Page 74 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

Still on edge.

Still defensive.

Still refusing to let me in.

“You didn’t see the news a while ago?” he asks.

“What news?”

“About Riv and my sister?”

I shake my head and step closer, itching to touch his arm and offer an ounce of comfort, but I don’t. It would be rejected, anyway.

“Tell me,” I beg.

His eyes are dull and lifeless as they meet mine. “They were in an accident.”

“Acaraccident?”

“Reese broke her wrist. Riv was trapped in the car and would’ve burned alive if the cops hadn’t gotten there in time.” He shakes his head. “Still feels like it was yesterday.”

With a gasp, I cover my mouth, the pieces falling into place. Why he’s been offering to take me everywhere. Why he wants to know where I am all the time. Hell, it’s probably why he’s not upset about me working at Etch 'N Ink. It’s only five minutes away, and we can probably pull off carpooling every once in a while too.

But I’m not mad. I’m flattered he cares enough to be scared and worried. Maybe not about me but about Penny.

“Which is why you haven’t wanted me to drive anywhere by myself,” I conclude. My fingers brush against his forearm, the heat from his skin scalding my fingertips and fanning my need to comfort him. To make him feel better. To promise him I’m okay. Penny’s okay.

He looks down at the innocent touch but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, Mads. It's why I haven’t wanted you driving anywhere.”

“And it’s why you want me to have the app.”

He stays quiet, avoiding my gaze while looking more like a little boy than ever.

“All right, Milo,” I whisper. He’s so damn tall. So impenetrable.

But right now, I want to wrap him in a hug.

I dig my phone out of the diaper bag, unlock it, and offer it to him.

Without a word, he grabs it from my hand and picks up Penny’s car seat as if it weighs less than a feather and lugs it into the family room. Once she’s comfortable, his fingers fly across my screen as he sets up the app, desperate for an ounce of comfort and the promise he won’t have to worry about our whereabouts from now on.

And for some odd reason, it doesn’t bother me.

Even thoughwe’renot okay, I’m don’t mind him knowing Penny and I are safe, and he doesn’t have to worry about us.

Once he’s finished, he hands the phone back to me, stands up, and rubs his hands across his jeans before looking down at me, his face painted with indecision. Like he doesn’t know where to go or what to do now that we’re home safe and don’t require his superhero powers anymore.

“So…,” I start, dragging out the word and tacking on a tight smile.

Squeezing the back of his neck, he motions to Penny. “Want me to get her out for you?”

“Sure.”

This is awkward.

And now, he’s shown his hand––shown he actually cares. Leaving us…where? Do I keep giving him the cold shoulder? Do I keep pretending I don’t care about him, think about him twenty-four-seven, or zero in on every tiny creak in his room when I know he’s in there?

Honestly, I don’t know.

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