30. Millie

30

MILLIE

One Year Ago

I knock on my mother's door. I hold potato salad and pieces of Turkey in a tray wrapped perfectly in aluminum foil. It's still relatively warm here in South Texas, so I'm in a light orange sweater and tight black leggings. It's Thanksgiving day, and I spent the day at my grandparent's place. After battling for the bread rolls, tamales, and cranberry sauce with my cousins, my grandmother tasked me with an assignment. She wants me to take food to my mother's house since she didn't show up, even though my grandmother extended an invitation to her and her boyfriend.

I stand there, knocking on an all-white door with a fall wreath. After three knocks, I wait for what seems like the longest minute of my life, but she doesn't open it. I turn over my shoulder and spot both of their cars parked in their driveway, so they must be here. I smell turkey stuffing through the door, and even though I ate about an hour ago, my mouth waters. Turkey stuffing is one of my mother's specialties; she passed down that recipe to me.

Suddenly, I hear the locks being played with and turn, and I wear the same welcoming smile I always do when I see my mother—the smile I refuse to give up on because one day, my mother will return one to me.

The door swings open fast, and I startle. I take one giant step back when I realize it's Santiago. My smile falls straight to the floor, and I turn away from his reddened, irritable, contorted expression and face the front window of their house. He doesn't say anything to me—not a respectable-mannered hello or even a happy Thanksgiving.

I never expected him to act like a civil human being or treat me like his girlfriend's daughter. He whips past me and almost brushes his shoulder against mine aggressively, but I dodge it in time. I watch him get into his car, turn it on, and reverse out of the driveway with harsh purpose, like he's trying to run away. He speeds down the road faster than what anyone should be driving down a neighborhood street.

Oh god. Did they really have a fight? On Thanksgiving day? A day that is supposed to be full of peace, forgiveness, gratitude, and family? I shake my head and suck in a breath until my lungs can't take anymore and prepare to walk into mayhem.

Sure enough, when I step in, my mother is a sobbing mess. On the floor, with red cheeks and swollen eyes. "Mom?" I ask with clammy hands. She doesn't greet me with a glance or respond.

I place the food on the kitchen counter, far from the edge, before I jog toward her again. I stand behind her and listen to her soft sobs while she wears her dark, auburn kitchen apron. Her brown hair is tucked behind her ears, and I watch tear after tear fall off her nose.

I hate seeing my mom cry.

"Mom, what happened?" But it's like she doesn't hear me. She's so utterly broken that it makes me wonder, where is she mentally? Where is her mind when I'm right in front of her, begging her to look at me? I start to circle her back with my palm as she continues to cry, and an intricate lump forms in my throat. I hate seeing my mother cry. The unconditional love I hold for her does that to me.

"Mom?" I ask again, but I'm returned with silence. She continues to weep on her knees. I act. I throw my arms around her and hug her, hoping it will wake her. I wrap my arms around her side gently. I haven't held her in what seems like a very long time. I hold her like that for a second, and she stiffens. She doesn't push me away, though. She lets me hug her while I place my cheek on her shoulder. She smells like flowers. She always smells like flowers.

I want her to hug me back, but it never comes.

Finally, she breaks the silence.

"He cheated on me. He cheated on me with someone who is barely old enough to drink, and now he wants me to forgive him for that." Her voice breaks and turns into a bellow of cries. She sags in my arms momentarily before she picks herself back up and stands.

"Mom. Don't you dare forgive him, please? You deserve better than this. It's not too late for you to get your happily ever after. You know, I read so many books. So many stories where there are men out there who would rather die than dream about hurting the woman they love?"

Her red, watery hazel eyes darken, and she scrunches her nose like I said something appalling.

"Millie, this isn't one of your silly romance novels! This is real life! It's time you accepted that."

"Mom! They do exist! I know they do…they have to."

"Millie! Look! I cheated on him, too! Happily ever afters aren't for everyone! Santiago loves me…" She shakes her head like she can't find the words. She brushes her red cheeks with frustration and pulls at her hair slightly. "I'm going to forgive him! Now, please, get out!"

"But mom? It's Thanksgiving, and I?—"

"Get out! Now! Before Santiago comes back and sees you here."

" Por favor, ma …" I plead as I try to reach out to hug her.

She turns to me with a broken expression and pursed lips.

"Don't you understand?! I don't choose you, Millie." Her words poison me like venom. My heart shatters.

Can you die of a broken heart? Can you die after learning you'll never get to have your mother's love? Because my chest hurts. It burns, and I swear, the pain starts to intensify, causing my heart to palpate dangerously. I freeze from her revelation, and now I'm the silent one who can't find the words to speak. She's abandoning me all over again.

She continues unapologetically, "I choose him. I will always choose him."

Now, I'm full of tears. My mother is pushing me away again , chipping the light I try to maintain in my soul away and still choosing a man who has betrayed her in disgusting ways. Sleeping with other women when he has my mother, who gave up her children for what she deems is love.

I stand there, with wetness down my cheeks, and walk away. I exit her house, get into my car, and start to drive.

She will always choose to chase her happiness over Nash and me. All I want is for her to see herself the way I see her.

A few minutes later, it's like I don't have control. I seek comfort. I seek… him . I let my body take over on autopilot while my mind is full of dark thoughts. I head for the one person who makes me feel like good men are still out there.

I'm knocking on Cole's door.

He lives in a two-story house on his own, right next to a country club. I know Cole comes from money, but he never likes to talk about it. This house is just one of his family's properties. As always, he doesn't take long to answer.

He opens it. His brown eyes light up, and he smiles. But then it falters, his lips turn into slits, and his brows pinch together worriedly. He's clearly stunned, with widened eyes and pinkened cheeks.

"Millie?"

"Can I come in? I know it's Thanksgiving. Oh, shoot! Is your family here? Of course, they're here! I'm sorry…" I ramble and begin to stutter my words. "Crap. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. I apologize. It's a holiday, and I don't know what I was thinking. I'll get out of your hair."

"Wait!" Cole grabs my hand, and my heart jumps when his hand pulls me back towards his front step. "What's wrong? It looks like you've been crying?"

Shit. Did my mascara smear?

I brushed my knuckles near my eye, and sure enough, black traces of makeup formed on my skin when I swiped.

"Come in. Now." He demands. "My family lives more north, remember?"

I feel bad for not remembering that he's here only for medical school, and then he'll move away once he gets an internship.

He doesn't give me a choice. He pulls me into his chest, and his cologne wraps me up like a warm hug. Then his arms encase me into his strong body…and I let him hold me. I sniffle softly against his warmth, seeking comfort.

He closes his front door and leads me to his couch.

"Are you going to tell me what happened? Who do I have to hurt?"

I scoff out a short laugh and shake my head.

Another pause goes in between us as he cradles me on the couch.

"Is it your mom?"

My body goes rigid for a second, and then I concede with a nod. I've told him little bits and pieces about my troubled relationship with my parents. He knows I'm trying to make amends with my father, but I stopped mentioning my mother and Santiago months ago. Maybe I'm easy to read. I truly despise that about myself. Wearing my heart on my sleeve can be a good thing, but sometimes, it's a very vulnerable thing that people may take advantage of. I feel too much…which is something I'm working on.

"Parents suck sometimes. I know mine have their moments." He kisses the top of my head, and I retract from him. I analyze his drenched plaid shirt, and I palm it with my hand. I scoot my bottom until my back hits the back of his couch.

"I'm so sorry about crying all over you. Look at your shirt." I give him a half-hearted smile because the other half is crushed, feeling insecure about my entire being and my place in this world.

He shrugs and pulls at the ends of his shirt. He analyzes the damp mess I made and then looks at me with warm whiskey eyes.

"You're right. I should get another one." He smirks.

"You should," I tease back, crossing my arms after I swiped my palm over my reddened cheeks.

His smirk widens, and he looks at me with that same look he gives me… desire . It's no secret Cole wants me more than just friends. Every time we hang out or joke around at the coffee shop, there's a moment there between us. It's a moment full of tension, but it always depletes because it's like we're both afraid to make the first move. I'm surely not brave enough to, and maybe he hasn't wanted to pursue that yearning passion that's been building since we both started working at Nostalgia Coffee Shop because he's afraid it'll ruin our friendship.

His smile turns into something primal. His dimples disappear, and then he curls his long fingers underneath the end of his shirt and starts to pick it up, fast. He first exposes the hair under his belly button, and my cheeks light up, and my eyes widen.

What are you doing ?

I try to form the words, but they're too stuck in my stunned throat.

He throws his shirt off, and it lands on the wooden floor. I'm staring at what was once an always cheeky, dorky guy who can take my funny jokes and throw them right back. But right now? He's transformed into a man who's done playing this push-and-pull game that's been going on for the past few years.

His chest moves up and down fast, and he rubs his face, starting from his nose down to his chiseled jaw, like he's trying to conjure up the courage to do something. He places one hand on either side of me, caging me on the couch, and I'm trying to sink into it to disappear from the emotions that are so volatile that they're burning into my core, making familiar lustful emotions swirl into an infinite circle. I'm intimidated and inexperienced when it comes to sex, never mind making out…

He licks his lips and cups and tilts my chin to meet his eyes. He senses my unease like he knows I want to say a funny joke to break the ice. But he's going to break it, and I know he's going to do it with his lips on mine.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Cole murmurs softly. His voice is rough and demanding.

I nod fast. "Yes, please." I blink fast, and he leans in slowly, and suddenly, I lose the ability to breathe. I close my eyes, and as soon as I do, his lips sink onto mine like an anchor in the ocean, finding its new home. They move and move until I feel his tongue lick me, begging for entrance.

My heart flips, and our kissing turns into a tornado of tongues. He pushes me down until I'm lying on my back, and he's nestled himself in between my legs.

What am I doing?! This is Cole! My close friend I can tell anything to, my supervisor , not someone I do things like this with. My hesitation is evident, and it gets the best of me when I break our overheated kisses, and look up to meet his darkened eyes.

Damn .

This is a side of Cole I've never seen before. I should be swooning. I should be in a puddle, ready to finally give up my virginity to someone who cares about me on levels only he and I connect with. But my heart doesn't reciprocate those emotions.

"Cole…we shouldn't do this." My eyes dart from his full, swollen lips to his front door.

He pulls back for a second and stares into my soul and then my mouth like he wants to dive back in and continue to move forward until he's inside me.

"This will taint our friendship, and I care about you too much to take risks or watch it change," I confess as my core heats and I open my legs.

"Millie, you know me . You know me, and I know you…" He kisses my lips once more, but it's a quick peck on the lips. Cole moves down to my jaw, and every single second that goes by feels like an eternity. He kisses my exposed chest right above my breast, and then he lifts my sweater until it reveals my lower belly. He plants a kiss on my raw skin, making goosebumps scatter all over, and I moan. He smiles, satisfied against me, and hovers right above my jeans' waistband.

He starts to unbutton my jeans quickly, and then he pulls them down until they're at my ankles.

"This will not ruin our friendship unless we let it, and I don't want to lose you. I don't ever want to hurt you. Right now, I want to show you how much I care…not with words but with my actions. We can overthink this tomorrow, but right now, I think I need to remind you that you are worthy of love—worthy of everything good in this world."

My chest tightens, and I feel the weight of all the terrible things that can go wrong, run away. My muscles turn into mush, and I let myself relax, ignoring all the negative intrusive thoughts as Cole begins to kiss and lick my clit.

"Overthink tomorrow," I grit out as I close my eyes tight and twitch with euphoric sparkles.

A roar and a loud thud woke me from my dream. The memories of Thanksgiving last year came back to me in my deep slumber, and now they're gone because something jolted me awake.

What awakened me?

I jump from Hayden's bed, palming the bed sheets for support. I look vehemently at his bookshelves, his turned-off TV, and his front door, which is still locked. I pant and place my hand on my chest to calm my thundering heart. I search for any vampires, red or blue glowing eyes, but nothing, and no one is here to harm me. I keep expecting to turn around, and the Southern King will be here, rising from whatever realm he went to and finish the job he so desperately wanted to do.

Hayden had told me to stay here, but curiosity always gets the best of me. I swallow my nerves and fix my hair by placing it into a ponytail with a vibrant chrome scrunchy Hayden bought me. I climb out of bed, put on my slippers, and head for the door, hoping Charles or any other guard isn't there to stop my investigation.