6

I spend the next morning in a daze like somebody's reached in and hollowed out my chest.

Milo's absence is a black hole and I alternate between thinking about him too much and pretending he doesn't exist. The only thing that manages to draw me out of it is the steaming hot shower. Water cascades down my back until it turns lukewarm and the skin on my fingers prunes like a date.

Memories unfurl in my mind. Us on his childhood bed after high school, my leg hooked over his as we argued about shit that doesn't matter now but meant the world then. Nights spent lounging in my truck behind the Wendy's, watching dumb YouTube videos on my phone.

The image flickers, replaced with memories of the past few days. The guttural sounds he made on that muggy day we spent in bed. Milo wading through the lake naked. Him dancing at the bar, a bright smile lighting up his face.

That smile haunts me when I close my eyes. Arousal settles in my belly, and I slam a hand on the pink shower tiles, the other curling around my cock.

I bring myself off like that. Standing in a motel bathroom, my imagination supplying image after image of Milo.

All of it is too much, too soon. Like picking off a scab and digging my fingers into the wound. Fuck, I'm pathetic.

Breakfast is quiet. The motel guests have thinned out, on their way to various places. I slip into my usual seat by the window, staring at the space in front of me. It feels wrong. I half expect Milo to stroll in, that confident swagger in his hips, mouth sharpened with some funny quip.

The seat stays empty. He's probably skipping breakfast to avoid me.

Greta takes my order and lets me know the truck will be ready in a few hours. Finally, some good news. I thank her and turn back to the window, squinting at the overcast sky.

This is what I wanted, isn't it? For us to be friends, to push aside whatever this little detour was and go back to normal. But then why does it feel like a part of me is missing?

Something rustles in my shorts pocket, and I fish out a gift-wrapped square. The magpie necklace. I'll give it to Elsie when I get home, or sell it at a pawn shop, or throw it in the fucking river. It was a stupid idea, anyway.

Staring at the necklace, I pull out my phone and type a quick text to Milo, telling him we can head home soon. He replies with a thumbs-up emoji and hesitates, the three little dots hovering at the bottom like he's going to send something else. Licking my lips, I watch the screen until the dots disappear.

I tuck the necklace back into my pocket.

*

Dale puts the finishing touches on the truck in the next few hours, hands me the keys, and after saying goodbye to Greta we take to the open road.

We drive home in near-silence, only broken by one of us asking to use the aux, or when I stop at the gas station and offer to grab something for him. He tries to move past it, carry on like everything's normal between us but I can tell he's wary. Each minute without his familiar comfort or the smile that I've gotten so used to feels like nails raking my skin.

I drop Milo off just as the sun is setting. His house looks the same as it did years ago, with chipped white paneling and a scratched roof, his childhood bike tied to the front porch.

He shuts the truck door and leans against it, ducking his head to peer through the open window. Shadows coat his face. I can't tell what he's thinking.

For one moment, he seems like he's about to speak and we stay teetering on the precipice of something I can't define. Down the street, a car horn blasts, and the moment disappears. Milo shakes his head and steps back. He gives me a two-fingered salute before he walks away.

I sit there and watch him enter his house, my chest aching. The soft glow of dying sunlight illuminates my side of the pickup and warms my face. My phone buzzes. It's Elsie, asking where I am.

Groaning, I lean my head against the hot glass. All I can think is that I've done this to myself.

When Milo asked what this was, I brushed him off. I ran away instead of telling him the truth; that I think about him more than I think about myself. That I want to hold his hand again, to watch him do his stupid yoga routines, listen to him rant about birds and fantasy novels, and everything in between.

I never told him that I'm lost without him. And now it's too late.

*

The Divorce Dinner—Elsie's name for it—goes about as well as it can. Even though it was expected, hearing them announce the divorce out loud still hurts. But we get through it together, as a family. Dad cracks a few jokes, Mom pretends she's not smiling at them, and we all survive unscathed.

After dinner I take the plates to the kitchen, Elsie trailing behind me. This routine is easy, familiar. She washes and I dry. I could do it with my eyes closed.

Except my hands are shaking so much I almost smash one of Mom's prized wine glasses when transferring it from the sink to the dish rack. Elsie gently pries it out of my hands and sets it down, giving me a look. Her normally wild curls are tamed into a sleek bob, and she's traded her ever-present running gear for a simple top and jeans.

"You look like shit," she says.

"Thanks. I feel like shit, too."

"Did something happen with Milo?"

"I—How'd you know?"

She gestures to my hair, which I've been tugging on and ruffling nervously all evening. It hangs wildly around my face, like I've just woken up.

"Contrary to popular belief, sometimes sisters care about their little brothers," she says, frowning. "Seriously, I'm all ears, kiddo. I thought you guys were attached at the hip."

I collapse against the kitchen counters. "We were until I ruined it. I haven't spoken to him since we got home a day ago."

"That's pretty long for you two."

I make an indistinct noise and Elsie scoots closer, throwing an arm around my shoulder. Even though she's older, she's a little shorter than me, and I have to lean down so she isn't on her tiptoes. It's comforting, nonetheless.

"Tell me what happened," she says.

Licking my lips, I stumble through an explanation of everything that happened at the motel, careful to skip over the sex.

"And then I told him we can't be together," I finish lamely.

"What did Milo say?"

"Not much. I guess I didn't give him much space to say anything." I wince at the look on her face. "Trust me, it was the right thing to do."

"I love you, kiddo, but sometimes you're hopeless."

"I didn't want to lose him!"

Elsie sighs and looks upwards as if seeking strength. "Okay, I have just one question. Do you like him?"

"No. I mean, kind of." Working my jaw, I stare at the chipped kitchen tiles. "I've had feelings for him for years but—"

"That's good then, isn't it? Don't look at me like that, you know I'm right. You've been obsessed with him since he moved here. What are you so scared of?"

Milo asked the same thing. But I've spent the whole of our friendship worrying that somebody would come along and whisk him away, leaving me alone. When I realized what I felt for him wasn't normal, that nobody is this focused on their best friend, I told myself I'd keep it a secret.

I've been so convinced he'll leave once he knows the truth. Because if he left, he'd take a piece of me with him.

But he stayed, didn't he? Instead, I was the one who pulled away. The look on his face when I'd told him we should just be friends is seared behind my eyelids. I'm obsessed with every part of you , he'd said. Then I basically told him to fuck off.

The thought dawns on me like the sun cresting over the horizon. I can't believe I didn't see it before.

"I'm an idiot." I duck out of Elsie's hold, my stomach rolling. "I pushed him away when he tried to get closer and got mad that he was upset. What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"If it's any consolation, I don't think he hates you." She holds up a hand, cutting me off. "No, listen. I've watched you two pseudo-flirt for years. Last time I met him, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. Talking about Milo is, like, your only hobby. That type of connection doesn't disappear overnight."

I pace around the kitchen, needing to move to calm my building nerves. "I should see him, right? I should go to his house and ask to talk."

"If you think it's a good idea."

It's possibly the best idea I've had all week. Pushing Milo away was a mistake. If Elsie's right, I could have had a shot with him. Instead, I chose fear. Just like I did in high school when I was too scared of being myself, so I became whatever Ethan wanted.

This time is different. I want every part of Milo. The smiles, the bad jokes, the lectures on random facts I don't care about, but I listen anyway because I love how he sounds when he's passionate about something. But also, the kissing, the handholding, the way his body feels pressed against mine.

For a few glorious days, I had everything I'd ever wanted, and I threw it all away because of fear.

I was scared. I still am. But I want to be as brave as he is, to match up to the Callum that Milo Park chose to be friends with.

I don't know if he'll want to talk to me after I've royally fucked everything up, but I'm willing to try. He's made his move, now the ball is in my court. And I think I'm finally ready to play.

"Thank you." I grab Elsie in a quick hug, whirling her around the kitchen. "I owe you one."

She laughs and hits my chest. "I'll ward the dragons off. Go get your guy, kiddo."