Page 103 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“Didn’t look like nothing. You looked spooked.” His fingers dig into my biceps as he pulls me away from him, studying me in the glow of the porch light. “You still look spooked.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“You can tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Don’t lie to me, Mads.”

The plea in his voice hits like a wrecking ball, and I squeeze my eyes shut, tightening my hold around his waist.

“I don’t want to lie,” I whisper. My eyes are burning with unshed tears, but I can’t let them fall. Not right now.

“So don’t, Mads.”

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. We’ve already talked about my shitty past,” I choke out. “And seeing him on your front porch…”

He pulls me in close again. “Sh… It’s okay, Mads. It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though. If I could erase him, I would.”

“I know, baby.” His warm lips brush against the crown of my head again as he squeezes me a little tighter. “It’s all right. I know you’ve got a past. I can see how much it’s killing you. If you ever want to talk about it––”

“I don’t.”

I can’t.

He nods again. “I’m here, though. All right?”

Yeah, but for how long?

The crickets in the grass continue their symphony as Milo senses my hesitation.

“Let’s get inside, yeah?” he offers, still patient enough to give me the space to sort my shit on my own.

I don’t deserve him. I never did. And I never will.

Digging my teeth into the inside of my cheek, I nod, shoving aside the guilt and the weight accompanying it. There’s one problem, though. It’s getting harder and harder to carry it all, and I have no idea how much longer I’ll be able to handle the pressure before it crushes me.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Let’s get inside.”

27

Maddie

“Where are you taking me?” I ask as Milo tugs me around the side of a stranger’s house. Since Marty’s little drop-in, I’ve been distant, the guilt making it almost impossible to function some days.

Maybe I do have a heart after all.

But Milo decided he was sick of my moping and told me to get in the car as soon as I finished nursing Penny tonight, which leads me here—to a random neighborhood, sneaking around a random house, with Penny and Milo as my accomplices.

“I’m pretty sure this is trespassing,” I point out as we pass a giant maple tree in the stranger’s freshly mowed backyard. “And bringing our baby along for the ride won’t get us out of handcuffs if the owner of the house decides to call the cops.”

“No one’s calling the cops,” Milo replies, his fingers entwined with mine and Penny’s car seat swinging from his other arm as we traipse past the side of the house.

“Says the guy who looks like a sexy felon,” I mutter under my breath, checking him out from head to toe. Dark T-shirt. Dark jeans. Dark beanie. Dark tattoos. The guy looks like a hot bad boy any girl would drool over, and it’s the only reason I’m still going along with this ludicrous behavior.

It’s not like I need to add a misdemeanor charge to my conscience, thank you very much.

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