Wanna play a game?
Wanna play a game?
Do you know what you are?
“Why’s the house alarm going off?” I whisper shakily as my skin coats with sweat.
“I think it came with a fire alarm built in or something!” Nik shouts over the noise
I open the alarm box on the wall and frown. “What’s the password?”
“I already punched it in, but it won’t turn off. You can try again, though, I guess.” He yammers off the code to me.
“Maybe we should call Loki.” Zhara flips on the ceiling fan as she walks into the foyer. “He might have to call someone to get it turned off.”
“We’re not calling Loki.” I push the code, but the alarm continues to screech like a wild banshee. “Crap. Crap. Crap.” I press my fingers to the brim of my nose. Get your shit together, Jessa. You can’t fall apart in front of them.
But as the alarm continues to blare, my head pulsates with images, about to explode.
The longer the shrill screeching echoes throughout the house, the more my head throbs. Anxiety clutches my throat, and my chest tightens, making it difficult to breathe. I want to scream for help, but I don’t want to freak out Zhara and Nik.
“Kill her! Kill her!” the crowd chants.
Tears sting my eyes.
I’m losing it. I’m going crazy.
I’m just about to admit defeat and call Loki when the doorbell rings.
“Maybe that’s the fire department,” Nik says, running toward the door. “I bet they can tell us how to turn the alarm off.”
I follow him. “It’s probably just a neighbor wondering what the hell’s going on …” I trail off as Nik throws open the door.
Milo stands on the front porch with a concerned look on his face.
Not who I was expecting, but I’m glad he’s here. Why is he even here? Because of the alarm going off? Did the alarm company send the cops? I doubt it since he’s not dressed in his uniform, but a fitted grey T-shirt and black board shorts that look really good on him. He’s also holding a giant red platter full of pastries.
“Is something on fire?” he asks, his gaze darting past Nik and me and into the house.
“The stove was, but we put it out.” I swing my arm in the direction of the house alarm. “Apparently, the alarm doesn’t seem to realize that, though. We can’t get the thing to turn off.”
His gaze locks on mine. “Mind if I look?”
I shove aside our last awkward encounter, reach for the bottom of his shirt, and tug him inside. “Yes, please, please, pretty please look at it. I feel like my head’s about to explode.”
Chuckling, he hands me the platter then leans down to examine the alarm. He pushes a couple buttons then glances at me. “I’m guessing you entered the passcode already?”
Nodding, I set the platter down on the end table and step up beside him. “But it still won’t turn off.”
“Did you call the company?” he asks, tapping his finger against a phone number on the alarm. “You might have to reset it with them.”
“Milo, you’re a genius.” I fish my phone out of my back pocket.
“Don’t get too excited.” He reclines against the wall with his arms folded. “You’ll probably have to give them another password, the one linked to the account. Do you know it?”
“No.” I look at Nik for help. “Do you?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe you can call Loki and ask.”
“We’re not calling Loki. We can handle this,” I repeat loudly over the alarm as I punch in the phone number. “I’m going to call and try.”
Milo turns out to be right. The operator asks me for the main password linked to the account, but I have no clue what it is.
“Here, give me the phone.” Zhara appears by my side, making grabby hands.
I hand over the phone, and she wanders into the kitchen as she chats with the operator. A minute later, the house goes silent.
I let out a relieved sigh as the yelling in my mind quiets, as well. “Oh, my God, I’ve never been so happy to hear the quiet.”
“My ears are still ringing.” Nik plugs his nose, attempting to pop his ears.
“There. Problem solved.” Zhara beams as she returns to the foyer, handing my phone back.
I slip the phone into my back pocket. “How’d you guess the password?”
She smiles proudly. “I asked them what the hint was, and the answer was pretty easy to guess.”
I give her a curious look. “Why? What was the hint?”
She cups her hand around her mouth and leans in. “What’s your oldest sister’s middle name?”
The photo I found in my parents’ stuff creeps into my mind. According to that, my middle name was Jessamine, but I’ve always gone by Jessamine Madelynn.
“I’m going to get him to pick a better one,” Zhara adds. “Madelynn is way too easy.”
Well, at least she seems to know my middle name is Madelynn. Apparently, my parents forgot at some point.
I fan the smoky air from my face. “Well, hopefully, we won’t need to use it again.”
“You said the stove started the fire?” Milo asks with amusement twinkling in his eyes. “How’d that happen under your supervision? You used to be so strict with anyone who tried to help you cook.”
“She’s the one who did it,” Zhara explains, opening another window.
Milo cocks a brow at me. “Really? Jessamine Baker burned something?” A smug grin breaks across his face. “Man, I’ve been waiting for that to happen ever since I burned those cookies I helped you make, and you gave me a very long, very boring lecture on the proper way to bake cookies.”
I lightly swat his arm. “Hey, I was trying to help you not burn the rest of the batches.”
He chuckles, shuffling back out of arm’s reach. “All your lecture did was make me never want to help you bake again. Seriously, I almost fell asleep standing up.”
I narrow my eyes at him, pretending to be annoyed. “FYI, I didn’t burn any food.” I point over my shoulder at the kitchen. “The fire started because I threw a paper towel on the burner.” I square my shoulders and plaster on a cocky smile. “I’m way too good of a cook to burn food.”
A smile lights up his face. “I remember. Your cheesecake was my favorite. Seriously. No one can make it like you.”
“Well, maybe if you’re lucky and really nice to me, I just might make one for you while I’m here.” I smile, but the movement feels wrong. As if I don’t deserve to smile
You don’t.
Milo doesn’t seem to notice my uneasiness, which is strange. The old Milo would have.
“Nice, huh?” He rubs his jaw musingly. “I don’t know. That sounds a little overpriced for some cheesecake.”
“Whatever. You’re so going to do it,” I tease, my light tone forced. But I can’t let them see—any of them—the mess that’s going on inside me. “You love my cheesecake.”
“Do I?” He grins, but then the smile vanishes as his brows dip. Then he hastily clears his throat. “But, yeah, I just came over to give you this.” He picks up the platter piled with sweet treats and practically shoves it into my arms. “My mom actually put it together and told me to bring it over as a welcome back to the neighborhood.”
“Okay …?” Puzzlement etches through me. Like I noted when I saw him at the gas station, he seems different. More serious. More … Well, I hate to admit it, but he seems like he doesn’t want to be friendly with me. Smart guy. “Tell her thanks.”
He nods, backing toward the door with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his shorts. “All right, I will.”
I consider letting him leave without saying anything else, just letting him go like he seems to want. It would probably be easier and better for him. But the thing is, I really want him to stay. I want to talk to him longer. I want to tell him what’s been going on. But then there’s that voice, that voice in my head warning me not to tell anyone. That if I do, I’ll die. That he’s a fucki
ng cop.
What am I going to do?
What can I do?
Who can I tell?
As I dither back and forth, my phone vibrates in my pocket, a warning from unknown that I’m running out of time. Distracted by my worries, I hand Nik the platter of goodies and tell him and Zhara to go put them in the kitchen. Then I walk Milo to the door, conflicted and on the brink of losing what little sanity I have left.
Tell him.
Don’t tell him.
Tell him.
Don’t tell him.
“Do you have to be somewhere right now?” I ask, fidgeting with the leather bracelet on my wrist.
He massages the back of his neck, throwing an almost panicked glance at the door, like he wants nothing more than to bolt. “I’m supposed to have dinner with some … friends tonight.”
“Cop friends?”
He wavers, seeming uneasy. “Nah, just some friends I went to high school with.”
It seems odd he doesn’t say friends we went to high school with.
“That’s cool …” I catch his eye, noting how squirrely he’s gotten, something he does whenever he’s lying. “So, where are you living now? With your parents?”
He shakes his head. “No. I live over by the railroad tracks.”
By the railroad tracks is considered the bad side of Honeyton, so I find it a little bizarre that he lives there.
“That’s nice. I mean, I bet it beats living with your mom and her, as she puts it”—I make air quotes—“ ‘fabulous matchmaking skills.’ ”
He rolls his tongue in his mouth, fighting back a grin. “Anything’s better than that. I love her to death, but she’s so nosey sometimes.”
“Remember that one time when you were, like, sixteen and she thought you were dating a girl you wouldn’t tell her about, so she snooped around in your room and tried to find clues, but then you came home while she was doing it.”
“Yeah, I remember. She hid in my closet for over an hour. She was lucky I didn’t do anything but lie down and read.” He shakes his head, the corners of his lips turning upward. “The funny thing was, I wasn’t even dating anyone. She made the whole thing up in her head because I kept coming home a little late after school.”
“Why were you going home late?”
“It was right after that one guy with that funny hair broke up with you. You were having a hard time, so I took you out every day after school, and we did a bunch of crazy stuff to get your mind off things.”
“Oh, yeah.” I lean against the door, musing. “Max with the Mohawk. I forgot about him.”
“More like Max the ass,” Milo says in a clipped tone. “That guy never treated you right.”
“I really have bad judgment when it comes to guys,” I admit shamefully.
“You were young,” he says with a shrug. “Isn’t that part of being young? Making mistakes and learning from them?”
“I guess so,” I mumble. “I just wish I could’ve learned from them sooner.”
His forehead creases as his lips part, questions flooding his eyes.
Not ready to go down that road with Nik and Zhara right in the other room, I say, “So, why a cop?”
Confusion creases his brows. “Huh?”
“I was just wondering why you decided to become a cop. I don’t remember you ever mentioning that being something you wanted to do.” I don’t even know what the point of my question is, other than I want to get to know him, to figure out who this different, squirmy, uneasy Milo standing in front of me is.
“It wasn’t. But things changed. I changed.” He shifts his weight, running his palm over his cropped brown hair. “About a year ago, I was going through some stuff, and I just decided I needed to do something different. So, I got my associates degree, moved back, and started the police academy training program.”
“Are you happy?” I ask quietly. “I mean, do you ever regret it? I know you used to hate living here, and you had all these dreams of getting out and doing something crazy amazing with your life.”
“I’m actually okay with being back in Honeyton, and I do feel like I’m doing something good with my life.” His intense gaze bores into mine. “Things change, Jessa. Sometimes, people end up doing what they dreamed of, and sometimes, you end up finding out what you thought you wanted wasn’t as great at you hoped. It doesn’t mean I gave up my dreams. My dreams just changed.”
“I forgot you could do that,” I utter softly.
“Do what?”
“Make complicated, difficult things sound so easy. It makes me feel weak.”
He swallows hard. “Jessa … about what happened the other night … when you called me … I need to know if you’re okay. I meant to talk to you when I ran into you at the gas station, but there was just”—the warmth in his expression evaporates—“some shit going on. I know it’s not an excuse, but you caught me off guard and at a really bad time.”
“It’s fine.” I hug my arms around myself. “I haven’t talked to you in over a year. I’m not really your responsibility anymore.”
No, you’re not, Jessa. And that’s why you shouldn’t tell him. He’s happy. Leave him out of your shit.
“Hey.” He hooks a finger under my chin and forces me to meet his gaze.
That deep connection I’ve always felt with him returns full force, making it complicated to breathe.
I missed this.
Miss him.
“I never, ever felt like you were a responsibility,” he promises. “You were my friend, and I loved helping you out. You were there for me a lot, too.”
I cringe at the past tense references. We were friends, but not anymore. Nothing is what it is anymore.
I want my old life back.
I want this aching inside to go away.
I want the text messages to stop.
I want Zoe to come back.
I want my old friend Milo back. Maybe I don’t deserve it and maybe it’s wrong, but handling this alone, no matter what the voice inside my head says, might result in me ending up in the hospital again. Can I ask that of Milo? To be my friend again after what I did to him? Is it wrong to bring him into this mess of my life?
I don’t know what to do.
So, I crack a nervous joke, a bad habit of mine when I’m super nervous. “So, you loved helping me out, even when I borrowed your pretty new truck and wrecked it?”
“Okay, maybe not then.” He lowers his finger from my chin, and a warm smile returns, the old, happy Milo I knew reappearing. For a flash of an instant, a calmness washes over me. “Most of the time, I loved doing stuff for you.”
A soft smile touches my lips before shame gnaws at the pit of my stomach, the calmness dissipating. “How can you be so nice to me right now? I’ve been, like, the shittiest friend ever. I mean, I took off and didn’t even call you.”
“It’s fine.” He shrugs, though pain creeps into his tone. “It’s not like we left things on a great note.”
“Yeah, I know … I thought about staying in touch, but you said not to call.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I really didn’t want to talk to you when you first left. It took me a long time to get over what happened.”
I struggle to keep my voice steady. “You’re okay now, though, right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine now.” He almost answers without missing a beat, but that microsecond of a pause makes me question if he’s being truthful.
“I just mean … What I’m trying to say is …” What am I even trying to say? “Do you want to try to be friends again?” Oh, my God, what the hell is wrong with me? “I get it if you don’t. In fact, maybe you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t know if I can be friends with you.” He pauses, seeming to deeply contemplate the decision and making me extremely nervous. Then a huge-ass grin spreads across his face. “I mean, my truck looks so awesome right now. I’d hate to have to replace everything just to be friends with you.”
“Hey, I crashed it one time.” I give his shoul
der a light shove, and he laughs as he stumbles into the front door. “You seriously had me worried there for a second.” I cross my arms and stare him down. “And just so you know, the only reason I wrecked your truck is because I suck at driving on snowy roads. I always brake when I shouldn’t.”
“I know. My car was in the shop for a month because of your panicked brake-tapping.” He smiles, but the movement doesn’t look easy for him. “Jessa, if you want to hang out, that’s fine. But I should warn you that there’s some complicated stuff going on in my life right now that I’d rather you not get involved with.”
With me, too, Milo. With me, too.
“Like what?” I ask.
He tensely massages the back of his neck. “Just stuff. I don’t really feel comfortable talking about it.”
“That’s okay. I come with baggage, too.” I open and flex my shaking hand. “As you probably already know.” You just don’t know everything. “It’s pretty bad, too. I feel like I should tell you that.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I’ve been really worried about you.”
I stare down at my feet. “I can’t talk about it right now with Zhara and Nik around. I haven’t told them what happened yet. I haven’t told anyone, really. I’d like to talk later, though, if you have time and don’t mind listening.” If he agrees, I’m not even certain what I’ll tell him—what my brain will let me tell him. But I should at least try to confide in someone a little bit of the truth. Not all of it, though. I don’t think I can do that. Literally.
“Of course I have time.” Still, he seems hesitant. “Are you going to tell them? Your siblings, I mean … about what happened.”
It takes me a moment to figure out he’s talking about me almost taking my own life and not maybe taking someone else’s. “I don’t know if I should. They’ve been through so much lately. The last thing they need is to find out their sister almost left them.”
He laces his fingers through mine, his hand trembling. “Well, I’m more than happy to talk whenever you want.”
My hand is also shaking in his. “Thanks. Not just for saying that, but for handling that night so well. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be right now. Probably not here.”
Reclaiming Madelynn (Reclaiming Book 1) Page 10
