Milo

MILO

Christmas Day

The first thing Milo realized was he had to pee. The second… there was no fluffy butt pressed against his feet.

Rolling over and sitting up, he called out, “Elvis?”

Silence. Nothing.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Scrambling up off the mattress, Milo grabbed his jeans off the floor and jammed his legs into them. Who cared if he’d worn them yesterday? Then he pulled on one of his old Lost Apostles sweatshirts and ran out to the kitchen, the door was still shut. Elvis had not left the building that way.

“Elvis, dammit, where are you?”

After stopping in the bathroom, Milo headed out to what eventually would be the living room and foyer. The front door was ajar, just wide enough for a husky to skip through.

“Damn, damn, damn. Why today? Why ever?”

Back in the faux-bedroom, Milo dug out thick socks and found his coat, keys, and cell phone. He then shut, locked, and barred the front door with the amp he’d dragged all the way from LA, so Elvis couldn’t escape again. By the time he was finished, Milo was sweaty and angry and scared. That must have been why it wasn’t until he threw open the kitchen door that he realized it had snowed again the night before. The world outside was a snowy paradise, two inches or so of fresh snow had fallen, and lazy snowflakes were still drifting down.

“Focus, Milo, you need to find Elvis.”

There was no sign of his errant dog, except paw prints leading away from the house to a fence that had been deftly leapt over, Milo was certain, before Elvis continued on his adventure. Maybe he was a terrible dog owner, maybe he shouldn’t own a dog.

“Elvis! Come here, good boy!” There was no answer, no wiggle, no dark nose and laughing eyes popping from behind a snowbank. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His car was covered with snow, which did nothing to improve his mood. Beeping it open, he started the engine, and while the defrost was doing its thing, he futilely searched for an ice scraper—a decade in LA had seriously softened him—when he thought he heard the sound of ringing bells.

“More likely your ears are ringing, idiot.”

Milo was searching underneath the passenger seat, his ass hanging out and the very cold wind blowing across his exposed back, when he heard a familiar voice.

“Missing something?”

Milo banged his head against the dashboard backing out of the awkward position he’d been in. The cherry on top, as his mom used to say. Twisting around, he first saw a horse, then a sleigh, and then Davey, and next to Davey was Elvis. Milo sagged back against his car in relief.

“I texted but you didn’t answer. Since Brewski and I were heading out for a morning ride anyway we invited Elvis along and figured we’d head your way.”

The criminal was cozied up on the bench next to Davey, his long pink tongue hanging sideways out of his mouth.

“I’m so embarrassed he escaped again. He managed to get the front door open somehow.”

Elvis was smiling now and so was Davey, his bright blue eyes full of humor. “And here I thought Elvis was a message and you wanted to see me.”

“I did! I do want to see you! We were going to come over… what time is it anyway?”

“Around nine, I’d guess.” Davey patted the open bench on the other side of him. “Join us for the rest of the ride?”

Milo hesitated, meeting Davey’s open gaze. “I dressed kind of hastily, should I change?”

“Not on my account. What do you think, Brewski?”

The horse’s ears twitched in response to his name.

“He says nope.”

In the end Milo had to sit next to Elvis because the dog insisted on sitting between the two of them. Davey tucked a fleece blanket around Milo’s legs saying, “there’s hot chocolate in the thermos if you need something warm.”

“You are such an asshole,” Milo whispered to his dog while Davey walked around to the other side of the sleigh and climbed up.

“Aw, he just wanted to get up early and celebrate, like any kid.”

“At least he went to your place. I have a feeling he’s memorized the route and I’m going to have to be extra careful he doesn’t invite himself over every day.”

“Walk, Brewski.” The sleigh started to glide along the snow. Davey and Brewski expertly navigated back to the main road heading toward Davey’s property. “We should build him an agility course. And the more you work with him, the better he will get. He just needs consistency. I imagine with the move and… the state of your house, that’s been difficult.”

This was true.

They slid along in relative silence broken only by the ringing of the harness bells, the muffled clopping of Brewski’s hooves, and the sleigh crunching against the snow. The wind picked up just a little, causing the snow to blow in little flurries and the treetops to sway. Milo watched Davey’s profile—his slightly crooked nose, the eyebrow on this side with a lift on the end that made it look like a bird’s wing, the laugh lines traced along the corner of his eye and lips. He was nothing like any man Milo had dated in LA. Davey didn’t seem to care that Milo was famous, he just liked Milo.

Davey still liked him even though Milo had ditched him all those years ago.

“I’m sorry we never went on that date. I’m sorry I never called you and explained why.”

Davey nudged him with his elbow, his eyes on the road.

“We’re good. For one thing, we can’t change the past. For two, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I am. Elvis has a little to do with that, but I’m here. I had no idea you lived as close as you do, I didn’t even know you were still in town. I’m glad, though.”

“Why’d you come back?”

All the reasons why Milo had fled to Hollyridge were things he didn’t want to talk about, even if he needed to make decisions sooner rather than later.

“Ugh, I suppose we should talk about this.”

“You don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything, I’m just a curious man.”

For whatever reason, Davey saying those words and sounding like he meant them made Milo want to share what was going on inside his head. The words could just float away on the wind—how he felt he was letting the band members down, how he felt like a failure but that performing wasn’t fun anymore, how often he didn’t even want to look at his guitar, that he wished he’d gone so far as to toss it in a trash can at one of the highway rest stops. Maybe that extra creepy one outside Vantage where no one would hear a person scream if they were being murdered. He’d been serious last night when he’d said he felt uncomfortable in front of crowds.

“I quit the band, but the guys are acting like it’s just a phase and I’m going to change my mind. Our manager calls constantly, even last night I had like ten texts from him asking about the new contract as if I haven’t said I’m done. They think I want attention but it’s just the opposite. I don’t want it. I feel like I’m dried up inside. I don’t want to write, play, or sing. The label is threatening to sue me, and I don’t even care. Go ahead, sue me.”

Davey nodded. “Sounds like burnout. That can be tough, especially if you’re a shy guy and you’ve spent like the last ten years using all your inner energy to be up and on for other people. It’s possible to get it back, to reenergize your psyche, but it’s not easy and maybe you won’t ever want to play again. You’ve taken the first step by distancing yourself from those who are basically sucking the life out of you.”

Milo’s mouth dropped open. Davey gave him a quick smile and sideways look before nudging him again.

“I told you I went to college, I even have a degree hanging on my wall. And while I wasn’t able to go to graduate school in person, I finished my master’s online while Dad was sick.”

“In Psychology?”

“Counseling. I’m still just a hops rancher, though.”

“Just a hop rancher, right. That’s the modest cowboy speaking. You’re right, though, about the shy stuff. At first it was exciting, breathtaking even, and we were making a lot of money and we could write and play almost whatever we wanted, buy our moms houses, drive the fancy cars, have all the girls—or guys—but I’m not that guy. Two years ago, I told them Marginal would be my last album, my last tour. They didn’t believe me.”

“I’m sorry, that must have been hard. I bet you feel like you’re letting them down.”

“Totally. I am letting them down.”

“Nah, they’re just mourning the loss of their dream. But their dream was your sacrifice, and it’s okay for you to say no.”

“That’s what my therapist said.”

“Mmm.”

“You’re a smart guy, Davey Childs.”

“Nah.”

Brewski was pulling them to the top of a small rise and Davey’s house slowly came into view. From where they were, it looked like a magic Christmas house festooned with lights and surrounded by snow-covered evergreens.

“Is Brewski tired?” Milo asked.

“Probably, but he’s happy. Nothing makes him happier than pulling a sleigh.”

“What about the rest of the year?”

“Well, spring is pretty quiet. Sometimes we check out the spring rodeo—that’s how we met Skylar.”

“At the rodeo?”

“No, we rode into the Stone Hut, a down-home type of bar Wallace owns. I sort of flirted with him but to no avail, Wallace got there first. Besides, as cute as Sky is, he wasn’t the one for me.”

Milo ignored the way butterflies in his stomach started swooping around at the last part of Davey’s statement, instead focusing on the horse and a bar and Skylar.

“You… rode Brewski into a bar and asked Skylar out on a date?”

“You make it sound like it’s weird!”

“It is weird.”

“We were both thirsty," Davey protested. “Brewski came by his name honestly and he likes the fair, too. We ride around and say hi to folks, and some of the kids like to pet him. In the summer, I get out the wagon and he helps me in the field. Not every day or anything, but he likes to be useful. And in the fall, there are hayrides. Brewski needs his rewards just like the rest of us.”

Ideas were forming in Milo’s head about the real Davey Childs, and they were far more complex than the high school boy he’d left behind. Davey had been smart and funny back then, but this Davey was a guy who rescued dogs and lonely men. He rode his overly friendly horse to the country fair, spreading his brand of cowboy therapy around and caring about everyone he met.

Brewski pulled them to the front of the house and Elvis wiggled like he was going to hop down, but both Davey and Milo grabbed him, their fingers intertwining.

“Not so fast, smart guy,” Davey said with a smile.

“What don’t you like?” Milo asked out of the blue.

“One sec,” Davey replied, “hang on to Elvis, while I get down.”

Davey jumped down from the sleigh and reached up to grab Elvis’s collar again, holding onto it while the dog leapt out. Milo followed as fast as he could, at the same time scrambling for Elvis’s leash, which he hoped he’d stuffed in his coat pocket. He had. Looping it around Elvis’s neck, he waited for Davey to answer his question or tell him what he could do next.

“There’s not much I actively don’t like,” Davey said. “It’s not worth my energy to focus on those things. Kinda like the way you lose energy when you’re performing for strangers, I lose it when I’m hating on something. I get depressed and angry. I’ve learned to save those emotions for stuff that’s worth it, and frankly, not much is.” He grabbed Brewski’s halter and began to lead him back toward the barn. “Do you want to help me get Brewski brushed and cooled down? Or I can let you inside, there’s warm coffee on the counter.”

Coffee sounded like heaven. Milo realized he hadn’t had any yet.

“Oh my god. Coffee. Almost better than sex.” Milo felt the back of his neck get hot but he managed to meet Davey’s blue gaze.

Davey grinned, waking the smile lines at the corner of his eyes.

“Depends on the time of day, doesn’t it? You go on it and get yourself some coffee. I’ll be there in a minute.”