Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“No. We’re going to—”
“I’m taking him home,” Miles cuts my father off, tone final.
Thank you. I can’t make the words come out, but I feel them.
“I just…need some time,” I say, and Miles takes my hand, leading me out of the house. When I hear footsteps behind me, there’s not a doubt in my mind who it is.
“I love you,” my brother says. “You know that, right? I will always love you, and I’m so fucking sorry. I never should have said anything.”
I stop and turn to him. This isn’t his fault, none of it is, just like it’s not mine. “I’m glad you did. At least I have answers now.” My father doesn’t love me, but there’s nothing I did wrong. There’s nothing I can ever do to change that. “I love you too. I just can’t be here right now. We’ll talk soon.”
He nods, then looks at Miles. “Take care of my brother. I need him to be okay. He’s…”
“I know,” Miles says, understanding what Cedric is saying without him having to use the words. “He’s special, and I’ll take care of him.”
Miles opens the car door for me, and I let him. He hooks my seat belt, and I let him do that too. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says when he’s joined me in the car, hand on the back of my head, tugging me closer so our foreheads touch.
“I am too. Thank you for being here for me.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d be,” Miles says, then starts the car and takes me home with him.
31
Miles
I’m a storm tonight, for sure.
No, not even that—a damn hurricane.
Dax’s dad must be some kind of psychopath to have said those heartless, callous words to someone he raised as a son for all these years. Okay, maybe a psychopath is being dramatic, but either way, it doesn’t say anything good about him. The only good news is that I managed to restrain myself long enough for us to get the hell out of that house before I went apeshit and tore it to the fucking ground.
Regardless of how I feel about Dax’s asshole father—if I can even call him his father anymore—my main concern is my boyfriend. On the drive back to my place, he doesn’t speak, his gaze far off. I’m sure it’s a lot, having to process a lifetime of never being told the truth about why his dad felt the way he did. And I don’t press, let him have his space because I can’t even imagine what it’s like to have something like that dumped on you.
When we arrive at my apartment, I open the passenger door, and if he’d let me, I’d help him out—I don’t know where the fuck that’s coming from, it’s not like he’s some helpless thing. He’s just in such a fog, his sunshine dimmed. But somehow he manages to come inside with me. He only makes it as far as the kitchen island before sitting on a stool, like he’s too exhausted to go any farther.
My brain’s all over the place, trying to figure out how to help Dax. Cedric’s words keep returning to me. “Take care of my brother.” And I’m determined to be here for Dax in a way that shit excuse for a dad couldn’t be. But what the hell can you even do about something like this?
An idea finally springs to mind. I head to the pantry and inspect the contents before going to the fridge. I remember him sharing about how his mom baked for him. Fuck if I have the ingredients for orange-cranberry muffins, so I’ll have to make do. I’m not even sure this is the best idea, but when there aren’t any others, I feel like, what the hell?
“You said you liked your mom’s cookies?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I can’t really make orange-cranberry muffins with what I got, so I’m gonna make some cookies. Chocolate chip. Think we need some cookies right about now.”
His eyes widen. “Um…”
“You like chocolate-chip cookies. You’ve ordered them when we’ve gotten food before, so that’s what I’ll make.”
He opens his mouth like he’s struggling to process this new information on top of everything else.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s happening, and you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. They can just be here for when you want them.”
It’s been a while since I’ve made cookies, but it’s not like it’s hard. I pull up a recipe on my phone, and fortunately, I have everything I need, so I get right to work. I can’t really tell whom I’m doing this for—Dax because he needs something right now, or me because I need to do something, anything, to make this better. Although, there’s not really anything I can do to make what he’s just found out better.
When I measure out the chocolate chips, it doesn’t look like enough—he’ll need a lot more than that to cheer up—so I dump the rest of the bag in the bowl and mix it in. Maybe that’s overkill, but I’ll make it work.