Page 24 of What We Become

They saved me.

Again.

The door opens and Milo enters like a parade float.

He’s carrying a basket the size of a small bathtub—wrapped in cellophane with a gold bow on top. Behind him, Knox fills the doorway. Then Holden, freshly showered and carrying a paper bag from what smells like a bakery. Then Eli, who stops at the threshold and just looks at me for a long moment before stepping inside and carefully closing the door.

“Kitten.” Milo sets the basket on the foot of the bed and bows, like he’s presenting me with the crown jewels. His usual grin in place, wide and manic, but his eyes are red-rimmed and raw and his hands are shaking in a way he’s trying to cover with theatrical gestures. “I brought supplies.”

“Milo, what⁠—”

“Don’t ask questions. Just receive.” He tears the cellophane open and starts pulling things out. A silk pajama set in dusty rose. A cashmere throw blanket. Slippers with memory foam soles. A full, very fancy skincare set—cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, eye cream, lip mask. A scented candle that says SURVIVE THIS, BITCH on the label. An iPad loaded with every streaming service in existence. Noise-canceling headphones. A stuffed cat that looks handmade. And at the bottom, a card.

I pick up the card. It’s also handmade, a pencil drawing of a character that looks suspiciously like Milo joyfully dancing under the moonlight while holding up a small black cat that’s hissing and baring its claws. There are love hearts between them, and I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips.

When I open it, I find Milo’s handwriting inside—chaotic, slanting, half the letters connected wrong.

Kitten.

You scared the shit out of me. Don’t do it again or I’ll be forced to personally drag you back from the afterlife and kick your ass. You’re the only kitten I’ve ever had. I’d be lost without you. PS: there’s a backup tracker in the bow of the stuffed cat. And one in the iPad case. And one in every single pair of shoes you own. Not taking any chances going forward.

Love, the sensible one,

Milo.

I snort, which costs me a lightning strike of pain through my chest. The shoe trackers are absolutely becoming a conversation when I can breathe without setting my ribs on fire. The rest of it makes something warm and painful squeeze behind my sternum. I do my best not to cough, but my lungs take the bait and I hack a thin, wheezy bark that ends in a squeak. The guys flinch as one, a synchronized spectacle of Oh shit, she broke again. Micah jerks awake, panic in his eyes. Then he sees me, takes in the guys standing around, and visibly relaxes.

I wave the card at them, trying to point out the joke, but my hand shakes too bad to get it all the way up.

Milo sees me struggling and reaches over to steady my hand, his fingers cool and careful where our skin meets. “There’s more on the back,” he informs me, helping me turn the card over.

P.P.S. I know I joke a lot. (Like, a lot lot.) But you’re my person, Sage. You’re OUR person. And I’m not letting anything—walls, bricks, weirdly persistent secret-boyfriends-of-that-guy-we-killed, nothing—take that away. If you ever need a place to hide, run to me. If you ever need someone to fight for you, send me. Yours since the first moment I saw you covered in blood, M.

It’s the “yours” that breaks me, just a little. My eyes threaten to flood, and for once I don’t care who sees it. I fold the card closed and clutch it to my chest and take a long, slow breath that somehow doesn’t ache as much as it did a minute ago. Knox rests a giant hand carefully against my shin, avoiding the raw skin, and anchors me to the bed.

“Thank you, Milo,” I whisper, eyes burning.

“Oh, kitten. Don’t cry. We’re not doing crying. We’re doing luxury recovery and aggressive self-care.” He pulls the silk pajamas out and holds them up. “These are going to feel like being hugged by angels. I did research. The review said ‘life-changing’ and I trust strangers on the internet more than I trust most governments.”

Holden rubs his face and peers into the basket of goodies.

“What is all this? You were supposed to bring her things,” Holden says, handing the bakery bag to Micah. “Her things. From the house. So she’d feel comfortable.”

“I improved on the brief.” He gestures at the mountains outside. “We have access to a billionaire’s resources. I resourced.”

“Jesus, Milo.”

Eli reaches down and picks up a duffel, setting it on the bed beside Milo’s basket. I recognize it as my duffel bag, the one from the closet at home. “Unlike Milo, I brought you some stuff.” He flicks me a look. “Most of it is our clothes you’ve stolen,” he says, offering me a grin and a look that tells me he loves this about me. “So I packed something from each of us—my hoodie, Knox’s T-shirt, Micah’s boxer shorts, Milo’s robe, and Holden’s overshirt. Plus there’s some leggings. Underwear. Hairbrush. Toothbrush. Shampoo. Conditioner. Socks. Slippers.” He finishes his rummaging and meets my eyes. “Amy’s been told you’re okay. She’s still safe with Dean. Oh, and Frank’s fed. We’ve put him on a feeding rotation while you’re here.”

Of course they did. Even the fish has a protection detail.

“Anything else you need, name it.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Eli.”

He nods and leans in closer, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of my head. “Anything for you, little savage.”

I want to crawl over to him and bury my face into his neck, but my body says no and the doctor would probably scold me if I so much as adjusted the IV pole. So I shift a little in bed, pushing the comforter down to my waist, and draw Eli’s hand into both of mine. He doesn’t resist. He closes his hand around mine, thumb skimming gently over my knuckles.