Page 36 of Loverboy

“You never told me when you’d be home,” he said, bristling.

“Why, have you been waiting for me all day?” I grinned.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Yeah, who else is gonna feed me?” He recovered quickly, returning my playful jab.

“Oh, I see how it is. That’s all I am to you,” I said sarcastically, setting my glass down.

I rolled up my sleeves and started washing the dishes in the sink. Milo hovered nearby until he worked up the courage to help, grabbing a towel and drying them as I went. The domesticity felt strange and natural at the same time.

I didn’t want to ruin it, but I didn’t have a choice.

“Not even going to try?” I asked, my well-intentioned worry spilling out in all the wrong ways.

“Try what?” He immediately went on the defensive.

“The self-help workbooks.” I scoffed, fishing the stack of papers from the bin with wet hands.

“You think that bullshit actually works?”

“No,” I admitted.

But I was willing to try anything as long as it meant keeping him here with me.

“It’s stupid. I don’t need it.”

“What about your meds?” I asked gently. “Have you been taking them?”

“No.”

My heart squeezed. It wasn’t the act itself—it was what it symbolized—giving up.

“When was the last time you took them?” I braced myself for the answer.

“I don’t know.” He plucked lint from his sleeve. “I ran out a couple of months ago.”

“Milo.”

“I don’t like the way they make me feel.” He hugged himself, and the vulnerability in the gesture nearly split me in two.

“Okay.” I tossed the papers back in the bin.

“That’s it?” He stared at me, waiting for the catch.

“What, you want me to force-feed them to you?” I ribbed, afraid to linger in the tension.

“No,” he muttered, looking away with an unwilling smile.

“I don’t care if you take them or not,” I said. “I can handle your bullshit. I’ve had years of training to hone my skills.”

“You should put that on your résumé.”

“I might.” I raised an eyebrow. “I’ll put you down as my reference.”

Relief flooded through me as the conversation ended without blowing up in my face the way I’d feared it would.

We resumed the mundane task of washing the dishes together, and the room felt warmer. The path ahead was long and lined with thorns, but I’d let them tear me apart if it meant getting through to him.