Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
“Or, oh wait, let me guess, you want me to tell you how angry I am with myself, huh?” he asked. His movements stilled as he shut his eyes for a split second. His head slightly tilted to the left as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. As if he was trying to control his emotions.
I wished he wouldn’t, though.
I wished he’d allow himself to spill over. To feel it all, every hurt, every ache, every slice of pain.
When his eyes opened, I saw the waterworks seconds away from pouring out. “Because I should’ve spent today with him like you mentioned. He’d still be okay if I would’ve helped him instead of running off to Chicago to try to escape this shit.” He glanced at the photograph of his parents on his mantel and began to whisper. “I might not get to tell him I’m sorry, Star,” he said. “I might not get to make up with him, or have a beer with him, or tell him ten years down the line that he was right and that I was a little shit. I might not reminisce with him about Mom, or get to build a new relationship with him. He’s in a coma, and he doesn’t know I’m sorry. He doesn’t know I’m sorry for being a fucked-up kid with daddy issues. He doesn’t know that I forgive him for not knowing how to parent after Mom left us. He doesn’t know I love him.”
I could’ve reassured him that his father knew that Milo loved him.
I could’ve been the person who comforted him and told him that his father could still pull through.
He didn’t need that right then, though. He needed to break.
Sometimes one had to break into a million pieces for healing to begin. All Milo needed from me at that very moment was my arms wrapped tightly around him as a physical reminder that he might’ve felt alone, but he wasn’t. I was there and would be there as long as he needed me. No matter how long it took.
CHAPTER 29
Milo
We stayed in bed all night in a darkened room.
Starlet tried to get me to eat something, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t think straight. I couldn’t focus on anything at all except the fact that Dad was currently fighting for his life.
My mind felt sick.
I didn’t know minds could feel sick until that very moment.
I couldn’t lose him, too.
Hadn’t I lost enough?
Hadn’t the world stolen enough from me?
Starlet stirred in my bed as she began to wake from the night prior. Before her eyes even opened, her hand reached out toward my side of the bed, and it landed against my forearm.
Still here, Teach.
Her brown eyes fluttered open, and I didn’t feel alone for a split second like I used to. I felt sad but not alone and sad, which used to be my default.
“Hi,” she whispered, rolling on her side to face me.
“Hi,” I replied, combing away the hair falling in front of her eyes.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“No.”
“You should’ve woke me.”
“We both don’t have to suffer.”
As I said that, her eyes softened with a sense of deep sadness. It was as if she remembered what reality had been for me after her dream state. If I were honest, I hadn’t realized the truth. I was walking in a state of delusion. Part of me was thinking that Dad was off drunk somewhere, being a damn fool, and I’d hear his car pulling into the driveway anytime now. Not that he was in a hospital bed debating between life and death, debating between finding Mom or coming back to me.
“I’m so sorry, Milo,” she said.
The words made me twitch. I pressed my forehead to hers. “Please stop saying that. It’s just a reminder that there’s something to be sorry about.”
“Okay, sorr—” She stopped herself and pushed out a smile. “How can I help you today?”
I kissed the tip of her nose before pushing myself up to a sitting position. “Can I cook for you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I want to cook for you. Breakfast, then lunch, then dinner. Can I cook for you, Star?”
“What? No. Don’t worry about me. I can cook for you—”
I swallowed hard and shook my head. “No, you don’t understand. I just…I need to cook today, and I want to cook for you.”
She stared at me, a bit perplexed, but nodded in agreement. “Okay, yes. I would love that.”
I stood from the bed and walked over to my dresser, where my mother’s recipe box was sitting. I hadn’t opened it since she passed away. I was too scared to look at the recipes she left for me.
Moving back to the bed with the box, I opened it and placed it in front of us both.
“These were my mother’s recipes. She left them to me after she passed away. She said whenever I felt extremely lost, I should make one of the meals. I haven’t had the nerve to open the box yet, but I’d like to today,” I told her.