oh.” I tuck my hair behind my ear and set the car seat by Stephanie’s feet. “Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back.”

By myself, I trek across the parking lot, anxious to get my car and pick up Peanut as fast as I can.

Is it weird I already miss her?

As I scan the parking lot, my brows furrow.

Where the hell is my car?

I could’ve sworn I’d parked it––

“Over here,” a familiar, gruff voice calls.

My head snaps up, and my heart lodges in my throat as I search the parking lot for the voice’s owner. Rows and rows of cars litter the black pavement, but I don’t see a motorcycle parked anywhere. Or at least, not one belonging to the familiar voice.

The driver’s side door of a black hatchback pushes open a few seconds later, its window still rolled down as Milo unfolds himself from the car.

“M-Milo?” I stutter, confused.

“Get in the car,” he orders, slamming the driver’s side door to the dark Subaru definitely not belonging to him while we were dating.

I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “But my car––”

“Is at my place.”

Jingling the keys in my hand, I counter, “How? Dove dropped these off yesterday.”

“You had a spare at your old apartment. Now, can we stop with the interrogation and get in the damn car?”

My nostrils flare as I give in and trudge a few feet closer.

“Where is she?” he grunts, the hinges smooth as butter as he pulls open the passenger door for me.

Lips pursed, I climb inside and mutter, “She’s with the nurse.”

“Why? I thought we could take her home today.”

---