Copyright © 2021 Drethi Anis

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

ISBN-13: 9781234567890

ISBN-10: 1477123456

Cover design by: Art Painter

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

Printed in the United States of America

ESSENTIAL

BOOK THREE OF THE QUARANTINE SERIES

DRETHI ANIS

Blurb

Milo:

Our lives have changed.

Our worst moments and biggest secrets are used as leverage against us.

People want to force us apart in the name of the greater good.

Maybe they’re right; maybe we are each other’s villains and not heroes.

But that doesn’t change anything because it’s her or no one!

Raven:

Our past is catching up to us.

Our secrets are out, and our family is falling apart.

Seeing my sister follow in my footsteps turns out to be the wake-up call I needed and definitely didn’t want. For better or worse, family sticks together.

But at the end of the day, I’ve made my choice because it’s him or no one!

A huge thank you to my team for making this possible.

Bibi & Ash, what would I do without you? Let’s hope I don’t have to find out.

Allie, thank you for always picking up after my slack.

Sheri, your insight makes me rethink in a fresh way. Thank you for playing Devil’s advocate.

Karen Dee, Crystal Bell & Kelly Gregory, thank you for your tireless campaign.

A special thank you to my Beta Readers for helping me improve by telling me everything I did wrong. I kid, but kudos to all of you for sticking by me time and time again— Amanda Howes, Juli Stott, Brianna Clements, Maria Keramaris, Kathy Jackson & Mandy Moon.

Acknowledgement

I wanted to acknowledge my fellow authors from sprint for inspiring me daily.

A huge thank you to T.L. Hodel & Sassy Jacksun for listening to my ideas and vetoing the terrible ones. And to Dylan Page for being my emotional support Canadian.

Last but not least, I have to thank the entire city of Tulum, the beautiful place where I wrote most of this story.

Playlist

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Love The Way You Lie – Eminem, Rihanna

Toxic – Britney Spears

Love On The Brain – Rihanna

Bleeding Love – Leona Lewis

Stupid in Love – Melt

Rock Bottom – Hailee Steinfeld, DNCE

Going Under – Evanescence

Back to Black – Amy Whinehouse

Hotter Than Hell – Dua Lipa

Irresistible – Fall Out Boy, Demi Lovato

You can find the playlist on Spotify.

Prologue

The Past: Fall, 2015

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Milo

I am standing at the gate of Raven’s private school. My glare is steadfast on the douchey, prepubescent boy talking to Raven—A pretty boy athlete with too much product in his hair.

He is staring at Raven the way I have been staring at her for days. Like a locked up, rage-filled wild animal. A beast that’s rattling the cage to charge after his mate.

We have only just started sleeping together, and Raven’s already lodged herself deep under my skin. It’s like watching the slow dissemination of one’s mind and being unable to control the accelerated digression. I’m simply the pawn watching the discord from above.

If Raven’s all I can think about, I might as well spend that time with her instead of inside a classroom. That was my rationale for skipping my remaining lectures today. My legs moved on their own until I found myself in front of Raven’s private school during her lunch break.

Raven loves it when I stop by during her break, and I had this unshakeable urge to make her happy. She’s been skittish as of late. To put her mind at ease, I wanted to surprise her.

Except, I am the one in for a surprise. I bunked my lectures for a huge slap in the face.

Is this the shit she does behind my back: flirt with juvenile boys? Their conversation is inaudible to me, but the scene of a horny boy talking to the lonely, pretty girl is easy to dissect.

The royal fucker only pisses me off further by taking Raven’s hands in his own.

“RAVEN!” I yell, having reached past the behavior I’ll sanction or tolerate.

Raven jumps at the pitch of my voice, turning to find me by the gate. Looking shocked over my looming presence, Raven retracts her hand out of his hold and sprints forward.

“Milo,” Raven breathes, “w-what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

My glare is still fixed on that entitled prick, even though my vision is blurred with fury.

I can’t beat up this boy; I recite the reminder in my head over and over. As far as this school is concerned, I am the Sinclair family representative. The parents here are supposed to lead by example. Beating up a student is obviously not the best example to set.

Raven should have exercised better judgment by turning down his advances without my interference rather than allowing him to touch her. This is exactly why I don’t trust her anymore.

Instead of responding, I grab Raven’s elbow roughly and start walking past her school gate. I need to remove myself from this situation before doing something I regret.

“What’s going on?” Raven asks in a bewildered tone. When I don’t respond, she follows up. “Milo, where are we going?”

Squeezing tightly, I force Raven to match my pace. Fuck… I am going out of my mind. The fact that I can’t read Raven anymore only adds to my unraveling madness.

“Who was that boy?” Instead of answering Raven’s question, I ask one of my own.

“What boy?”

I just caught her in an inconspicuous scene, holding some boy’s hand. I don’t have a plethora of relationship experience, but if it were reversed, I’d at least attempt to explain the circumstances revolving around the situation rather than allowing her to doubt me.

“That boy, Raven,” I repeat harshly. “You two were holding hands.”

“I-I wasn't holding hands,” Raven stammers. “That was Don. You’ve met him before. He was asking for my history notes and grabbed my hand to plead for them. It was just a joke.”

My jaw ticks in response to her answer. “We are going home. We’ll talk about it there.”

Going out to lunch is the last thing on my mind. At this point, even the short walk home is grueling. When we reach the front door, I practically haul her inside and start toward the stairs.

“Wait. What are you doing?” Raven protests.

“We are going to my room,” I state firmly, anger still emanating through my system.

Raven shocks me by ripping her hand out of my hold. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“But no one’s home.” There is only one thing that can make things better between us right now, and we have the house to ourselves. When else would we have this opportunity?

“I-I thought you wanted to talk, and that’s why you brought me home.”

“We’ll talk later. Let’s go upstairs.” I grab her elbow again.

This time Raven allows me to lead her up the stairs. Thank God for that because I can’t even see straight. My blood’s pumping with impatience.

I’m aware that I’ve been too high-strung as of late. While I am not a big drinker, perhaps I need one at the moment to mellow myself out.

As soon as we step inside my room, I kick my shoes off and head to the mini-fridge to grab the glass sitting on top. There are airplane size vodka bottles stashed inside my fridge.

Raven dilly-dallies by the door, glancing uneasily at the Vodka Red bull I am swirling in my glass. My antsy feelings only increase with Raven’s growing hesitancy. With every day that passes, Raven acts more reluctant. I can feel her slipping away. It’s like holding onto sand. The more I close my fist, the more she slips through my fingers.

“Are you going to come inside?” I ask in an agitated tone.

Raven’s biting her tongue about something. Instead of verbalizing her concern, she steps inside and drops her backpack on the armchair while fumbling with her coat and shoes.

I sip on my drink, watching Raven take off her jacket under hooded eyes. When I tilt the glass, I catch a glimpse of her again through the clear bottom. I take an audibly sharp inhale when her shirt rises to reveal a patch of perfectly creamy skin and her small belly button.

Raven awkwardly lingers by the armchair. I suddenly realize that my agitation has made me impolite. Offering a drink seems like the bare minimum of a polite gesture toward your ‘lady friend,’ especially if I’m having one. “Would you like a drink?” I ask belatedly.

Raven shrugs. “Sure, if you happen to have any wine in your room.”

I barely suppress the look of disdain or the urge to discipline her. “I meant a non-alcoholic drink, Raven.” My voice is as rigid as it is stern.

“Oh. I’m okay. Thank you,” Raven responds politely, though her eyes grow wide at my tone. How the hell did she expect me to react? I might look the other way while Raven and Reid occasionally drink at parties, but how irresponsible would it be to feed an underaged teenager alcohol during school hours? Not to mention, Raven made that request too callously, as if her expectation was normal. There is an impulsive need hammering away to launch an inquisition.

“Have you done that before?”

“Done what?”

I scowl at her indifferent tone. “Drink during the school day.”

“Of course not.”

“Then why did you automatically ask for alcohol?”

Raven shakes her head. “I-I thought… y-you offered. I mean… I don’t usually leave school in the middle of the day either. I don’t really know what rules apply here.”

I shake my head and almost snort as my own hypocrisy settles in. She is right.

I refuse to serve her alcohol, but I have no problem dragging her home during school hours to fulfill my own salacious fantasies. It’s a fine line playing the role of both a disciplinary figure and a spontaneous, fun-loving significant other. It’s impossible.

I want Raven to trust me. To tell me things. But, I also can’t look the other way if she discloses something that puts herself at risk or challenges my authority as her guardian.

I bet that prick Chris could provide her with a normal relationship. He’d be a good old regular boyfriend. Take her out with her friends. Take her to school dances. Take her to prom.

Fuck! I forgot about prom.

Reid and Raven have been talking about their senior prom for years. I’m also attending their prom, but to chaperone it. I can’t take Raven. What then; she’ll go with that prick, Chris?

Over my dead fucking body.

The homicidal urges return at just the image, only to be followed by that insatiable lust.

“Sit,” my voice comes out colder than intended. When Raven moves to sit on the couch, I pointedly add. “I meant, on the bed.”

Raven halts in her tracks. She doesn’t respond, nor does she make a move toward the bed. I’m quiet too. I want to make demands. Shake that hesitancy out of her. Erase her reluctance. But I need her to take this last step on her own accord. I need her to choose me.

We are playing a game of chicken. The only noise is the ice cubes clinking together every time I swirl my glass. The tension finally rolls off my shoulders when Raven shuffles to the bed.

I grin ear to ear, relieved by her acquiescence. My beaming face eases her strain, and Raven smiles back affectionately. The smallest of her actions changes my temperament. It’s beyond intense that another human being holds the key to every one of my emotions, moods, and actions.

I down whatever’s remaining of my drink and stride toward her purposefully. Raven is sitting at the edge of my bed. Leaning down, I cup her face and waste no time smashing my lips to hers. The buttons to Raven’s school shirt fall open under my quick fingers. My hands roam her body hungrily, feeling her shape, memorizing every curve.

Raven is doe-eyed as I lift off her to pull my t-shirt over my head and ditch it on the floor. I’d laugh at her awed expression if I weren’t so charmed by her innocence.

However enchanted I may be, it’s tricky to maneuver a sexual relationship without indication of Raven’s preferences. There is only one thing I know for certain—she’s incredibly shy in bed and prefers when I take charge, always looking at me for guidance. Raven’s prone to overthink, so it probably allows her brain some reprieve whenever she doesn’t have to make decisions.

“Undo my pants,” I murmur. Raven awkwardly unbuckles my belt and pops the button of my jeans. I kick my jeans off, shoving them aside with my feet. “Boxers too.”

Raven pulls my boxers down to come eye level with my rock-hard cock that springs out. By the time I step out of them, she’s flushed.

“I love it when you touch me,” I whisper hoarsely when Raven expectantly peeks up.

I stroke Raven’s hair, hoping to soothe her. As some of her apprehensiveness and modesty dissipates, Raven’s body visibly relaxes. Placing her palms on my thighs, I murmur, “Touch me, baby. Any way you want.”

Raven starts to draw light circles with her thumb. A low groan remains locked in my throat, not wanting any movement or sound to break the trance. But when Raven’s fingers wrap around the base of my cock, I can’t hold back. I scoot closer, a rumble escaping my mouth.

Raven gives me a long slow stroke, focusing on my dick lengthening in her hold. My head rolls back, hand reaching out to squeeze her perky tit, massaging her nipple through her bra. Raven strokes faster on instinct. Up and down, back and forth, until my cock is pulsing.

“That feels so good,” a low guttural sound of approval vibrates from my chest.

Feeling encouraged, Raven leans forward to close her lips around me, pressing her tongue on the head. I hiss as she twirls her tongue, but I need a bit more from Raven today.

“Use your saliva,” I murmur. “Spread it more with your tongue. I want my dick dripping and wet. Yeah, lick me just like that.”

My eyes are captivated as Raven dives in, her head bobbing back and forth. It feels like sweet fucking heaven welcoming me inside.

“That’s it, baby. Suck me harder,” I instruct between a restrained growl. “Fuuuck. I want your mouth on my balls too.” Raven doesn’t hesitate, licking and alternating from one to the other. I move her other hand to my balls. “Squeeze them a little.”

Raven cups me on cue, just the way I like. She opens up more until my ball is inside her wet, warm mouth, and she is lapping without holding back. I fucking lose it.

“Fuck, yeah,” I pant. “Don’t stop.” I make a fist into her hair with my hand, roaring and grunting uncontrollably. “Fuck, baby. That… right there... feels so fucking good. Fuck… holy fuck. You are killing me,” I growl like a mad man.

Raven moves her mouth back to my cock. She is sucking me off. Stroking me. Cupping my balls. I stare in awe, feeling consumed. Raven gives amazing head. Even with her reserved manners, she hits every spot, giving me exactly what I need. At this rate, I’m not going to last.

I move her mouth off me. I want to come inside her. My lips are on hers as soon as I push her back on the mattress and cover my body with hers. My frantic hands pull at her skirt and underwear, almost ripping them in my effort to take it all off.

I run my tongue over her pink areola. Closing my mouth around her nipple, I suck gently at first, rougher as I continue. Raven clutches at my shoulders, letting out a pained whimper.

“Relax, baby,” I mumble against her nipple while distracting her by parting her folds.

Raven moans and gasps simultaneously as I stroke her clit while scraping my teeth to cover her breasts with bite marks. I’ve no idea why biting turns her on so much. I don’t think she does either. By the time her breasts are red and bruised, my fingers are coated with her wetness.

I look down at her swollen cunt that’s ready for my dick. Sliding the tip between her folds, I sheath myself inside roughly.

Pure ecstasy bursts through my chest as her walls embrace me, Raven’s hold clawing at my dick. “Does it still hurt?” I grit out since Raven was sore last night.

“A little.” Raven blows out a breath. I hug her close to me. We both breathe heavily while I hold still. “Ahhh.” Another small whimper escapes Raven when I start rocking against her. Her nails are digging into my shoulders, no doubt leaving me with more marks as a souvenir. I’d happily wear them with pride if I didn’t have to explain the source.

Holy hell. This is torture. I have been dying to be rougher with Raven. I might have to distract her to take her the way my body craves. The way I have been fantasizing for years.

“Let me fuck you harder,” I whisper, hoping not to push her limits. “Can you do that for me, baby? I know it hurts, but I can’t help myself. You are just so sexy.”

Raven nods, blushing incessantly. I pick up the pace, unable to think past coming deep inside her little pussy. I only slow down when Raven’s face clenches in pain.

“Just a little bit longer,” I grunt with excruciating effort, desperately hoping that she doesn’t ask me to stop. “I’m so close. Gonna lose my mind if I can’t fuck you raw right now.”

“I’m fine,” she breathes, biting down on her pouty, bottom lip.

“God, Rave. You are perfect.” I dig my fingers into her hips to hold her down on the mattress while I grind and thrust. My hand moves under one of her knees to lift her thigh and go deeper, pushing inside her even harder. Raven tightens around my cock again, setting me off.

“I’m gonna come… fuck... I’m coming,” I growl. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

My body explodes as my lips swoosh down to hers. My world blacks out as wave after wave crash through, and my dick keeps slamming inside her over and over, coming violently.

My weak muscles give out, and I collapse on top of Raven as I pull out. Peeking my eyes open, I press a kiss on Raven’s neck. My chest expands when I see the bruises and bite marks covering her breasts. I drag my lips over all the minor injuries to somehow erase their existence.

“You’re amazing in bed,” I praise in-between kisses.

“What?” Raven appears startled by the compliment.

Moments of doubt seep through. I am baffled by Raven. A compliment in the bedroom is generally well-received, but I can never tell with her. “You are amazing in bed,” I repeat, which somehow feels like doubling down on a bad bet. “I was close to having a heart attack,” I joke.

Raven doesn’t seem pleased by my answer. “Why did you come to my school today?” she poses the question under her breath instead of acknowledging my words. Raven used to get giddy whenever I visited her at school during lunch hour. But I guess, not anymore.

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about last night,” I answer honestly. “If I couldn’t focus on class, I might as well see you instead of dreaming about this.”

Raven blinks. “Oh,” she says, sounding almost… disappointed? As if it was the last thing she cared or wanted to hear. I lean back to study her expression. There is no glow in her face, the kind she usually wears for me. There’s nothing tender about this moment either.

Instead of harping on the negative, I lead with the only thing that works for us: sex. It overpowers everything, erasing my feelings of rejection and making her uncertainties disappear.

Soon I have my head buried between her legs, making her forget even a second of pain from when I was too rough. Soon, she is screaming her head off, begging desperately.

After her throbbing pussy cools off, I absentmindedly run my hands all over her smooth skin, my face lazily tucked away in the hollow of her neck.

“I have to go back to school,” Raven mumbles, the lethargy reflected on her face.

“Stay. I’ll write you a note.”

“Can’t. I have an important class—”

“Which class?”

“History?”

“The one with that boy in it?”

Raven doesn’t respond.

“Nothing will happen if you miss a day.” I’m aware of my negligence, but I can’t think straight with her in my arms.

“I guess. Okay. Write me a note.” Raven yawns, her eyelids fluttering, lulling herself to sleep from the gentle kisses I press all over her face. I’ll never get tired of this visual.

As long as Raven’s by my side, I’d want to live forever, so I can spend all of it with her. In fact, she makes me want to live longer than infinity. If I had the option to be with her until the end of the world, I’d tell death to go fuck itself every time.

PART 1

SPRING

*Note the structure for Book 3 is different. This book is divided into four parts, embodying Raven and Milo’s journey through four seasons over two years. Each part begins with one chapter representing the past and follows their journey for the same season in the following year.

Chapter 1

Spring, 2020

A Year Without You

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Mia

Have you ever forced yourself on anyone else other than me?

I’ve been up all night contemplating Raven’s pain-filled voice and the sincerity behind the words I overheard her utter last night. My anxiety returns at just the reminder.

Over the last few weeks, Raven’s been spending a lot of time with Milo— smiling, giggling, making googly-eyes. Yet, she has been looking more deathly with each passing day—weight loss, restlessness, dark circles. These transformations signify an unknown factor I couldn’t identify. And when I saw evidence of self-inflicted harm, I decided to break my silence.

I went to Milo’s room yesterday to express my concerns. I never made it past his door, stumped by Raven’s words that I overheard.

Ultimately, I understood what the changes reflected.

Raven’s well-being is dependent on removing the ghosts of her past. But Milo’s well-being is dependent on Raven. The changes in his recent appearance prove that he’s only happy around her, while the changes in Raven’s appearance prove that she isn’t okay around him.

Fuck! I should’ve said something sooner despite Reid’s demonstrative fury. I was just distracted by my relief at Milo and Raven’s reunion as I’ve spent years feeling like a child of divorce. It’s an odd reference but the only suitable comparison.

Like a duckling, I imprinted on Milo within days of my birth and saw him as my parent.

However, over the years, Milo’s work has become taxing. Though Raven was the only adult he trusted, Milo would initially leave me under Dad’s care whenever he was indisposed. The arrangement exasperated him as Dad often neglected Milo’s instructions regarding my care, which are very particular—screen time, curfew, etc. So, Milo started sending me to Paris during my vacations and long weekends, which added up to five months of the year. The significant time under Raven’s supervision morphed our dynamic, and she became a second parental figure. It was soon easier to skip Milo’s voicemail and ask Raven’s permission for X, Y, Z.

But my two parental representations refused to be in the same room, often putting me in the middle, turning holidays and special occasions into a sore topic.

So, imagine my surprise when I followed Milo’s directions on the day everyone moved back to this house. He asked me to gather the family, only so they could catch Milo and Raven in a conspicuous act. Milo staged it, then pretended it was a mistake that they got caught.

I planned to confront him privately, but various family crises kept popping up, such as Raven falling down the stairs, Reid leaving, and Tessa spiraling.

Later, it appeared that Milo and Raven developed a genuine relationship, so I let it go. They have both grown up a lot in the last few years. I didn’t want to stand in the way since they could finally pursue a mature relationship without allegations.

I knew Raven was lying to me about their relationship when they first got together. It was darn hard to miss an affair between a sexually charged human lacking healthy relationship experiences and a nonsexual being who lacked communication.

To Milo, allowing a girl to sleep in his room was equivalent to professing his undying devotion. I wonder if it registered that sex doesn’t translate to love for a nonsexual person like Raven. And I’ll bet Raven never articulated a word even if she perceived it as cheap. If Milo had led with his emotive side or if she were vocal, perhaps things could’ve been different for them.

But as it stood, it was rapidly spiraling.

Raven’s actions demonstrated she was growing uncomfortable with their progression. She used to light up whenever Milo was in the vicinity. After they started sleeping together, not so much. In return, I noticed Milo’s counterproductive attempts to salvage the deterioration. The more Raven pulled back, the more he boxed her in. The more Milo boxed her in, the more she pulled back. A slow-motion train wreck was the only appropriate classification of their narrative.

With their callous attempts at secrecy, the word was prone to get out, putting the whole family in jeopardy. I could only imagine the gossip had they been found out.

Privileged foster dad of Upper West Side fucks adopted daughter behind closed doors.

Monumental misuse of power: Man uses authoritative position to coerce underage girl.

Their names would’ve been dragged through the mud as people in our cliques don’t take kindly to social pariahs. On top of losing custody of Raven, Milo’s career would’ve ended before starting. If they were in love, perhaps the risk would’ve made sense. But Raven wasn’t in love, so consequently, Milo wasn’t happy either.

The peril to their bright futures had only one solution—Raven and Milo had to break up.

“Mia, why are you sitting here by yourself?” I look up from the kitchen table to find Milo walking through the screen door. When I don’t respond, he prods, “I asked you a question.”

“What did you do to Raven?” I blurt, jumping out of my chair.

Milo narrows his eyes at the sudden outburst. “What do you mean?”

“Did you force yourself on Raven?” Please tell me that I’m crazy. I don’t want to believe it, but Milo’s minute shift at my accusation betrays the way he’s masking his emotions.

“Excuse me?” he asks indignantly.

My voice trembles. “Don’t bother denying it. Raven’s not doing well, and you are the reason why. How could you, Milo? From now on, stay the hell away from Raven.”

Milo suddenly drops the charade to let me see his true emotions. The manifestation happens in front of my very eyes, and I find myself preferring his mask. I’ve never seen such lethal fury in his eyes.

“That’s never going to happen,” he says in a tone so eerie, it makes me recoil. “And what’s between us is none of your goddamn business. You're just a kid.”

“If I am a kid, then so was she when it happened,” I spit out in disgust. “Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve heard Raven crying out in her sleep, asking for someone to stop. I just didn’t know it was you. As I said, you need to stay away from her. You are clearly affecting her mental stability. Look at her! She looks like death.”

Milo closes his eyes as if reining in his irritation. “Mia, I have no idea what you think you know. And honestly, I don’t care. Just stay out of it,” he says in a cavalier tone.

“You have to repent for your sins,” I hiss, earning me an eye roll. Milo might not believe in God, but I know his soul will burn in eternal damnation if he doesn’t seek redemption.

“Whatever, Mia,” Milo huffs in annoyance. “This is a pointless discussion because no one’s going to come between us. The only reason Raven even listened to you the first time is because you confused her. She won’t listen to you again,” he announces.

Again?! Does Milo know I advised Raven to break off their previous entanglement?

Even if he does, Milo’s wrong in his assessment. I didn’t confuse Raven. She simply listened to my advice because Raven wasn’t in love and didn’t want to risk it all for nothing.

However, the reminder is still agitating him. I shouldn’t goad Milo in his current mood, but I merely need a verbal commitment to guarantee Raven’s safety.

“That’s not true,” I approach cautiously. “Raven listens to me because I’ve been in her life since the day I was born. And unlike everyone else, I have never turned my back on her.”

Taking a deep breath, Milo manages to lower his voice, though it shakes with madness. “Mia, if you do anything to jeopardize my relationship, I’ll kick you out of this house, and you’ll never see another penny from me. Call it disowned or whatever the hell you want. The end result will be you living on your own. Just see how far you make it without my support.”

“You think I’ll let you do whatever you want in exchange for money and a roof over my head?” I ask in disbelief.

Deep down, I know we are both just agitated, saying things we don’t mean. It’s the Sinclair gene; we get blindsided by rage. Even Milo, with his dependable nature, is overreacting. He’d never kick me out. That’s why Raven plays a crucial role as the perpetual peacemaker, keeping the three of us at bay. Without her presence, there’s no one to diffuse Milo’s unraveling or my volcanic fury that matches his. “Fine, go ahead. Disown me.”

“Suit yourself.” With those words, Milo heads toward the door, ready to dismiss this conversation entirely, leaving me with this urge to hurt him the way he hurt her.

“You can deny it, but you know that Raven heeds my opinions.” I declare. “Trust me. Raven will break things off with you if I ask her to.”

It’s like watching someone with a trigger. The moment I say those words, Milo’s head whips in my direction. His whole demeanor changes. Milo has never been cruel to me, only disciplinary. But I can feel his oncoming wrath.

“What did you just say?” Milo bellows. A storm is brewing within Milo. There is something else too: Fear. Milo is terrified that I’m right and petrified at the idea of losing Raven. “I already told you. Raven won’t listen to a single word you have to say.”

Our conversation escalated so fast that I regret the words even before opening my mouth. “You think so? Raven’s so paranoid about me that she doesn’t even swear things on me. That’s because she wants to protect me above all else. The feeling’s mutual. I’d do anything to protect her, even if it’s from you. So, stay away from her, or you’ll never see her again. Because if I force her to pick between the two of us, Raven will choose her baby sister over the man who raped her.”

It all happens within the blink of an eye.

One moment Milo is standing next to the kitchen door. The next, he is in front of me, grabbing my throat. I don’t move for a shell-shocked second before realizing that I can’t breathe.

Fuck! I can’t breathe because Milo is choking me.

When I start feeling lightheaded, I frantically scratch Milo’s hand to pry it off my neck. But Milo’s gone. There is someone else harboring inside; his expression is dark like a nightmare come alive.

Suddenly, Milo snaps out of it. He lets go of his hold, jolting as if waking up from that nightmare. We stare at one another in utter shock and bewilderment. A seemingly heated fight between siblings spiraled, but to a summit neither of us ever imagined.

“Oh my God, Mia!” Milo sounds stunned. He puts both of his hands over his head, looking baffled. “Fuck! I am sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

I grab my neck with my own hand. Milo just attacked me. How the fuck is that possible?

“I’m so sorry,” Milo tries to console. “I-I really don’t know… what just happened?” Milo steps toward me, but I take one backward, knocking the chair on the floor. Tears well up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “Mia, please,” Milo whispers. “Say something.”

I don’t think twice. Stumbling on my left foot twice, I run toward the other side of the house. My destination: the stairs to Raven’s room.

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“Hey.” Raven gets up from the bed, looking concerned by my frantic nature running inside her room. I don’t say a single word. Instead, I engulf Raven into an embrace with one hand while shoving up the collar of my sweater with the other to cover up any potential bruises.

“Mia, is everything okay?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah, I have just been so worried about you,” I whisper truthfully.

The tears finally start flowing, streaming down my cheeks. Oh God, Milo didn’t even think. He just started choking me, then snapped out of it long enough to let go. But Milo reacted without any control. Something set off in his brain at the threat of losing Raven, and he attacked me like it was second nature. It’s bringing up the most terrifying ideas.

What if he goes too far one day? What if he kills Raven one day in his reactive anger?

I sob violently in her arms at that thought. If that’s what Milo did to me for threatening to take Raven away, what must he have been doing to her all this time? As Raven hugs to console me, I catch her wrist in my hand to observe the angry red marks all over her.

Her bruises. The superficial changes. Is that self-harm or the aftermath of Milo’s anger?

I learned at an early age that my acute observation skills freak people out. So, I only state them when vital. I consider a therapist’s standpoint. Don’t say anything unless you suspect illegal or harmful acts. And Raven’s clearly in harm’s way.

A realization dawns on me. Milo should go to jail. Not only to repent but to confine himself until getting over this insanity. Raven’s in danger but doesn’t see it. Milo knows he’s dangerous for Raven, but he doesn’t care. So, I have to make Raven open her eyes.

“Rave, please. You don’t owe Milo anything. If you want to come forward, I can help.”

“Mia,” she warns me sternly, “you have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Just because he signed some papers to be your guardian doesn’t give him the right—”

“Mia, I don’t know what you think you know, but—”

“You don’t have to protect him.”

“I am not protecting anyone.”

“No man should ever get away with that.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“For God’s sake Rave, Milo rape—”

“STOP!” Raven shrieks at the top of her lungs.

Raven’s phone beeps in the middle of our argument. I step forward for a last-ditch effort, but just like Milo, Raven refuses to acknowledge the facts. She pushes past me to run out of the house, leaving me in a pool of tears and one orbiting thought.

They are both my heroes, but they are each other’s villains.

-----------

I finally stop crying when I find Milo standing at Raven’s door frame. He doesn’t come inside, maintaining a much-needed safe distance between us.

“Mia,” Milo says carefully. “I went to your room looking for you. Are you okay?” When I don’t respond, Milo adds, “Mia, I-I don’t know what happened downstairs… I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry that I lost my temper. You know how much I love you, right?”

I stare him down with nothing but pain resonating through my system. “Is that how you justify it to Raven when you do this to her? You say that you love her.”

Milo closes his eyes. “Mia, adult relationships are complicated. Raven and I have a difficult past, but you have to stay out of it. Okay, Rabbit?”

“If she wants to be with you, then why the hell does it matter what I have to say to her?”

Milo quickly scans the room. “Did you already say something to Raven?” My silence confirms the unspoken answer. Milo rubs his temple with two fingers. “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know,” I mutter under my breath, hoping that she gets away from him.

Unable to look at him, I shoo him away. However, panic ensues when I hear Milo’s footsteps exiting the house, gathering that he’s likely going after Raven.

Is leaving unannounced a punishable offense in his mind? Will there be repercussions?

For the first time in a long while, I feel like a scared little child. I’m lost. And if I can’t rely on my usual moral compass to guide me, there’s only one other family member I trust.

I take out my phone to send Reid a text.

Mia: I know you are ignoring everyone, but please call me. It’s a 911.

As soon as Reid calls me, I pour my heart out.

Earlier, to Raven, I omitted that Milo choked me. It’s one thing for Milo to hurt Raven, but if she finds out that Milo hurt me… I don’t know if we need both parties to turn violent.

But I spill the details to Reid to establish urgency. His fury instantly causes me to double-guess my action. He is in Baltimore but assures me he’ll drive here as soon as the nearest car rental opens. Even so, I stay seated on Raven’s floor, hoping she’ll come back.

“Mia, are you okay?”

I look up. Pale blue eyes. Mussed up inky black hair. Strong set jaw. Generous lips. The most beautiful male specimen even in a casual gray T-shirt and blue jeans.

Brandon fucking Cooper is towering over me like a vision of pure perfection. His gaze zeros in when I don’t respond. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.

I turn away in mortification. I’m a complete mess. Disheveled hair. Red eyes. Snotty nose. To my horror, Brandon steps inside Raven’s room, gently closing the door behind him.

I wipe my tears away quickly. “Nothing.”

Brandon crouches next to me. “It’s obviously something if you’re crying about it. You are not even doing it in the right room. You know this is Raven’s room, right?” he teases. “I thought teenage girls throw themselves on their own beds after slamming the door behind them?”

“We are not all so dramatic.” I wipe my face again as more tears fall.

Suddenly, Brandon grabs me into a hug, stunning me in place. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t. This isn’t about me,” I reply tersely. Whatever happens between the four of us, it always stays within our tight-knit clique. It’s an unspoken rule.

“If it’s not about you, then why are you so upset?”

“Because sometimes we care more about other people than we care about ourselves.”

Brandon’s quiet for a few minutes. Then he says, “Why do you always have to act like such a grown-up, Bunny? It makes me forget that you are only seventeen.”

Milo used to affectionately call me Rabbit because I had an overbite. He later got me braces to fix the problem. However, Brandon told me that I shouldn’t fix it because my overbite gave me character, and in fact, my cute overbite deserved a cuter name.

Brandon went on to call me Bunny because it was more endearing than Rabbit. At the time, he was three times my age. Even then, I knew without qualms that I wanted him. He was my first crush—the only man I have ever been interested in. It’s been torture ever since he moved in with us, and I’ve had to exercise insurmountable willpower to stay away.

I have no intention of pursuing Brandon, even though I have now realized that the attraction is no longer one-sided. You know why? Because you can’t build new relationships by destroying old ones. Just look at Milo and Raven.

Milo would ruin Brandon if anything ever happened. And now that I know about Raven’s past, I understand why she’s so protective of me. Brandon would epitomize her worst fears— failure to protect me from the clutches of an older man in a position of power. She’d hit rock bottom if at least one kid doesn’t leave this house unscathed, and because the rest of them are too far gone, I’ve been unanimously voted for the position.

So, it’s not worth it. “In that case, I should head back to my room and throw myself on my bed after slamming the door,” I joke with a grateful smile. “Thank you for the consoling.”

“Mia, stop.” Brandon holds me tighter. “Something obviously happened. I have never seen you like this. Is this about college again?”

“That doesn’t even matter right now,” I whisper hoarsely.

“Of course it does. Mia, you have the right to choose your own path. I hope you know that. Your unhealthy bond with Milo and Raven is clearly affecting the rest of your life.”

“There were times when we wouldn’t see our parents for months on end,” I remind Brandon. “When you grow up like that, it becomes an ‘us against the world’ mentality. Wanting to protect and wanting the best for one another becomes second nature—a habit.”

“A habit?” Brandon scoffs. “It’s downright weird that you guys meddle in each other’s business so much and invade one another’s privacy without any regard. Raven has your calendar synced to her phone. Milo has a chart hung up in his work-study with your life plan on it.”

It’s true. Milo mapped out my life through aptitude tests. Yale for undergraduate. Doctorate at Stanford. A published psychologist by thirty. None of which I care to pursue.

“Look, I once lived in Mumbai for a study exchange program. It was twelve people in one household. They called it a joint family. Even they were less codependent than you four.”

I burst out laughing despite my tears, which only makes Brandon blow out a defeated breath. “Saying that we are codependent is putting it mildly,” I warily admit.

“Well, if you know this codependency is abnormal, then why do you participate?

“What do you suggest that I do?”

“Perhaps start by cutting that umbilical cord with Milo.”

“I doubt Milo and I will be very close moving forward,” I mumble under my breath.

Brandon looks at me with perplexity before his eyes suddenly flash with anger. “Mia, what happened to your neck?” his voice is so muted that I almost miss the question.

“Nothing.” My hand touches my neck, where I’m sure a bruise has started forming.

He warns with a bark in his tone, “Mia—”

“Brandon, it’s okay,” I cut him off to reassure. “Don’t worry about me.”

Brandon’s hold on me tightens in response. Something inside of me breaks at his determined face, resolute to make it all better.

That used to be Milo who’d soothe my pain away. The times I was bullied while going through an awkward phase. Or when every girl, except for me, got asked to the dance. Or my previous intense fear of speaking in public, resulting in endless tears during class presentations.

Milo fixed every problem. Every time I was upset, he was resilient in making me laugh so hard until my pain was in the rearview mirror.

That man was my hero, whereas all of Milo’s recent actions indicate anything but heroic. Milo was my marker for all that’s good, but if he can hurt both Raven and me, then there’s no such thing as a hero. And my relationship with Milo is over.

I was choked tonight by the only father figure I’ve ever had, and the same has likely been going on with Raven. At least, I can push away the dark thoughts in Brandon’s warm embrace.

My world stops when Brandon looks down at me. Brandon is mere inches away, eyes never deviating from mine. He’s looking at me like no man has before. The hunger is palpable in his heavy-lidded eyes with dilated pupils fixed on my mouth. His body matches the carnal desire in his orbs. Heavier exhalations. Erratic breathing. The rhythmic movement of his chest.

The first time Brandon looked at me like I was a woman instead of a little girl, it surprised me. Since then, his glances have morphed into something different. Desire.

For the sake of my family, I disregarded it. But in this unmistakably vulnerable moment, I have no remaining willpower. The life I lead to make my siblings happy is the last thing I want to do. Just this once, I want to prioritize my own desires.

We stare at one another, a hair's breadth apart. Before Brandon can open his mouth, I collide my lips against his. Brandon stiffens in shock, his hand fisting into my hair. When our tongues tangle, he circles one arm around my waist and moves me to straddle him. We moan at the same time before Brandon swings me to the ground, and I practically rip his shirt off.

I have tried to follow my moral compass. To exceed expectations. All of it feels obsolete and pointless now. I can’t think of any reason to hold back ever again or chase any more arbitrary excellence.

The Next Day

-----------

Raven

Please forgive me, Rave. I should have been the one to protect you. Instead, I left you there. Milo will pay for what he did. I will be there as soon as I can.

I love you,

Reid

With shaky hands, I tap the call icon and fumble with the phone. I drop the phone twice.

I finally take a deep breath. I have to be somewhat rational to deal with this and calm Reid down from whatever he plans to do. I tap the button to call him.

Reid picks up on the very first ring. “Thank God, Raven,” Reid’s voice booms from the phone so loud that I have to move it away from my ear. “I have been calling for hours!”

“Umm… hey, Stud. S-Sorry, I was out—”

“Fuck! Are you okay?”

“Reid, I am fi—”

“Rave, this call might drop. I lost my charger, and my phone’s almost dead. I’m driving and should be there in thirty minutes. I have been searching for attorneys on how to proceed—”

“No!” I shriek. “Reid, have you lost your damn mind?”

“Fuck. When I first saw you two together all those years ago… I don’t know what I saw. I just thought... I had no idea he was forcing you and getting violent. I’m researching how to file a restraining order. I’ll have money to pay for the lawyer when my trust fund kicks—”

“Reid!” I scream to cut him off. I should have saved my breath. Reid’s temper is in full swing, and he isn’t listening. I momentarily give up to let him rant, already aware there is nothing he can say to change how I feel about Milo.

Milo and I spent the night wondering if an unsure relationship like ours could work. A few hours ago, I woke up paralyzed with fear because Milo is both the man of my dreams and the man from my nightmares. Yet, all of me still belongs to him, and only to him.

When Milo made love to me, it felt like my very soul was being wrenched out of my body. We became one, connected in a way I have never experienced with another human being on this planet. It was the moment I truly became his in every sense of that word.

Over the weeks, Milo phrased the same question a few times, Did I love him when we first got together? I’m surprised Milo hasn’t drawn the conclusion by correlating our recent interactions with the exhibited changes reflected in our relationship’s growth. Our relationship feels dissimilar due to one reason alone. That reason is love.

I once read a book about the five love languages and how everyone has a different definition of love—words of affirmation, acts of service, quality time, tokens of appreciation, and physical touch. Milo and I have different interpretations of love. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Milo’s love language is physical touch. And I need quality time… outside of the bedroom.

When Milo and I first started sleeping together, my heart held back because I couldn’t connect with Milo’s physically dependent form of romance, nor could I define it as love.

Life brought us back together again. This time, Milo gave me all of himself. He finally put away the physical aspect of our relationship to let me see his emotional side. Milo spent time patiently loving me during the most monotonous and mundane moments of life, not due to the adrenaline spikes during a physical high. He nurtured our bond the most boring way possible—my way. No sex. Quality time. Conversations. Romance.

Who would have thought Milo Sinclair could spend time wooing a woman?

Milo did precisely that—gave me the emotional aspect until I could give him the physical one. Now, he’s got me just as hooked to the physical component because sex with someone you love is more mind-blowing than any other experience. In fact, it’s downright addicting.

Back then, I assumed Milo was pursuing me for sex because he’d only be vulnerable in the bedroom but turn it off the moment we’d step outside. If only Milo and I were mature enough to cultivate an emotional relationship, as we have recently done.

As I have come to realize, the right guy at the wrong time is still the wrong guy.

So, when push came to shove, and I had to choose between my best friend’s feelings and a man who seemingly only wanted me for sex, I chose Reid’s friendship.

Now, it’s not even a contest. There is no one else I can choose over Milo. Not even Reid.

“We should also call the cops,” Reid’s one-sided rant continues, threatening the very thing I love the most in this world. “It might actually be safer for Milo if he goes to jail. I am going to beat the shit out of him. You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, Rave.”

“Listen, Stud,” I mutter, holding my temple with two fingers. “There has been a huge misunderstanding. I need you to take a deep breath. Calm down, and I’ll explain everything.”

Reid finally takes a breather. He is in shock from what Mia told him, so he is emotional, just like Mia was last night. As soon as Reid calms down, he will understand the magnitude of what he is suggesting. As for me, I only have one goal; put out this fire.

I know I can calm Reid down by redirecting his focus with specific questions. “Reid, you just said you are driving to New York. Where have you been?”

“Baltimore, Maryland,” he replies after some hesitation. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain later. I am just so sorry that I left you behind,” he adds in a whisper.

“W-What exactly did Mia tell you?” I hold my breath as I spit out the inevitable question.

“Mia overheard Milo admitting to what he did to you. She tried talking to you, but you didn’t want to hear it. Milo was livid when he found out that you left. Please don’t be mad at Mia. She was scared that he might hurt you again. She’d never betray your trust otherwise.”

Oh, God. That’s the last thing I feel. Whatever happened during their confrontation probably shocked Mia. She has never been a witness to Milo’s temper as he’s the only father figure she has known. Truth be told, I am aware that I am more of a mother figure to Mia than an older sister. As far as Mia is concerned, Daddy is abusing Mommy. This is some fucked up shit.

“Of course, I’m not mad at Mia,” I whisper. “Reid, just tell me everything she said.”

“Milo texted Mia the day he came home to gather everyone to come to see him. That’s when we caught you two together. She was confused as to why Milo set that up. She went to talk to him and overheard Milo talking about how he forced himself on you,” Reid's voice shakes. “Rave, this is all my fault. I texted Milo that I wanted to be with you. He forced himself on you to stake his claim before we could become more.”

There it is. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

“Reid, can I—”

“Do you need a minute?” he cuts me off to offer me that reprieve. “Just mute me, and whenever you are ready to talk, I am right here.”

I mute Reid to contemplate how I am going to KICK MILO’S ASS. I am ready to bring back my wrath from last night. No man has ever made me feel this violent. Milo straight-up lied to my face. I’d take a bullet for Milo, but he fucked over Reid by literally fucking me.

Despite his stupid antics, I had already suspected that Milo lied to me. Does this really change anything? At 6:58 a.m. Reid confirmed my suspicions. It’s 7 a.m. now.

Do I love Milo any less in the last two minutes since learning this information?

I take a mental inventory as a bitter smile forms on my lips. I do not. While I plan to take a bat to that beautiful liar’s kneecaps for fibbing, I still love that bastard in an unrequited manner.

Much like Milo, I also get emotional about us. I told Milo that I wouldn’t be able to deal with it if he breaks my trust again. I get why he felt cornered into lying. I spoke out of emotions, but the truth is what I feel for Milo is not confined to the non-negotiables of normal relationships. After what we experienced last night, nothing can keep me from him. I sacrificed Mia’s respect. I lost Reid’s friendship. I hated that look on Reid’s face when he saw us together. Even though Reid confirmed that Milo was the one to put it there, I still can’t give Milo up.

So, I have to put aside our lover’s quarrel over his lie by omission. We have more pressing matters. I have to act fast to put a stop to this nonsense that Reid is suggesting.

I strip my clothes off and wrap a towel around myself. I’m going to end this call, take a shower and change. Once Reid gets here, I’ll do what I have always done best in this house, diffuse the situation. We are taking a walk to sort this out privately and without an audience.

I turn on the hot water in the bathroom and unmute the phone. “I’m back.”

“Talk to me,” Reid says immediately. “Are you okay?”

Even if I insist that Mia heard wrong, I might have to admit to small truths to conceal the worst lies. “I didn’t know that Milo texted Mia to expose us. I asked him, and he lied to my face. I am upset about that, but it doesn’t mean Milo forced me—”

“Raven, I am going to stop you right there. If you are not ready to talk about what happened, I understand. Take all the time you need, but don’t keep lying to me,” Reid’s speaking as though he has already made up his mind about Milo. “In the meanwhile, pack a bag. I’m not letting you live in the same house as him. Come stay with me in Baltimore.”

Nope. I can’t leave. I slept with Milo because I love him, and we are together. Not because he forced me. I fell in love and slept with the man I love. To me, it feels simple.

Reid won’t see it that way. “Reid, there is something—” Beep. I pull the phone away to see if he hung up. I dial back quickly, but no response, which means that his phone died. Fuck.

The biggest problem with Reid’s accusation lies in Milo and I having sex while I was under his care. Reid was a witness to it. Now that he thinks it was against my will, he might not take too kindly about overlooking the underaged portion.

If that’s the case, then it won’t matter if I refuse to file charges. The state can press charges. I do a search on my phone for the age of consent in various states where we had sex.

Other than in New York, we also had sex in Delaware and New Jersey. Milo rented a car during my senior year to visit those states for a family reunion. While Mia and Reid were busy catching up with their cousins, Milo snuck us away for a quickie in the backseat of the car.

I don’t know if Reid saw us then. He never gave me details about the time he caught us.

And I have no idea of the regulations against sleeping with someone under your care. Is it the same as a foster parent having sex with their foster child?

God! How did we get here?

None of the pages are downloading. My phone barely gets any signal in this room. The data connection is slow, and Milo never gave me the Wi-Fi password to connect my new phone.

I am ready to give up when someone tries to turn the knob to my bedroom door.

“Rave, open up.” Reid.

“Hey, Stud!” I barely turn the lock before throwing my arms around him. Reid steps inside with me in his arms. It’s been so long since I have taken in that familiar ‘Reid’ scent. I’m happy to have my best friend back, even if these are the circumstances to bring us back together.

Reid is quiet as he pries me off him. His eyes study me intently as they trail over my body. I am wrapped in nothing but a towel.

However, Reid is not checking me out. He is frowning and looks downright furious.

I am not sure why my state is so disconcerting to him.

My eyes dart to the full-length mirror on my closet door. At first glance, my reflection seems normal. Under closer speculation, I realize that this looks anything but normal to him.

Changes are hard to notice when you see someone daily. Reid hasn’t seen me in weeks. To him, my current state is probably abhorrent.

I have dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. My recent weight loss is making my small frame look anorexic. I have also been skipping on my vitamins. My immune system is at an all-time low, and I bruise easier whenever that happens.

The fact that Milo and I had hours of rough sex last night, leaving purple bruises on my legs, arms, and shoulders, is only making it look worse.

I have rug burns on my knees. My wrists are bright red. Milo’s fingerprints are on my cheek, making it look like someone slapped me.

To clarify, he did not.

I tried to beat the shit out of Milo. At most, he restrained me. Milo simply likes rough sex. He grabbed my face during sex last night, which had some aftereffects.

Love is blind. That’s probably why Milo looks at me like I am the most beautiful woman on this planet. He makes me believe that I am perfect. He says these things so often that I have started to see myself through his eyes. The last thing I pay attention to is my imperfections.

I should have been paying attention. Now that I see myself from the horror reflected in Reid's eyes, the reality is different. I look banged up, like a battered woman who put up a fight.

This looks bad in light of the conversation we had and whatever the hell Mia told Reid. What’s simply an oversight of proper health management is causing unfathomable anger in Reid.

“What the fuck did he do?” Reid roars.

I sprint to my bedroom door and quickly close it, so no one hears him. “Nothing,” I start.

“I am going to kill him,” Reid tries to move past me to get to the door, but I stand firmly.

“Reid, you need to calm down. Milo didn’t do this,” I say confidently.

“Pack your weekender bag. I can’t control my anger right now, Rave. Either you leave with me, or I am telling everyone about what he did. Then I am going to have it out with him.”

“For fuck’s sake, Reid,” I snap, then roll out my memorized lie. “This is all a misunderstanding. Milo and I were joking around. I was teasing him about how the only way he could get it in is by force. It was a bad joke and in poor taste. Mia overheard us and freaked.”

Reid narrows his eyes. He doesn’t believe me. It’s written all over his face. “What’s wrong with you? He is out of control. He even put his hands on Mia. Milo tried to choke her.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Of course, he didn’t,” I hiss. I can’t believe Reid is lying about something so serious. “He would never do that.”

“He did,” Reid grits out. “That’s why Mia called me. She was scared out of her mind.”

“Enough!” I make a clearing motion in the air. “How can you say these things about Milo of all people? He practically raised you. How many brothers do you know would give up their own childhood to provide their siblings with a better one? This is the thanks he gets, with everyone ganging up against him? I am not listening to this shit anymore.”

Reid looks at me like I’m insane. “You just admitted that Milo lied to you. Why are you still protecting him? Aren’t you angry over what he did?”

“Of course, I’m angry,” I lift my chin defiantly. “I plan to have it out with Milo, but I’m not going to accuse him of crazy shit just for lying to me. I’m not protecting him. It’s the truth.”

Reid’s eyes turn to slits as a decision flickers in them. “Okay. In that case, swear it on Mia. Swear on Mia that Milo didn’t do this.” His finger gently touches my bruised cheek that’s sporting Milo’s fingerprints. “And swear on Mia that Milo has never forced you to have sex with him against your will,” Reid says, the words meant to stupefy me in place, and it does.

Check. Fucking. Mate.

-----------

Reid and I are in a staring contest that has come to a standoff. We are both breathing heavily. I refuse to back down to let Reid out of this room. And he isn’t breaking until I swear shit on Mia, something we both know that I’m not going to do.

Do I think my little sister will die if I swear on her and spew out lies? Probably not.

Will I ever take that chance? Hell fucking no.

I don’t even do loopholes when I swear something on Mia.

I don’t pray to some non-existent God. I am not a religious person by any means. However, I am superstitious, and the only thing I am superstitious about is Mia’s health.

Ever since Milo’s work schedule became hectic, I unofficially took over Mia’s welfare.

Reid knows it too. So, how is this different than using someone’s child against them? Frankly, it’s low and hitting below the belt.

“That’s what I thought,” Reid breaks the angry silence pounding between us. He walks past me to grab my weekender bag out of the closet. Reid starts throwing clothes into my bag. He knows what I bring on trips and doesn’t bother asking me what to pack.

I don’t move. I don’t stop him either. “Okay, you win,” I concede quietly. “I’ll leave with you, but I am going to take a quick shower before we leave.”

Reid gives me a curt nod. He just received the unspoken confirmation about his suspicions. Reid is unpredictable when he is this angry. This situation will only escalate if he sticks around or if he decides to involve our parents.

Milo is still asleep in our old brownstone. I planned to return after talking to Reid. If Milo comes back, there’ll be an apocalypse.

Leaving with Reid might actually be the safest option. No words need to be exchanged between Milo, Reid, or our parents. No fighting. No theatrics. And certainly no cops or lawyers. All of this can be accomplished if I can get him the hell out of here.

Baltimore is only a few hours away. I can take the train back tomorrow.

Let’s also not forget about my boyfriend’s possessive streak. When Milo finds out, he’ll probably rent a car and drive to Baltimore. I might even be back by tonight.

I am starting to think that Milo and I should move to his condo. It’s abundantly clear that Reid and Mia are ready to go on a strike against our relationship.

Moving in together is fast. After discussing the hurdles in our relationship, I am unsure of Milo’s stance, but I hope he agrees. We need space to figure this out. Our families meddling in our fragile relationship is never going to work.

I shut the bathroom door to send Milo a text. I don’t bring up his lie by omission. Milo’s going to be anxious over my sudden departure. If he thinks I’m angry, he is going to freak out.

I momentarily still when I realize that Milo might freak out regardless. He doesn’t practice self-preservation or patience when it comes to me. He continually tells me how he doesn’t care about going to prison. I send him another text, asking him to come to see me before doing anything impulsive that might actually land him in jail.

Rave: I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll text you Reid’s address when I get there. If you are feeling antsy, come to Baltimore before doing anything hasty. I love you. -xoxo

After the quickest shower known to mankind, I grab a pair of leggings and a sweater. I also gather my toiletries. By the time I am dressed and opening the bathroom door, Reid is writing on an envelope on my desk.

I stare at the pen he is twirling between his fingers. “What are you doing?”

“Just leaving a note for Mia. I texted her that I am taking you with me. I’m leaving her a note in your handwriting just so she knows that you haven’t been kidnapped against your will.”

I crack a smile at that. “By all means, knock yourself out.” Reid and I know how to mimic each other’s handwriting. He is welcome to leave a note for Mia on my behalf. It doesn’t matter. I plan to be back before Mia has a chance to worry about me.

When Reid is done packing, I grab the bag to chuck my toiletries inside. And that’s when I am finally close enough to see Reid properly for the first time today.

We were having such a heated argument earlier that I didn’t get a chance to inspect him.

Reid is not looking so hot. Days of drinking have taken a toll. His usual handsome face is sunken. His bright blue eyes have lost their spark and have the same dark circles I am sporting. He is normally a buff and built guy. It looks like he has lost some weight and muscle mass.

“Reid, you look like shit,” I comment softly. “I told you not to drink so much.”

Reid moves to find my purse instead of commenting on my observation.

“Hey,” I grab his shoulder and turn him to face me. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I am fine,” Reid says noncommittally.

“Damnit, Reid! Are you doing coke again?” When I was in Paris, and our friendship was on the rift, I heard that Reid was doing cocaine at parties. After we mended our bond, I made him promise not to do it again. I am going to lock him up and throw the keys away if he is digressing.

“No,” he replies curtly, putting an end to the topic. I make a mental note to circle back to this conversation. “Where is your charger?” he asks.

Reid stuffs my large shoulder purse with the contents I’d generally take. It’s eerie that we know each other so intimately. I grab my charger, then surrender it alongside my phone for him to pack. I barely charged my phone by the time I spoke to Reid, so I need to charge it again.

As Reid grabs my weekender bag, I grab my shoes.

“Ready to go?” he asks impatiently while handing me my purse.

I try a last-ditch effort. “Reid, is there any chance you’d discuss this with an open mind?”

“Sure, let’s have an open discussion. In fact, let’s go speak openly about this with our parents and see what they have to say,” Reid says tightly.

He steps towards the bedroom door. I lunge at him and grab his arm while yanking him down the stairs. “Okay, let’s leave.” I rush him before he can change his mind.

His rental car is waiting right outside. Shouldering my purse, I open the passenger side door. Reid rounds the car, puts the keys in the ignition, and pulls out of the street.

He is still seething over my current state. Reid is acting like I am spouting excuses. As if I am some battered woman who is shielding her man.

“So, why Baltimore?” I ask him while strapping myself in to divert him from his anger.

The Sinclair family reunions alternate between Delaware, Jersey, and Virginia, depending on which family is hosting. It was never hosted in Baltimore. Reid doesn’t have any friends in Baltimore either. No family. No friends. No connection. Baltimore is an odd choice.

“Why not Baltimore?” Reid retorts.

“I just never knew you had any ties to that city. Where are you staying?”

“At Sam’s grandmother’s house. She recently passed away. So, it’s going to be vacant for a few months. I asked Sam if I could stay there for a little while.”

“Oh.” I don’t prod further, dropping the topic to dig into my purse. We have barely left, and I am already feeling antsy. Now that Reid’s marginally calmer, I am hoping for a text from Milo. After searching my purse twice, I still don’t see my phone. “Hey, where’s my phone?”

“I left it inside your nightstand drawer.”

“What the fuck, Reid! Why would you leave behind something so damn important?”

“Calm down,” he says mildly. “I did it so we can go off the grid. Milo probably has an app installed on your phone to track you, just like he does with Mia.”

“Who the hell cares?” I seethe. “I need my phone. What if our parents try to reach me? Plus, I work with Alexa now. How is she supposed to get in touch? Turn this car around. Now!”

Reid eyes me suspiciously. “Mia told me about your work with Alexa. She mentioned that you put a pause on your website. So, you don’t have to work. Mia also knows that I am taking you away. She’ll let everyone know, so they don’t have to worry.”

I silently fume. Milo and I recently exchanged numbers. I don’t know his number, nor do I know any of the other Sinclairs’ numbers by heart. Even if I did, there’d be no way of reaching anyone without a phone. I even left my laptop behind.

“Can I at least use your phone to send a text?”

“As I’ve mentioned, I lost my charger. My phone is dead,” Reid mutters coolly.

“Why don’t you stop somewhere so we can buy you a new charger?” I suggest back icily.

“I am not going to do that. I have decided that I need to do an exorcism on you.”

My brows shoot up. “An-exor-what?”

“An exorcism,” Reid repeats. “Priests do it to rid your body of demons. You obviously have a demon living inside of you in the name of my brother. I need to pull it out of you.”

I stare at Reid in disbelief, then burst out laughing. Reid also grins from ear to ear. It’s the first lighthearted moment we have shared. We are laughing at our ridiculous situation.

“And what exactly does an exorcism entail?” I ask in a mocking tone.

“We are going off the radar to go on a ‘bender’ around Sam’s big empty house,” Reid declares. “It’s in the middle of nowhere, so it’s kind of perfect for a bender. We can use the time to talk this out until I can expunge the truth out of you. I have a truth serum. It’s called Tequila.”

Reid and I used to go on benders. He’d fly to Paris, and we’d unplug from technology to go on a directionless road trip slash bender. I never approved, but at least I could monitor him if I went along. Either I joined him to keep an eye out or worry about him turning up dead in a ditch.

I narrow my eyes at him, and Reid gives me a pointed look in exchange.

“Look, Rave. We are turning twenty-two soon. Let’s just spend the next few days having a party for two. This bender can be an extended weekend-long birthday celebration.”

I know what he is doing. Reid thinks that he is protecting me and needs to show me the light. Unfortunately for him, I like the dark. I got used to a regular dose of Milo in my system. After last night, I’m on the verge of wanting to be consumed by him, not having him around less.

“Sorry, Reid. That doesn’t work for me. I have to get back. Why don’t we put a pin on this discussion of ours? Then we can both go back home and celebrate with the whole family.”

As if sensing the real reason for my hesitation, Reid sighs exasperatedly.

“Rave, I gave you what you asked for this morning. I didn’t tell our parents or contact the authorities. You want me to listen to you? Here is your chance for an open discussion. Don’t speak to Milo until you can help me understand why it’s safe to keep associating with him.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not what you think?”

“If that’s the case, then what’s the harm in taking the next few days to talk it out while we celebrate our birthdays. It’s a fair trade-off for keeping my mouth shut, don’t you think?”

Our families always made a big deal of our birthdays since two of us shared a day. I have never been one to care much. However, Milo mentioned that he had planned something. My heart sinks at the idea of not having him around, but I decide to keep my mouth shut.

Reid’s offer is worth more than celebrating a silly day with my boyfriend. If I can get him to stop this crusade of sending Milo to jail or telling our parents, that would be the real win.

Plus, it is our joint birthday. “Okay,” I concede heavy-heartedly. “You have until our birthdays for your exorcism. So, no phones for the next few days?”

Reid shakes his head. “No phones.”

I don’t love the idea, but I already explained the situation to Milo. Reid is going to be in our lives forever. No time like the present to find a way to move past this. Plus, I majorly fucked up by falling in love with my best friend’s brother. I can use this time to seek Reid’s forgiveness.

“The house is stocked with food and alcohol,” Reid continues, “so, let’s drink and grill. They also have a karaoke machine, and there’ll be no one around to make fun of our singing.”

“People just don’t understand how talented we both are,” I jest, feeling happy that his mood is finally lifting. Reid and I love singing, especially karaoke. But no one else in this world appreciates our talentless spirit. Even Milo, with all of his unrequited love for me, cringes whenever I sing along to the radio. Love is blind, but it is certainly not deaf. “I have no idea why people make fun of our lyrical tunes. We should be on The Voice or American Idol.”

“Exactly my point,” Reid pipes in happily. He relaxes his shoulders at the progression of our conversation. The rest of the ride is filled with teasing while avoiding the elephant in the car.

As we speed off on the I-95 Highway on that gloomy day, little do I realize I wouldn’t see Milo again for another year.

Lies

-----------

Raven,

I have been staring at paint for days. The pattern doesn't change. The color doesn’t change. So, I have no idea why I continue staring at the same shit.

It’s been three days since you left. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you, but an altercation with Mia was fucking with my head, and I couldn’t bear upsetting you too. By the time I found you sitting at your old brownstone, you were emotionally worked up from your conversations with Reid and Mia. At that moment, you just needed some consolation. Had I told you the truth, you wouldn’t have let me console you and would have further spiraled.

I swear, I had every intention of coming clean about what happened with our families once you had a chance to digest it. But now that you’ve learned the truth before I had the chance to explain, I don’t know if you’ll ever believe me. You are forwarding my calls to voicemail, and Mia informed us that you left to visit Reid. Of course, she refuses to give me an address for Reid.

I deserve it. I shouldn’t have put my hands on Mia. I don’t know how it happened. It was a complete black-out blur. Unable to face Mia again or cope with the sight of your empty room, I packed my bags and moved to the condo. Now, I’m wondering if there is even a reason to unpack. It feels like everyone will be safer and better off without me.

All of these years, people prided me for taking care of this family. My job was to take care of you, but I am the one who screwed you guys up. I put my hands on Mia. I threatened to murder my own brother on multiple occasions. And I fucked you up beyond repair.

That’s the effect of my charms.

I don’t know what to do. I only know that I need you to calm me down, but you are nowhere in sight. As a last resort, I’m putting this in writing. I once read it’s therapeutic to write letters with the thoughts you’ll never otherwise articulate.

I’m hoping to prove that theory correct because I’ll never send this letter or tell you what I did to Mia. If you ever found out, you’ll never look at me the same. The small speck of hope for “us” will be gone forever, and that’s the only thing I have ever had.

I love you,

Milo

Chapter 2

One Year Later

The Present: Spring, 2021

A Year With You

-----------

Raven

A sea of unfamiliar faces surrounds me. Looking from one profile to the next, I can confidently verify that I don’t know a single soul at this engagement party.

Alexa’s getting married in a few weeks, right here in Tulum, Mexico. This town is a major attraction for Americans as it’s only two hours away from Cancun, but geared toward an upscale demographic who are hell-bent on avoiding the hordes of college kids on steroids. Tulum’s also a rich haven for destination weddings with all-inclusive resorts.

Alexa’s fiancé works out of Tulum, so the planning started with the idea of a destination wedding with only their intimate clique as attendants. However, due to their close-knit circle of countless friends and family, the wedding has turned into an avid affair. Alexa’s hosting this engagement party to kick off the celebrations prematurely and to provide an excuse for New York’s finest to indulge in two back-to-back vacations in this beautiful city.

Alexa deserves this happiness and so much more. She made her own fairy tale ending instead of waiting for it to happen. After coming to the realization that her feelings for Milo will never be reciprocated, Alexa cut all ties with him, limiting their interactions to only work. Within weeks of making healthy choices for herself, she met her fiancé. After a whirlwind romance, the two got engaged. Alexa changed her destiny by writing herself a new one.

Alexa temporarily moved to Mexico to plan her wedding. She invited me to join her as we remain good friends and are still business partners. As Alexa’s hooking me up with a great room rental rate at the resort, courtesy of her fiancé, I jumped at the opportunity. I could remain close to my business partner while helping my friend plan her big day since the couple has forgone a traditional wedding party. Who knew putting a wedding together was so demanding?

Tonight’s guest list is jam-packed with Alexa’s immediate family members. It also consists of Alexa, Milo, Brandon, and Jaci’s closest friends. I never had the pleasure of familiarizing myself with their extended friend group. Since Jaci and Brandon opted to skip the engagement party, I’m in foreign territory, no pun intended.

As for Milo, we parted ways a long time ago, under a mutual agreement.

Actually, that’s bullshit. It’s just what people say to protect themselves from reminders of atrocious heartbreak.

The truth is, Milo dumped my sorry ass and abandoned New York. He also ceased communication with our remaining family members.

When Alexa announced her engagement, an optimistic part of me had hoped he’d make an appearance since they have been friends most of their lives. As the wedding festivities neared, with Milo’s RSVP nowhere in sight, I predicted he wouldn’t be in attendance.

Later, Milo changed his mind.

Alexa and I briefly discussed Milo’s attendance. She sought confirmation that it wouldn’t create a problem or incite a scene if we were in the same room, which was embarrassing to say the least. It’s one thing to face heartbreak by your lonesome self. It’s another to drag everyone else along for the show.

Of course, we wouldn’t jeopardize Alexa’s wedding.

However, I could still be part of making a scene if anyone here pegs me for a wedding crasher and suggests throwing me out on my ass. Everyone else here knows one another. Since the happy couple’s yet to make their appearance, my chances of being outed are considerable.

Deciding to save myself from the possible humiliation, I slink away to the bar. A drink fits perfectly with my current agenda because my nerves are frayed at the prospect of tonight.

I nervously tap my fingers on the bar countertop, anxiously glancing toward the entrance one too many times while waiting for the bartender.

To distract myself, I direct my attention to the fruit of Alexa’s labor. I only helped her with invitations, favors, and dress shopping. I know nothing of the venues she scheduled for her events. I wasn’t expecting such a fancy affair for what she had described as a casual party.

Hosting an engagement party is a norm nowadays. The bride and groom often entertain their guests with various pre-wedding events to acclimate with one another.

However, what is out of the norm is the grandiose nature of this party. Judging from tonight’s sneak peek, it’s clear that Alexa has spared no expense for this wedding.

The party’s in the courtyard of a lavish hotel outside of Tulum. There is a tiki bar in one corner with an all-you-can-drink option, while the DJ is on the opposite end. One of those decorative pools with floating candles and fake water lilies incorporated in the middle to set the ambiance. The hoity-toity pool screams that you can certainly gawk at the ostentatious finished product, but you cannot swim in it.

All of this spectacularism is tied together with the view of the ocean in the background.

It’s one of those events where guests feel slightly underdressed and constantly doubt their own invitation and the right to be included in such an extravagant experience.

The bartender hands me a cocktail, a fruity red drink. I have barely taken a sip when I sense an odd silence falling over as if everyone’s attention is on one single thing. Most of the women at the bar are looking in the same direction.

My eyes follow theirs to the entranceway… only to freeze after locking in on the target. My heart thumps so loud in my chest that it might as well break my rib cage open.

Broad shoulders.

Rigid jawline.

Milo. Fucking. Sinclair.

He always did know how to command the attention of a room. You can almost hear the collective sigh tumbling out of every female’s lips.

No matter the measures I had taken to prepare myself for this encounter, none of my mental preparations were sufficient for an impact of this magnitude. The world recedes, leaving only him as the center of my universe. Milo is still so damn beautiful that staring in a stupefied manner appears to be the only acceptable reaction. The awed silence is quickly followed by wanton whispers.

“Damn!”

“Man-meat alert.”

“Is he single?”

I can’t focus on his effect on other women. I’m immersed in the effect he has on me. This is what it must feel like to drown. You swim to the top for a few breaths of air, then you’re yanked back down to the bottom of the ocean.

-----------

Milo

When I initially received an invitation to Alexa’s engagement party, I declined it without a second thought. My interest only piqued following a discussion with Reid. The fact had me changing my RSVP.

Alexa was outraged by my last-minute decision and gave me a mouthful about ‘learning consideration for the wedding details.’ I’ve never experienced a high-strung Alexa before, but wedding planning has turned her into a bridezilla.

After our discussion, I moved my schedule around to free myself up for the next few months and booked a flight at my first possible availability. Since then, I’ve been locked in a menacing staring contest with the clock, crawling from one minute to the next, mentally willing time to move faster until reaching this very moment.

This moment when Raven looks up from the bar counter right as I’m searching the party for her. My eyes land on hers, and she penetrates me with an undiluted stare. The same gaze that pierces through my soul, baring me in a manner that has me fidgeting uncomfortably, all the while awestruck by the intensity of it.

My knees almost give out, ears perking up at the slimmest possibility of hearing her voice. My eyes scrutinize every detail about that torturous beauty. The raven hair flatters her new tan, making her appear more exotic.

Raven is wearing a dress fitted around her small waist and flared at the bottom. It’s not meant to be overly provocative. However, perspective comes into play when defining the word. Everything that touches her skin feels lewd and erotic. To me, that outfit exudes sex.

Yet, it also radiates something chaste and pure—A white dream in heaven.

Raven’s body has always been alluring to me. Creamy skin. Perky tits. But now… Raven’s new hourglass figure reflects a steady gym routine, and her exposed, toned thighs tell a story of their own. I can practically shape her perfect peach ass through that dress.

I swallow.

After fantasizing for months, Raven’s real-life form manages to exceed expectations. But that’s not because of the hair, the tan, or even the new body. Raven’s loneliness is what fascinates me the utmost. That haunting quality is conveyed in her beauty, augmenting it to reflect a lonesome person. Because that’s what she’s always been: A lonely girl. This level of desolation can only be achieved by living a forlorn life, which adds a heartbreaking and peaceful quality to her appeal.

Maybe that’s why she always represented serenity for me.

-----------

Raven

Milo quickly scans the courtyard until locking eyes with me. It’s like being jolted by an electric shock. I slightly turn to set my drink on the bar counter, my hands shaking from anticipation. How can I still feel this utterly consumed by him? To be so affected by another human that I’m unable to breathe from only one glance.

I hardly catalog the thought before I smell the distinct musky scent of my ex-boyfriend. I feel Milo’s presence next to me, but I can’t persuade my eyes to look up. His smell, sound, and look are a triple threat. I’ll melt if I’m hit with all three at the same time. I’m already overloaded by his smell when he hits me with his voice.

“Rave.”

I suck in a sharp breath and turn to find Milo towering over me. The sight of him is worse than his sound. It’s gut-wrenching. The troubled emerald eyes. Sharp cheeks. Generous lips.

His dark brown hair is marginally shorter, but it’s still messy as all hell. The defined biceps peek out from underneath his short sleeves. His broad chest makes the shirt fit like a glove, and the thin material allows the ogling women to check out the goods underneath.

They are not gaping only because of his looks; it’s the certain confident way he carries himself.

Composed.

Collected.

Milo possesses this sophistication mixed with mystery and the subtlest hint of cruelty. It gives him an edge, like the bad boy from the wrong side of the track, all the while reverberating with the refined aura of old money. Women might be unable to identify this je nais se quois quality, but it doesn’t stop them from deviating toward this X-factor of his.

Like clockwork, two women sitting at the nearby bar stools check him out, seemingly prepared to drop to their knees if requested. They’re not the culprits here; they are simply mortal women in the throes of a sex god.

Sharing their affliction, I’m overcome from seeing him in person. “Hello, Milo,” I manage to grate out, my voice small and uneven.

Milo doesn’t respond. Instead, he stands there, staring, unmoving. His face echoes that breathing in this dense air between us is just as arduous for him. His prolonged silence only adds to his illusory, larger-than-life presence.

When he still hasn’t spoken, I add, “I hear it’s polite to say hello upon seeing someone.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Hello,” he drawls.

I wait for him to add more. He doesn’t. I can’t fault him as I did only probe for a hello. I just assumed he’d have more details to spare.

“Hello,” I repeat his one-liner.

"How have you been?" His voice is husky. Rough.

“I’m okay. How about yourself?”

“I’m fine,” he replies while simultaneously signaling the bartender for a beer, “Una Cerveza, por favor.”

Milo wordlessly grabs the beer bottle from the bartender and samples it. I laser-focus on nursing my own drink. Twice, I twist my body, intending to embrace him. While our breakup was abrupt and I was heartbroken, I don’t harbor any negative feelings toward Milo… at least not anymore. A simple hug shouldn’t be so far-fetched, but Milo’s reserved manners keep me at bay.

I peruse his stance to identify any one of his emotions. As usual, I come up short. I’m rendered speechless, enamored by every component of his. I’ve spent countless nights dreaming of this man. Now, I’m terrified of the possibility that this is merely another fantasy.

If it is, then I never want to wake up.

We continue sipping our drinks and loitering by the bar while the other guests mingle. The music thumps around us. Shots are poured all around. Laughter and chattering of festive people ensue. We are entirely lost to it all, watching each other as if they were a phantom.

The spell is broken when a herd of people shove past Milo to get to the bar, moving him close enough for our bodies to graze. His eyes instantly fixate on my mouth.

As if remembering something important, Milo steps away, maintaining a foot of distance between us. I suddenly understand his reservations. When I last saw Milo, he made sure never to touch me physically without warning so as not to set me off.

Milo takes another sip of his drink. I imitate his actions, only to almost spit it out at his next comment. “Raven, your body’s out of control,” he blurts out. “Do you just live at the gym?”

A set of thirsty, emerald eyeballs lazily rolls over my body. My summer dress is conservative enough not to induce this level of excitement. Nonetheless, Milo manages to make me feel naked, my skin flushing under his heated look.

I look down at my frame. Milo’s previous efforts of forcing me to work out were often thwarted. Other than dance classes, I hate any form of physical exertion. But due to Reid’s insistence on embarking on a path of healthy living, I agreed to the insanity of a dedicated workout routine. My new efforts have changed my figure since our last encounter.

“Guess I have been working out a lot,” I admit, lifting an unsure shoulder.

“I thought you, of all people, would never find out what the inside of a gym looks like,” he teases.

“Well, I found out,” I laugh, the unease seeping out of me at Milo’s light-heartedness.

“How come you started working out?” he asks, sounding uncharacteristically inquisitive.

The first thought to pop into my head is to tell him the truth—the need to fill my days with activities, so I could take my mind off Milo. However, something tells me that informing Milo about my personal trainer's identity might sour the mellow mood. His knowing eyes hone in, implying he already has his suspicions.

I say the first thing that comes to mind to distract him from the intense scrutinization. “Is there a reason for the sudden change of heart about attending today’s event?” Milo looks taken aback at my hasty outburst, so I try to scale back. “I mean… we just haven’t seen each other in all this time… I don’t even know what to think right now—"

“I’d rather not discuss this while we are at a party for our friend’s wedding.” My expression must mirror my reluctance, as Milo adds, “But why don’t we call this a prequel discussion? We can meet again to talk more.”

Screwing my mouth shut, I determine that he’s correct; this is about Alexa. It’s best to leave this matter in the wake of this evening, so I respond with the only conceivable way, humor.

“Is that your way of extorting a date out of me? Let me guess, you’ve officially become so old that you couldn’t figure out how to work Tinder. It’s swipe right, Milo.” Dragging my index finger, I make a gesture to swipe the invisible air.

“No, I figured out Tinder. But the arthritis in my finger joints makes it painful to swipe.”

A burst of husky laughter mutually tumbles out of our mouths.

“In that case, you need to get better at extorting since your work reflects amateur standards. A professional would have stated the specifics of their conditions. I might have to take my business elsewhere and leave you with a bad Yelp review.”

“That’s because I’m not extorting you. I’m manipulating you,” Milo replies without a trace of amusement.

“Please,” I drone, “enlighten me on the difference.”

“I’m manipulating you by using something you want against you.” His voice remains engrossed in the conversation. “If I were extorting you, then I’d be threatening you in exchange for something. For example, give me your lunch money or I’ll kill your puppy.”

“Lovely,” I retort dryly. “Thank you for the lesson in white-collar crimes. And you’re going nowhere near Mr. Whiskers!”

Milo laughs again, his eyes lighting up breathtakingly. “Mr. Whiskers?”

“That’s my dog’s name,” I announce proudly.

Milo looks at me like I’m a crazy person. “You know that’s a cat’s name, right?”

I scowl. My dog’s the perfect Mr. Whiskers. “Noted,” I mumble, which only makes him laugh more. “Let’s go back to talking about blackmailing.”

“No way. The lesson has concluded for the evening. Let’s talk about this… Mr. Whiskers.” Milo motions his hand in the air, making imaginary waves.

Reid, Mia, and I used to hound Milo for a dog, especially when we saw a French Bulldog at a local shelter. But Milo never allowed us anything past a fish or reptile as a pet. The deal was, if Reid and Mia could keep a goldfish alive, they’d graduate to more demanding pets. Unfortunately, those goldfishes always died due to neglect. Then they’d coerce Milo into giving their pets a funeral, turning our backyard into a graveyard. So, Milo refused our request, saying he had no interest in digging more graves.

However, I’m now the owner of a dog and excitedly gab about it. That dog is an important part of my life and played an integral role in healing my heart. Milo already knew about the change of status in my pet ownership, though he wasn’t aware of the latter fact.

Milo’s not a pet person and is unable to comprehend the appeal. Nonetheless, when I peek up, I find Milo smiling down at me, looking amused over my gibberish about a dog.

A motionless moment passes before we snap out of the trance by another horde of people who bump into Milo. Once more, his body is shoved against mine.

Milo shifts to break contact... then stops. There is a pregnant pause before a frown forms on his forehead. He maintains the stance instead of backing away from me like before. There isn’t much of a chance to analyze his motives as a group of seven crowds around us.

The best-dressed man out of the group slaps Milo on the back with zest. “Milo, my man!” Jerry exclaims. Other than Alexa, Jerry’s the only other person I know at this party. He’s Alexa’s fiancé.

While they have remained business partners, Milo’s presence has been scarce in Alexa’s life. As far as I understand, he only met Jerry a few times, but no doubt he made an impression.

Alexa throws her arms around Milo’s neck at the same time. She renders the deed so effortlessly that I mentally kick myself for second-guessing something as trivial as a hug.

“Took you long enough to make up your mind about attending,” Alexa reprimands as Milo mumbles a polite apology for his delayed RSVP.

She lets go of Milo to hug me next and introduce us to the rest of their posse. Shockingly, Milo doesn’t know this group of people either. “Guys, this is Michelle, Danika, Suzy, Dan, and Mike. This is Raven, and this is Milo.”

We exchange hellos, and before long, Alexa announces, “Let’s do some shots!”

The entire group cheers in cohorts, and the savvy bartender pours alcohol into a line of shot glasses. I realize, despite how long I have known Milo and all the crap we have been through, we have never done something as trivial as drinking at a bar together.

It’s like seeing each other through a new lens.

Milo looks at ease in this setting. The girls flutter their lashes at him, already smitten by his charms. And when Jerry informs the group that Milo’s been featured on Forbes a few times, the boys become just as besotted. They ask for his advice on stocks and talk over one another for his attention. Apparently, he is every woman AND man’s type. It’s the full Milo Sinclair effect.

Our eyes clash every so often. Milo attempts to engage me in conversation, but we are frequently interrupted by someone vying for his attention. Milo graciously listens, but I detect his slight irritation rising by the minute.

“Why don’t you tell us what you and Alexa have been doing lately at work?” Milo directs the question at me before another person can monopolize his time.

All eyes turn to me when the pack leader diverts his attention. Regardless of being childhood friends, Milo’s no longer privy to Alexa’s other investments, including my business. Flustered, I nervously delve into the on-goings of our work to the whole group.

“Alexa and I now cater to companies with their own sales and marketing teams,” I include in my rambling. “We send seamstresses right on-site to measure their team for custom shirts and suits, so the faces representing their organization look their absolute best. It was all Alexa’s brilliant idea.” I motion toward Alexa, who waives the compliment away with her hand.

Without paying mind to the assembly line, Milo carries on our exchange. Whenever someone tries to barge into our discussion, Milo brushes them off. Milo has a way of listening so attentively; you’d convince yourself that no other soul can hear you. All the while, seven people awkwardly stare between us as he acts like they are not even present.

That’s not even the most unusual part about tonight.

Despite initially adhering to an invisible boundary, Milo starts inching closer until I have the urge to stop breathing whenever his smell reaches my nostrils. Gradually, Milo engages in minor physical exchanges. His knuckles lightly graze my bare shoulders. His fingertips orbit on the small of my back.

I go rigid every time, wondering if I’m hallucinating the touch. As the night progresses, the incremental increases in physical contact signify that it’s not my imagination.

Each time he touches me, my nerve bundles mix together to create an explosive device that might implode from the inside. My tongue darts out of my mouth to lick my dry bottom lip in an attempt to create moisture. Milo’s eyes land on my mouth, and he flexes his fingers on my back. It has me reaching my threshold of withstanding this torture.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I cut our conversation short, even though I have hardly paid any attention in the last ten minutes.

The other side of the bar is more secluded. Pinning it as my destination, I march toward it, needing another drink, a shot, probably even a whole damn bottle to settle my nerves.

The bartender slams down a drink in front of me before turning his attention to other patrons. I have only taken a sip when I sense Milo’s presence. His hands land on either side of me on the counter to trap me between his body and the bar.

“Rave, why did you walk away?”

My clasped hands tighten in front of me. “I just needed another drink, and I thought service might be faster here.”

“Hmm.” Milo sounds unperturbed and casually resumes our previous dialogue as if there wasn’t any break to it. His fingers ‘unintentionally’ brush against the bare skin between my shoulder blades as he asks more questions about my current living situation and my dog.

Once more, I find myself unable to concentrate on his words. His exploring hands reach inside my hair to run his fingers through them. My heart goes into overdrive, and I spin in place to face him.

What the fuck is going on? Milo informed me out of the blue that he’ll be attending Alexa’s party. Initially, he was resilient on maintaining his distance. Now, Milo is hitting on me and sending me all sorts of mixed signals.

“Milo,” I whisper wantonly. “What are you doing?”

Instead of responding, he smooths down my hair with his palm. Curiosity takes precedence over bewilderment; I don’t ask more questions, captivated by his mystic touch.

I’m the deer.

But he is not the headlights.

He is the car that’s about to ram into me.

Yet, there isn’t one cohesive thought in my mind. After what seems like a millennia, Milo finally drops his hand from my hair.

My body sags, my legs almost giving out in relief. Just when I think that my torture has come to an end, Milo’s hand transitions to my face. His fingers hover over my cheek, moving at glacial speed. The world is frozen in place. I don’t dare breathe in anticipation of… what?

Milo makes contact by lightly brushing my cheek with his fingers while my eyes close. The light and airy touch might as well be carnal and sinful, threatening to obliterate everything.

“How come you don’t react to me the way you used to?”

My eyelids fly open at Milo’s comment, his peculiar behavior finally making sense. Milo assessed that I wasn’t reacting negatively to him and was trying to confirm the theory with more physical contact.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. I never much noticed randomly experiencing these so-called physiological reactions. Milo was the one always to point it out, which eventually changed his behavior toward me. He doesn’t understand other obstacles or morals where we are concerned.

The thing is, he dragged me into that world of insanity with him, and I never recovered.

So, two addicts walk into a bar.

That’s it. That’s the entire joke and the punchline.

Here we are, two addicts without any obstacles or supervision. The very thing we are both addicted to is flowing between us like pulsating energy.

The intensity in his eyes is like the lava that’s about to erupt from an active volcano. Never in my life has a man looked at me how this man is looking at me like he wants to devour me, consume me until there is nothing left.

It’s not interest, attraction, or fascination.

It’s hunger, savagery, and animalism.

Milo’s looking at me like he is going to eat me alive.

-----------

Milo

I conclude my experiment after an onslaught of “accidental” touches. Raven doesn’t shudder, cower, or shy away from me.

Each passing moment makes it apparent that I can now touch her at liberty. Jumping to conclusions preemptively might not be clever, but patience is not a virtue I’m capable of exercising where she’s concerned.

Raven opens her mouth to further voice her opinion. Before she can form a word, I take a step closer. Her thoughts vanish on cue, and her palm lands flat on my chest that’s rising and falling with the change in my breathing pattern.

“I missed you so damn much.” My voice trembles from anticipation, unable to hide my desire for her. The rarest of delicacies have just been offered to a duo of famished creatures. Never did I expect Raven to be free from the horrors of our past. Now that she is, holding off for a moment longer is impossible.

Raven freezes at my revelation. “I missed you more than you’ll ever know,” she whispers, leaving behind any pretense over what we mean to one another. We are past feigning our feelings. “I just thought it was better for you if you stayed away from me,” she breathes, her faint voice laced with agony.

A cataclysmic wreck devastates my insides at her admission. “No, Rave,” I pacify by stroking her cheek with the back of my hand, flabbergasted by the fact she could even infer it. “Never. You looked so miserable around me. I couldn’t do that to you—"

My words are cut off by Raven’s lips as they smash against mine without forewarning. I almost growl when I taste the alcohol in her mouth.

My hands wander her transformed body. I want to know her new shape and curves without barriers. If I weren’t concerned with assholes gawking at her, I’d rip that dress right off. Instead, I swiftly pin her against the bar counter, my body covering every inch of hers. Raven’s back hits the hard counter, and I grip her waist tightly to keep her in place.

Breaking the kiss, I drag my nose and mouth over every pressure point—the base of her neck, pulse, and under her ears. My eyes close by the time my nose lands in her hair, taking audible inhales as if I’m trying to steal her essence through the power of smell.

The need to smell her hasn’t been entirely satiated, but all the same, I crush my lips against hers. My hand makes a fist in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist.

I nip at her lips, groaning, biting, kissing her hard enough to leave her soft lips abused. I’m kissing her like a ravenous man, taking every last bit of morsel that’s accessible.

There are no misgivings of my intentions when I trail my hand along the hem of her mid-thigh-length dress to access her bare skin.

Raven always had more sensibility than me. She circles my wrist with her hand to stop me from hiking her dress up higher. “Milo, people are watching.”

“No one’s watching.” Or I assume that’s the case because I give no flying fucks if we are lewd in public. Even if someone catches us in action, all I can think is, fuck everyone else. Fuck anyone who is not us.

Not to mention, we are as secluded in public as possible. The DJ just turned up the music. Guests are either on the dance floor or the other side of the bar closer to the dance floor, keeping the bartenders slammed with the stragglers. The bar counter itself is blocking the bottom half of our bodies from onlookers. Unless someone comes around to our area, it looks like I’m simply holding her close to me.

I yank her dress up, right as Raven pulls it back down. The sheer force rips the bottom of her dress. Raven squeals in a low voice at the impact.

Using her momentary surprise, I slip my fingers under the material of her dress and between her pussy lips. Raven makes no further attempt to stop me. The slick and smooth skin between her legs welcomes me in. I’m salivating for a taste, practically bursting from the need. I force myself to stop from dropping to the floor and sucking on her pussy until she’s juicing all over my face.

“Milo, I—” her voice dies down in her throat when two fingers stroke her from the inside, wrenching a passionate cry from Raven. She quickly muffles the sound by biting her lip, even though it’s already been drowned down by the loud music.

I grab her ass under her dress with my free hand, squeezing it hard to pull her closer, letting her feel my hard length against her hips. My lips on her earlobes curve up when her unsteady legs vibrate against mine, further melting into me. “Did you miss me here?”

Raven replies in a muted tone, whimpering weakly.

“Fuck,” I grunt when her flaming hot pussy sends off needy tremors. I possessively curl my fingers to remedy her ache, my entire palm mercilessly grinding her clit to wreak havoc. Desperation echoes through every channel of Raven’s body, and the blood in her cunt thumps against my fingers. An indescribable exhilaration spreads on my fingers that are burning from the warmth inside her.

“You are vibrating against me. I can feel you,” I grit out painfully, imagining my cock in that same warm chokehold.

Raven bucks against me; her body is jerking in my hold, about to erupt. I hold her tightly against me, not allowing suspicions to form that we are doing anything except holding one another. Raven buries her face in my chest, biting down to stop herself from screaming. The sheer force of her lust makes me almost come in my pants.

I grab her jaw when her lips part for a scream, tip her face and slam my lips to hers. I swallow her moans, devouring and bruising her lips in the process.

Her whole body practically collapses as I feel the waves of electric shock flowing through her over and over until she is spasming from every last bit of her release. Raven’s breathing loud, panting against my own accelerated heart. One of my hands rests on her hair as her body softens while she recovers on my chest.

All I want to do is crawl inside of her, but this will have to do… for now.

Raven finally straightens from my chest to look down at her dress. It’s ripped at the hem. Then she awkwardly looks around, clearly embarrassed over what just happened in public. I can’t help the sly grin that’s spreading on my face. Raven has always been a little shy about sex.

With as much pride as she can muster in this situation, Raven stands tall and says, “Well, thank you for that. But seeing that you ripped my dress, I think it’d be considered good manners to at least take me back to my resort.”

Without a backward glance, Raven skates past me. Her hand fists the bottom of her dress but fails to conceal the ripped material from prying eyes. Raven somehow manages to hold her head up high even as the heat rises on her neck when others stare at her clearly torn outfit.

With low laughter in tow, I follow her out.

Chapter 3

-----------

Raven

My speedy departure from the party is interrupted by someone yanking my hand. I turn around, only to be met with Milo’s devious grin.

“This way.” He tugs me in the direction of a Jeep that’s parked right out front. “I got a rental car after I landed.”

“Nice car,” I comment, hopping inside when Milo pulls the passenger door open.

As I watch Milo round the car, I relive my appall over what just happened. I can’t believe we did that in public. Five minutes around Milo, and I can’t think straight.

If I am honest, I’m not concerned about the rash behavior. I am enthralled that Milo and I are here together after all this time apart. I can’t see past this addiction of mine and wanting to be wrapped around him.

Milo climbs aboard and turns to me. His hand lightly scrapes my shoulder when he reaches behind to pull at the seat belt and strap me in. Feeling extremely shy in his overwhelming presence, I nervously clear my throat. Instead of retreating to his seat, Milo strokes my cheek with his thumb, sending a shiver right through me.

“I came here straight from the airport. I didn’t check into my hotel yet,” Milo informs me. All the wedding guests are staying at the same resort in Tulum. It’s a long drive from our current location. “Checking-in will take too long. We’re going back to your place,” he says pointedly, the heavy meaning hanging in the air that we’ll be spending the night together.

I clench my thighs together and barely move my head to nod. My body’s trembling on cue from his touch. I am a quivering, wet mess from his unspoken promise.

Similar notions must be racing through his brain. Milo hurriedly withdraws his hand to put the Jeep in gear. Using his phone’s navigation, Milo takes the ramp to get on the highway and takes off at full speed.

Nonetheless, his efforts are insufficient for both of us. My whole body’s throbbing for his touch again; I’m practically aching for it. Milo’s zealous hand is on my thigh, squeezing hard enough to make me wince. His eagerness is transparent, and his arousal is evident to the naked eye. The torment reverberates through him, this voracious appetite knowing no bounds.

“It still says thirty minutes away.” I don’t bother hiding my impatient tone as I glance at the navigation app on his phone.

“Fuck! That’s so far away,” he says, his own desperation evident in the reply. His voice is laced with an edge, sounding like a grenade that’s about to go off. He senses my leg bouncing under his hold and speeds up more.

As if unable to withstand it any longer, Milo’s hand inches between my thighs to slip inside. “Are you insane? We are gonna crash,” I protest.

Milo ignores my comment, easily jerking free of my grasp. His fingers part my pussy lips without delay.

“Fuck,” I cry out on instinct, my head falling back on the headrest. My veins are pumping. My blood’s heating up. Shots of pleasure zap through my system. His fingers are rough and unforgiving, stretching me and forcing me to take it exactly as he sees fit. He scrapes my walls and twirls his fingers inside me, mercilessly swiping his thumb over my clit.

My moans dissolve into the air when I sense the car shifting lanes. The tires screech as Milo slams on the brake and kills the engine. Unclipping my seat belt, he collects me into his lap, reclining his car seat before I can comprehend that he was distracting me while taking an exit off the highway. We’re now in a semi-abandoned street.

“Hey, this isn’t Tulum,” I make the most obvious observation before catching a glimpse of his hardened expression.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he gravely explains, already maneuvering my body to straddle him and sliding my thong down. His frantic hands are fighting with my fitted dress, unzipping, and sliding it up to expose my back and ass. “God, I missed you.” The tender words sound harsh through his rigid mouth.

“What if there are cops around? Shouldn’t we wait until getting back to the resort—"

“Not another fucking second,” Milo hisses. “You have tortured me enough.”

Milo unbuckles his jeans to grip his dick. My logical argument takes a hike as he pulls me down on his hard length, nudging my opening with his cock. I hardly have the opportunity to hold onto his shoulders for balance when he thrusts up with enough force to nearly unseat me. His mouth seals over mine while his hands guide my hips, making me ride him faster and faster.

Milo’s panting, his heart’s beating so hard under my palm that for a minute, I worry about a potential stroke. I watch in awe as he sucks on his index fingers and reaches behind me. Grabbing my ass firmly, he spreads the cheeks, breaching a lubricated finger between my crease.

“Relax,” he whispers, sensing my expectancy. “Just let me in, baby.”

“Mmm,” I chew on my bottom lip, further pressing into his snug hold.

Milo surges a finger against my puckered opening. Broken whimpers descent from my mouth as his finger pushes past the tight ring to slide inside. My nails dig into his shoulders in response, clawing at them for some form of equilibrium.

Mashing my teeth together, I relax my muscles when he distracts me with his other hand on my clit and his lips on my neck. I shiver as he further peels up my dress to free my breasts. The tongue on my nipple fills me with a heated sensation every time he laps over it, only to be followed with a cold numbness whenever he stops.

“Fuck, Milo. Don’t stop.”

Milo’s finger reaches all the way inside, persistently pressing against every nerve. When he hits a spot that has me seeing stars, my thighs shake, and I’m completely unaware of how greedily Milo is sucking on my tits. I’m lost in his heady scent, soaring to reach that vertex. I moan uncontrollably, all of it sounding foreign to my own ears.

I come around his cock, my bold sounds invading the space all around us. It doesn’t matter that the roof of the Jeep is down. A rapture like pure bliss upsurges from within my body. An outburst rips through me like it’s the end of the world, and it will wreck me by the time my exultation runs its course.

Milo doesn’t stop impaling me, the thick cock feeling even more swollen. My pussy passionately clamps down on him, even at my apex. He curses as warmth fills me from the inside, the groans from his height matching my own.

When Milo finally wiggles the finger out of my ass, I collapse on him, uncaring if anyone’s watching me in this compromising position.

-----------

Milo

The drive back to the resort takes longer than I anticipated. I look at the navigation to realize we are still three minutes out. Tulum only has one street, and there is a surprising amount of traffic on it.

I’m at the edge of losing my common sense when I see the resort building at long last. My cock’s hard and pulsing, and my body is still shaking from earlier. I can’t think straight until sinking into Raven again. Every one of my muscles is strained from my lust high, and the only cure exists with her.

I practically sprint out of my rental Jeep after parking it. I open the car door for Raven, grabbing my travel bag from the back seat. Raven almost veers off course before I get a hold of her. She is such a klutz. I have no idea how this girl used to be a dancer. She is the only person who can’t walk a straight line even while sober.

Taking long strides, we cross the parking lot to enter the resort and silently walk to Raven’s suite. The moment we are inside, I am going to fuck the shit out of her. I might not even make it past her door and take her against it. Or throw her on the floor to take her from behind. I wanted to take it slow. I didn’t want to scare her but fuck all of that bullshit.

Raven swipes the door key to let us in but moves to fumble with the light switches before I can act on any of my previous fantasies. It’s dark inside, but I squint my eyes to make out the suite's layout—a bedroom with a small living room and a kitchenette. It’s a beachfront suite with double doors opening up to the sandy shore.

I throw my bag on the living room floor to find a shadow moving inside the small crate sitting next to the sofa.

“This is Mr. Whiskers,” Raven reaches inside the crate to pull out a twenty-pound dog.

Pets aren’t exactly my thing. They are dirty and needy. I grew up with a bunch of people relying on me; I didn’t need more of the same.

I raise an eyebrow at the dog she’s holding to her chest and acknowledge it with a nod. Raven’s small figure dawdles unsurely. If she’s expecting me to hold that bat-looking thing, it’s not happening.

“Do you wanna go to the potty?” she asks against the dog’s ears, fully expecting the animal to answer.

It takes me a moment to digest. I knew Raven was a dog person but never saw her with one. The dynamics are odd, to say the least.

“I fed him before I left,” she offers without my inquiry. “So, he’s good for the night.” Raven lays the dog down on the bed placed inside the crate. He virtually falls asleep before she even retreats her hands. But my attention isn’t remotely on the damn dog.

Raven revises my impatient posture. No guesswork needs to be made about what I want. And I’m not the only one thinking it. “We still have our fair number of issues we have to discuss,” she skips ahead, likely to counter the rampant thoughts she can see running through my mind. “And work through them,” she clarifies while walking backward toward the bed, a silent invitation dancing in her features.

“We will. I can extend my stay in Mexico so we can work through everything—" I stop mid-sentence when Raven hops on the bed, descending onto the mattress one vertebrae at a time.

My lust-filled eyes remain steadfast on what can only be described as my own live-action porn. Licking my bottom lip expectantly, I move toward the lone entity I need to feel whole again because without her, I’ll always be an empty vessel floating through life.

Chapter 4

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Milo

The warm sun on my face makes me squint my eyes, while the contrast of Raven’s cool skin keeps my body at the perfect temperature. I’m drowsy from the soft rocking of the hammock we are lying on. This is the longest vacation I have undergone since starting my company, and I’m still acclimating to the feeling.

Following Alexa’s party, the remaining guests returned to America, most of whom will return in a few weeks for Alexa’s wedding. However, Raven and I discussed extending our stay in Mexico to take things slow and work out our issues at our own pace.

That was before we practically moved in together and after we had sex.

The pace doesn’t matter to me as long as she remains in sight. If it were up to me, I’d never leave this place. I have never known peace like this, and I don’t recall the last time either of us was so happy. The last few days have truly been the best of my life.

As far as I’m concerned, time can stand still.

That deliberation further delayed the check-in process into my own accommodation. I had my secretary book a private villa at the same resort as Raven since I didn’t want to be presumptuous over her reactions to me.

Later, I canceled my booking to stay with Raven, which has been informational on its own now that we share a bedroom instead of simply living under the same roof. I am learning all sorts of things. For example, Raven organizes everything under the moon, down to her shoes and purses. She was shocked to find out that other people don’t organize their closets by color.

Somehow that made me love her even more.

We reacquainted each other with our old quirks as well as the new ones. Each day, I fall in love with something else about her.

Even now, Raven’s obsessed with Sacha Baron Cohen and made me watch every one of his new movies. I didn’t care for them.

I remain a fan of old Western movies and made Raven sit through laborious hours of it. She pouted throughout, dying of boredom.

Raven has developed a new habit of staring at me while I sleep. I tell her that I dislike it but secretly love it.

I have developed a new habit of taking excessive photos of Raven on my phone. She tells me that she dislikes it but secretly loves it.

The other day, I was in the shower for ten minutes. Raven used the opportunity to surprise me with a grilled cheese sandwich using the suite’s kitchenette. Raven’s still a terrible cook. After that, I implemented a new rule for Raven—she isn’t allowed in the kitchenette alone.

The only thing that continues to be worse than Raven’s cooking is her singing voice.

As for me, I’m still not an animal person—a trait Raven loathes.

In between making fun of each other for our likes and dislikes, the topic of our varying preferences somehow brought us closer together. Raven has learned to rely on me for the small things.

Nowadays, if I don’t lather her with sunscreen or open up the beach umbrella, Raven doesn’t bother to do so herself, even if it means getting sunburnt.

At times, Raven falls asleep outside, trusting that I’ll carry her indoors before nightfall. The trust has made me feel needed in a way I haven’t experienced in over a year. It accelerated our relationship. Now, we are constantly in sync.

“Your lemonade, Senorita,” the busboy places the drink on the table next to the hammock. Fishing into the pockets of my shorts, I extend a few pesos to him.

“Gracias,” Raven mumbles without lifting her head off my chest.

We are on the hammocks right in front of Raven’s oceanfront suite. It’s convenient since her suite opens up to the sandy beach. We left the sliding doors ajar to keep an eye on her dog.

This hammock is a part of our regular routine. Due to the resort’s excellent customer service, drinks and food are served right on this moving bed, leaving very little reason to separate ourselves from paradise. Though we have gone on a few dates around the beautiful city, nothing beats the current view.

Looking down on my chest, I find Raven peeking up.

“Do you think you’ll get up for long enough to enjoy the drink?”

Large, dark sunglasses cover half of Raven’s face, but experience tells me that her eyes are currently lit up. She mockingly extends her arm in the direction of the lemonade without making any effort to seize it.

“I tried. It’s too far away,” Raven slurs in between her beach-induced sleepy state. What is it about a beach that makes a person want to sleep for days on end?

“Baby, stop trying so hard. You might pull a muscle,” I retort dryly.

Raven flashes me a set of white teeth, cradling herself back into my arms. However, as soon as she gets a whiff of the food I had ordered and takes a sip of her lemonade, she’s like a baby panda that’s full of energy and curiosity.

This is usually the time of the day when Raven returns to the conscious world and pesters me with an incessant array of questions about my new life in California.

My guess? Raven is trying to gauge my level of commitment to California and examining the chances of me moving back to New York. Today’s line of questions is no different.

“If you ever wanted to sell your condo in L.A., how difficult would it be?”

“Not difficult.”

“Does your condo have HOA fees?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know that HOA fees go up every year, making luxury condos very difficult to sell at times?”

“Riveting information.”

“Did you sign up for cable and internet?”

“Obviously.”

“Is it a long-term contract?”

“No.”

“You say that now, but cable companies are tricky. Before you even realize it, you’re on the hook for a three-year commitment.”

“Good to know.”

“My friend Janeen signed with a company during her study abroad program in college. They still send her collection letters, saying that she signed for three years.”

“Fascinating.”

Raven lifts her head off my chest. “You do know why I’m asking you these questions, right?”

Running a few fingers through her hair, I let Raven ride out the misery for a little longer before admitting, “My old condo in Soho is all set for my move back to New York.”

If Raven is surprised, the emotion is well-hidden behind her sunglasses. Her expression remains minute as she holds my gaze through my equally dark aviators.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“And spoil your daily afternoon activity to figure out if I’m moving back to New York?”

Raven bites her lips with a sly smile in her attempt to stop them from curling up fully. “And what if I had said that I already made arrangements to move to California?”

“Then I’d say, my home is wherever you are.”

This time Raven’s whole face lights up. Dark glasses or not, the smile is evident, though it remains shy at my admission. Under her breath, she timidly mutters my own words back to me before nuzzling her face against my neck.

For the remaining afternoon, Raven doesn’t ask any more questions.

-----------

Raven

I have lots of erotic dreams about Milo. It’s a normal part of my nightly routine.

Today’s dream starts with the covers being pulled down. The soft material glides down my bare legs until I feel the cool air hitting my skin. Milo shifts to kiss my inner thighs. The light, airy kisses make their way to where I need him to be, but he is agonizingly slow tonight. Teasing me. Punishing me.

I squirm to rush the movements. But the bastard chuckles in that sexy way of his, continuing to drag his tongue against my inner thigh, leaving a wet path in its wake.

I moan this time, my fingers grasping at the sheets underneath me. It’s so easy to get lost in Milo’s electrifying touch. I am soaked and dripping and aching. I’m grinding myself against imaginary friction, begging to be put out of my misery. Milo drops more gentle kisses all over my face. It’s comforting. It’s been so long since someone took care of me. My eyes close, but they don’t remain that way for long.

Even in my slumber, I suddenly recognize this touch as much too possessive to be a dream. When Milo bites down on my neck, it jolts me fully awake. My eyes snap open to find a pair of emerald eyes staring down.

A vision of monstrosity takes over when I realize Milo’s rocking in and out of me.

On instinct, I start clawing at him, unable to verbalize my dread.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Milo freezes on top of me, face etched with concern.

This time, I let out a stifled shriek. My brain’s screaming that this isn’t a threat even while my limbs are unintentionally lashing out. Milo’s eyes widen in bewilderment. He grabs both of my wrists, realizing where my mind’s fleeting.

“Shit. Raven, we were just… you don’t remember?”

Bits and pieces of conscious memory flood my mind.

Over the last few days, Milo and I have remained sedentary between the beach and our suite, and on occasion, the gym. Like the days that came before, we shared another incredible one together. Except today surpassed my expectations because we decided to live in the same city upon return.

Milo insisted on a celebratory dinner on the beach with champagne, followed by hours of sex afterward. I was grappling with consciousness between our sessions, going in and out, tethering at the edge of reality versus fantasy. In my fantasy, Milo’s hands were roaming my body, setting every inch of my skin on fire. I responded to it outside of my fantasy, so he thought I was fully lucid and continued.

Except, I wasn’t and woke up thinking I was reliving a familiar nightmare, one I hadn’t encountered in months.

Reading the cues, Milo whispers, “Please, baby. Please, don’t think about that right now. It’s just you and me.” His eyes search mine, holding them captive and imploring me to only focus on this moment by shutting off the rest.

When I still can’t articulate a word, Milo dips his head until his lips graze the shell of my ear. “We recently got married in Greece,” he murmurs.

My whole body tenses, unsure where he’s going with this.

“And we moved to our renovated condo in Soho afterward.”

I stare at Milo blankly while he whispers more possibilities from the parallel universe we had once created.

“Everyone we love is okay and happy.”

“Reid even found himself a new girlfriend.”

“You are a huge success, so I quit my job to become your trophy husband. I am practically your housewife now.”

Regardless of the irrational scare, I smile at Milo’s terrible humor. When my body relaxes, Milo pulls out and continues to put my mind at ease with more pacifying words about an uplifting future. He wipes away my dread by refocusing my attention with an alternate reality.

After a few minutes, he prods me to speak, “Rave?”

“Hmmm?”

“I have been meaning to ask you something over the last few days.”

“Okay.”

“Do you still love me?”

Unsure if Milo’s still trying to distract me from my previous nightmare, I lift my head slightly off the pillow. While the change of topic is unexpected, the humor behind the notion isn’t. It seems like a tedious discussion after everything we have been through.

“Love is a silly word to use for what we have, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yeah? How would you define it?”

“As much bigger than love,” I whisper with all the sincerity in my heart.

We stare at each other in awe, the admission lingering in the air as our truth. Sensing a small tear leaking out of the corner of my eye and rolling onto my cheek, Milo kisses it away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He’s worried that I’m backtracking, but I’m not.

I shake my head. “Nothing.” And that’s truly the answer.

Today, Milo told me that his home is with me and soothed me out of my night-terror with only his words. It’s as if all of the pieces are falling exactly where they belong.

So, these aren’t fear-induced tears. Milo doesn’t believe in it, but there’s something called happy tears. There are moments in life when you are so happy that you are almost sad because you might never experience anything so similarly perfect.

That’s the only way to describe what I’m feeling right now; I’m sad because I might never be this happy again. It’s as if my soul has been reconnected to its missing part. Like I’m finally home after such a long time away.

PART 2

SUMMER

Chapter 5

The Past: Summer, 2020

A Year Without You

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Raven

Reid and I celebrated our birthdays with a bender. Eat, drink, sleep, repeat. I have slept more in the last few days than I have in weeks.

Despite Reid’s apprehensions over Milo, I set my sights on the positive. My best friend’s back in my life, and I got to celebrate my birthday with him. The excess in rest has also done wonders for my dark circles. My nightmares have squandered away, and my appetite’s been restored. I weighed myself to discover I’ve gained five pounds.

However, my tolerance for an optimistic perspective has dwindled. What started as a weekend celebration has now extended for days with no end in sight.

I miss Milo so damn much. He is in my system, in the very blood that flows through my veins. There is no scientific explanation, but my brain is convinced that my very existence is dependent on him.

This separation is killing me as I’m sure it’s killing him too. I just hope he doesn’t do anything rash. Milo’s temperament is even, except when it comes to me.

In fact, all three Sinclair kids struggle with their tempers and make erratic decisions. So, risking a fallout from failing to diminish Reid and Mia’s concerns over my relationship with Milo isn’t smart. The logical part of my brain recognizes that staying put is a better alternate.

So, I’ve tried hashing things out with Reid by revealing a few ambiguous truths.

I mentioned that Milo and I were an item during my senior year of high school. After unearthing Reid’s feelings (cue an awkward moment), matters got out of hand due to some emotionally charged exchanges. As a result, I moved to Paris. Our time apart provided both of us with insight, and our reunion led to the rekindling of our relationship.

My explanations aren’t exactly thriving.

I attempted to impart my knowledge of Milo’s psyche based on my observations in the prior weeks. Milo’s relentless about my triggers, unaware of the triggers he suffers himself.

Even with a houseful of people and a world full of friends, Milo grew up lonelier than me. While Milo seemingly had a large family, his leadership role isolated him into a separate category. After spending a lifetime as the rule-setter, Milo secretly wished for his own escape.

Since moving back to the brownstone, Milo’s made numerous references suggesting I’m his escape from this family's toxicity. As we renewed our friendship, I realized the reason why. We both have this incessant need to improve our loved ones' lives. We share a unique and unparalleled connection of being innate caretakers, a bond that’s incomparable to anyone else in the world, even Reid.

Our bond is what made me fall in love with Milo.

It’s not about Milo’s looks, money, success, or even the goddamn six-pack abs and the perfect V carved onto his abdomen. While I appreciate the physical aspects, Milo could be fat, poor, ugly, and I’d love him all the same.

Simply put, I love Milo unequivocally because of his big heart.

When I was younger, I never fell in love with Milo because I never saw this side of him, the caring significant other who’s also my partner-in-crime.

Now that I have, I’d be ruined if he were snatched away. The same held true for Milo. He couldn’t cope with the loss of the only person who shared his hardships. The presumably daunting notion set off his own childhood abandonment issues, the ones he never sorted out because he was too busy raising us.

And if that’s the case, I can at least empathize with the fear, the absolute horror, he must have undergone at that shred of possibility being ripped away.

Watching Milo for weeks, I realize he’s triggered by the threat of losing me, setting off unstable and explosive reactions. It’s his self-preservation instincts. Without the concept of us, it’s a life with people who’ll never help him divvy up the burden or help him carry the load.

But no matter how much I express how things progressed for the worst between us, Reid’s adamant about his take on the situation. I only inspire his pity whenever I defend Milo, as Reid believes me to have lost my marbles and keeps making excuses to stretch our ‘staycation,’ no doubt his effort to keep me away from harmful factors.

After all these days, we are still at an impasse with neither party willing to yield.

I’m not giving Milo up.

Reid’s adamant that my mental state is debilitating.

I can’t argue with his logic. I am sick. I just have no interest in an antidote. I feel love-drunk, and the only cure exists in New York. I entertained Reid’s request: the time to perform an exorcism. And goddamnit if he didn’t try every method in the book to rid me of this ‘Milo' ghost.

He failed. Now he has to fulfill his part of the agreement.

I can't take another moment without Milo. Even breathing without him is difficult. My chest is always tight, and airflow is constantly restricted. At this point, I don't give two flying fucks what Reid accepts as the truth. I don't care if he considers me to be, in his verbatim words, ‘stuck in the loop of an abusive relationship and in need of severe professional help.’

I have exhausted every avenue to make him understand. There is nothing more I can say to help him get there. If Reid's truly my friend, then he'll take me back to New York without breathing a word to our parents and stop threatening the man I love. Believe me, I loathe this situation given Reid's feelings for me. However, if it were reversed, I'd want Reid to be happy.

I am still in bed. My mind’s swarming with ideas to convince Reid to take me back when the bedroom door bursts open with Reid strolling in with purpose.

"I need a liver transplant.”

“Wha—”

“Liver. I need a new one. I wanted to celebrate our birthdays before telling you.”

No, Good Morning. No, hello. Reid just busted in with his twisted humor.

I shoot up from the bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. My liver’s failing, and I need a transplant.”

My eyes bulge out of my face, not sure if I am to believe him. “W-What?”

“Are you deaf?” Reid asks with a straight face. “I’ve said it three times already. I need a brand new shiny liver.”

“Stop it, Reid,” I scream. “This isn’t funny.”

“Who’s joking?” Reid shrugs so nonchalantly that it makes me want to shake him.

I put up a hand, our telepathy now in sync. Reid nods to acknowledge giving me a minute to process. He shoves a thick manila folder in my face, which I wordlessly open. Pages and pages of medical records come pouring out from the manila folder. There are reports, notes, and various recommendations.

We were drinking together mere hours ago. Why the fuck was Reid drinking if he needs a transplant? What the hell is going on! There is no…

“Stop it,” he commands. “I can see your brain moving a million miles an hour. I’ll explain everything, but you may want to sit down for this,” he suggests even though my legs have already given out, with my butt landing at the edge of the bed.

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Reid

I had gone to the doctor a couple of months ago for persistent nausea and fatigue. They ran tests, but I never thought much of it. Shortly after Raven fell down the stairs, the doctor’s office called me urgently to come in for a biopsy.

During the years Raven and I lived apart, we both drowned. I filled my body with every type of vice: drinking and fucking at night, chain-smoking during the day. As for Raven, she plunged into a world of depression. The moment we were back in each other’s lives, we naturally stopped most of our extreme self-destructive behavior. Nonetheless, it was too late for me.

I started drinking behind Milo’s back after turning thirteen. My excessive drinking over the last nine years has caught up. At the age of twenty-two, I’m now in need of a new liver.

For the first time in my life, I couldn’t count on Milo. Instead, I turned to my dad. I asked him not to disclose anything until we knew more. Dad urged me to meet with his friend, a specialist at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore, Maryland. He wanted to tag along, but I didn’t want to leave Raven in her condition. So, Dad promised to stay behind and keep an eye on Raven.

As for myself, the shift here has been enlightening.

Before catching Milo and Raven together, I wanted to marry the fuck out of her. After all, she’s the reason for my very existence. I was made for her, and that’s not hyperbole.

My parents were already intent on trying for a second child when the Becketts found out that they were pregnant. So, they assumed no time like the present. The idea of two children growing up together was exciting for both couples. They played God and a little too well.

I was a preemie baby, born an hour before Raven, somehow ready for the physical realm the moment she was. So, my feelings for Raven always took precedence, even over Milo.

However, the days following my diagnosis, I was suddenly at peace with the situation. In between the various appointments and transplant center visits, I had plenty of opportunities to reflect. All of my dissection and analysis of our past led to the same conclusion.

Raven and I have a cosmic bond, but her heart defied all odds to fall in love with Milo.

She spent years away from Milo, probably to preserve my feelings. If the situation were reversed, I couldn’t have done it. So, how much more can a man ask of his best friend?

Plus, there had to be a reason why Raven fell in love with the healthier Sinclair brother.

My truth would come out sooner or later. While my chances for a liver transplant are decent due to my age, the process is arduous, and caring for a patient isn’t a good life for anyone. If Raven found out, she’d insist on nursing me back to health. The last thing I desired was more sacrifice on her part.

If Raven truly stayed away from Milo out of consideration for me, I owed it to her not to be a thorn in her happiness. So, I decided to step away temporarily.

However, Raven wouldn’t let up. She called day in and out, begging for forgiveness. I finally sent a text that would resonate with Raven, asking her to let me go.

So, why did you have to fuck it up, Milo? I was trying to be happy for you. Why the fuck did you have to hit her, rape her? You could have had it all. Instead, you destroyed her.

When Mia called me, everything changed. I put two and two together and realized Raven didn’t have the good life I had envisioned. I couldn’t hold back anymore. The fact about my diagnosis might kill Raven’s joy, but she was already drowning.

Our stupid parents failed us.

Even our pseudo parent, Milo, failed us.

But I vowed never to fail her again.

That day I picked Raven up from New York, my heart ripped open. It took everything in me not to let the tears fall upon seeing her. The woman I loved was shredded. Bruised. Wrecked.

Her mental state is in worse condition than her physical. Whatever Milo put her through led to some form of a psychotic break. The man raped and hit her. Yet, she spent the last few days protecting him and even attempted to convince me that this is a misunderstanding.

It’s not about my relationship with Raven anymore. I can put a pin on that to focus on the real issue: Raven’s sanity and safety. The lack of both is freaking me out.

Raven was so desperate to get back to Milo that I finally had to disclose my diagnosis to distract her. Her tiny body started flailing until I held her. No matter how many times I reassured her that I’ll be fine, she continued wailing. After she stopped, Raven demanded to see every doctor report. I already knew that would be the case and put the reports together. She’ll evaluate every note, highlighting anything she doesn’t understand. Raven’s attention is now laser-focused.

So, I’ve got one day to figure out their fucked-up relationship in order to break this hold Milo has on Raven. If I don’t, Milo will go too far, like he did with Mia. Next time, he might not stop.

With that terrifying reminder, I leave Raven to it and drive back to where it all began; that cursed house in New York City.

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From Maryland, I drove directly to our brownstone, only to be redirected to Milo’s condo. He’s been camping out at his condo for days, but the doorbell must be broken. I have been ringing the doorbell relentlessly. Once. Twice. Again and again. Over and over.

I audibly groan when the insistent doorbell doesn’t produce any results.

“Take a fucking hint,” Milo finally shouts from the other side of the door.

“Open the fucking door, asshole,” I shout back.

Following the sound of feet shuffling, the clinking of what I presume are beer bottles, and the click of the deadbolt, the door ultimately creaks open with utmost struggle.

“You look like shit,” Milo grumbles the obvious.

“You too,” I deadpan.

The black shiner Milo’s sporting curves half of my mouth into a smile. I hope Raven was the one to bestow that upon him. I’d love to do the same, but the drive alone was perilous, riddled with nausea. Hitting Milo would only amplify my own suffering.

I push past him, purposefully shoving his shoulder with my own. A barely detectable eye roll ensues from Milo. Not the most mature of actions or my finest moment. But it appears that my options for retribution are limited due to my new physical hindrance.

“How is she?” he asks, discounting my hostile body language.

Milo’s audacity paints a scowl on my face deep enough to turn permanent. To inquire about her welfare after everything he’s done… Fuck it! Damaged liver or not, I’m hitting Milo.

I turn around and swing my fist. Milo deflects it with minimal effort by leaning back. Instead of retaliating, he exhales the way parents do when dealing with the petulant middle child.

“If you are going to try that again, I need a beer.” Milo marches to the kitchen without looking backward.

Holding onto your anger is an impossible feat to achieve when the opposing faction acts in a blasé fashion. That’s why this situation is so mind-boggling. Mutually, Milo and Raven are sensible. Ironically, it’s their exceeding reliability that’s feeding my current trepidation.

How is it possible that two of the most level-headed human beings lose their minds only when around one another?

The trip to our childhood home was eye-opening. After discovering Milo’s change in residency, I proceeded to Raven’s room to find her cell phone that I had hid in her nightstand. I charged her phone and noted the two texts Raven had sent Milo before our impromptu trip. As luck would have it, the texts failed to send, and I deleted them with ease.

What commenced in the hours to follow wasn’t something I’d like to brag about. I went through Raven’s laptop and phone to read eons worth of text and email exchanges with Milo. The content of the conversations left me haunted… not only for her but for him as well.

Milo strolls back to the living room, extending the beer bottle in his right hand. The alarm bells go off in my head. I’m not supposed to be drinking. I already made an exception for my birthday. Given the circumstances, it was warranted. Grabbing the beer, I promptly place it on the counter. Milo follows the small movement as I have never turned down a drink before.

“Are you going to tell me how she is?” he restarts the previous investigation.

Recollecting my memories about Milo’s actions, I respond through clenched teeth, “She’s none of your fucking business."

Milo’s eyes briskly turn to slits.

All three of us have had a lifelong struggle with subduing our tempers. Growing up, I was the worst one, but now I wonder if it was the alcohol. Since turning into a teenager, I never went long enough without it to assess otherwise.

As for Milo, he was strict and disciplinary with us, which sparked fights between us. Upon reflection, I don’t recollect any unreasonable or excessive rage. Milo prefers to be firm, achieving results by doling out intimidations. Or so I thought.

Milo’s cool persona is shredding at the mention of Raven, to be replaced by something sinister. I witnessed this trait the night he beat up Asher, and again based on Mia’s account of the development between them. Both incidents had one common denominator: Raven.

"Everything about her is my fucking business," he grits out.

"If that's how you feel, then how the hell could you do that to her?" I bellow.

"Don’t worry about what’s between us. Stay in your own damn lane, Reid.”

The disbelief nearly has me lunging at him again. “Really!? That’s all you have to say after everything? You even put your hands on our baby sister. Who are you? I don’t recognize you anymore.” In general, it’s tough to decipher Milo’s feelings. But today, he can’t hide the disgrace to manifest from his mortification.

Milo wasn’t expecting me to be privy to this information. Mia’s practically Milo’s disciple, who’d never utter one word against him. However, Milo discounted Mia’s loyalty toward Raven.

In Mia’s hierarchy, there was never anyone above Milo. But in recent years, Milo’s been dumping Mia’s responsibility on Raven, who welcomes it with open arms. Teenagers pick up on the scent of rejection. As a result, Milo’s fallen out of favor while Raven has edged onto that number one spot. And after Milo’s last stunt, I doubt he’ll even have a relationship with Mia moving forward.

But Milo doesn’t harp on my accusations. Instead, his demeanor rapidly shifts when he steps closer. His features soften as he examines me with intense scrutiny. Unsure of what he discerns that’s abruptly altering the tone of our conversation, I sidestep him.

“Reid, are you feeling okay? What’s wrong with you?” he probes gently, the tenor from the heated conversation spontaneously squandering away.

“I can ask you the same question,” I retort.

Milo’s expression persists, examining my skin's yellowish tone and the dark circles under my eyes, another side-effect of my new development. His eyes dart to my untouched beer on top of the counter. “Reid, what's going on with you?” he asks more urgently this time.

Lying to Milo is futile. It’s impossible to conceal my external deterioration that’s currently playing catch up with my body’s interior corrosion.

“I need a liver transplant,” I state unperturbedly, a defense mechanism I have perfected over the weeks to push away the fear of death and never seeing my loved ones again.

Unlike Raven, Milo doesn’t make me repeat the morbid detail. Instead, he realigns himself with useless movements while absorbing the information. After readjusting himself numerous times, Milo abruptly grabs me at lightning speed and pulls me into an unexpected hug.

I don’t move, nor do I shove him away.

If anything, I take in the momentary consolation from the only father figure I have ever had. In fact, the only parental figure all of us had.

I know what you’re thinking. How can I still love a man who abused the woman I love?

Well, fuck you and your judgmental self!

If you think my brother is evil, you’re wrong. This is more complicated than meets the eye. While half of me hates him, there is a part that quasi-understands there are two sides to a story, which is Raven’s philosophy in life.

Milo is a master at masking his emotions. I never presumed this fixation on Raven. It’s not surprising that a younger and naïve Raven didn’t either.

However, very little was left to interpretation from the candor in his emails and texts to Raven. Milo admitted to his actions, yet there wasn’t a hint of evidence that served to redeem their story. Their interactions remained hot-blooded and unstable, at times unpredictable.

The two people I love most in this world are stuck in the infinite loop of an abusive cycle.

Eventually, I understood two things.

Other than with Raven, Milo is a good man. No other woman can drive him crazy enough to lose all forms of his sanity.

And other than when it comes to Milo, Raven is logical. No other man can drive her to the brink of insanity.

The behavior Milo displays toward Raven is exclusively retained for her. Our adolescent years shaped his otherworldly possessiveness toward Raven. He was the eternal father figure while Raven, like a mother, filled our home with the warmth none of us otherwise experienced. That’s why all of us gravitated toward her… including Milo.

Milo acted so much like an adult that none of us considered what it must have done to him to never experience a childhood. He had no one to engulf him with tenderness until Raven.

Raven was the first person who took care of Milo. He snapped at the thought of losing the only kindness in his life. That reason alone makes me want to time travel and punch the teenage version of myself for not being a better brother. If I had, Milo could have turned out differently.

The second thing I learned is that Milo and Raven will never stop without external interference. Milo’s convinced that his survival is dependent on Raven. That conviction makes her dangerous for him. And it makes him dangerous to her. His panic over losing her causes him to spontaneously crack. Milo’s unstable around Raven, and it only takes one moment to lose complete control. Reading their emails, I was subjected to the same fear Mia had verbalized.

Milo might kill Raven one day in bouts of uncontrollable anger.

Apart, Milo and Raven are the best human beings on earth. Together, they are an explosive duo filled with toxicity. Milo is as deadly for Raven as she is lethal for him. But I believe they can break this cycle with a fresh start, away from each other’s venom.

“How many times did I tell you not to drink so much?” Milo demands after I disclose everything about my failing organ. “It takes thirty years of consistent drinking to fuck up your liver. Congrats! You did it in only six.”

“Actually, nine,” I correct with fake pride. “I’ve been drinking for nine years.”

“This is not the time to fuck around, Reid.”

“Milo, I’m fine—"

“The fuck you are,” he yells. “Give me the number for your doctor’s office. Or are they even a legitimate doctor? At this point, I don’t put it past you to hire a doctor off Groupon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I found him on Living Social.”

“You think this is a joke?” Milo thunders at the top of his lungs. “You can die, Reid!”

I close my eyes to reign in patience. But Milo’s delving into protective mode, which usually comes with a lot of scolding. He’s yelling at my recklessness for excessive drinking and putting myself in the hands of what he presumes is terrible care.

All the while, Milo multi-tasks on his phone that’s already dialing a number. I’m positive it's one of his powerful ‘contacts’ with a reach far beyond my capability.

Milo’s rich, but not the richest man. He’s simply a mastermind at networking, though his likeability plays a factor. Through donations to well-known charities, strategic contributions to organizations, and years of building rapport with New York’s finest, Milo’s undoubtedly become more well-connected than affluent men who are far wealthier than him.

“I need to speak to Dr. Sunny Gupta,” Milo barks on the phone, no doubt ready to throw his money and name around. “I don’t care if he is with someone. Tell him it’s Milo Sinclair and to get his ass on the phone if he wants to see the next donation check clear.”

I smile. Milo will always be Mr. Fix-it.

Dr. Gupta comes on the line to say he’ll call Milo back out of respect for a pending appointment. I almost cringe on behalf of the good doctor.

When I was young, we went to a nearby diner. A distracted waitress, who was on her phone, dropped hot soup on me. It took one startled scream for Milo to spring into action and have her fired, indicating he might even have her children taken away to be placed under foster care. He gave her a lecture, something about an inattentive person, precarious moments, and a menace to children. It didn’t matter that Milo was thirteen. And it certainly didn’t matter when the waitress sniped back about not having any children.

When Milo turns protective, it’s best not to be in his path.

And the only person on his current path is the physician on the other line. I wonder if Milo will exploit the doctor’s job security or threaten his unborn children. As a rule, Milo sticks to one or the other.

“I don’t care if you have an appointment right now,” Milo says sharply. “Do you want me to call the medical director and have your ass fired for not answering a few simple questions?”

Job security it is.

“Or do you want me to have the dean pull the admission letter to Stanford for your kid? If I can get your idiot son admitted there, I can get him pulled out of there too.”

Double whammy. It’s nice to see the passion in whatever you do, even while threatening and blackmailing people.

The doctor concedes, and Milo grills him with a ton of questions. Upon exhausting the doctor’s expertise, he hangs up without saying goodbye.

What follows is Milo’s relentless campaign, calling various transplant clinics for information on the waitlist process. I’m fairly positive that he’s hinting at bribes to be expedited.

“Bro, just stop.” I attempt to inform Milo that everyone has to be on a waiting list unless he plans to dip his toes in the black market.

Disregarding my comical background commentary, Milo perseveres. He mimics a loony toon character with fumes rising from his head.

By nightfall, Milo’s marginally calm. A silent understanding passes that I’ll be staying the night. Presently, Raven’s too tunnel-visioned to even notice my absence from the house.

Wordlessly, Milo dials another number, this time to order take out. Rummaging through his luggage, he hands me a birthday gift—a game console, which I set up equally nonverbally.

In the last few years, Milo’s been consumed with work. In fact, this is the most interaction we have had in months. So, I don’t bring up the ‘Raven’ topic for the rest of the night. Milo doesn’t talk about transplants or my drinking problems either.

Instead, two brothers hang out for the remainder of the evening, pushing away the grim topics that reunited us in the first place.

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I dutifully stayed at Milo’s condo last night while he spent an overzealous amount of it online. Milo’s been quiet all morning, an indication that the reality of my situation has settled in from the information he gathered.

Milo’s tenacious pursuit over the transplant is hollow, as the real obstacle lies afterward if my body rejects the foreign organ.

“Milo,” I start after he’s had sufficient time to digest, “I need something from you.”

Milo looks up, eyes red and rimmed. “Anything.”

“I want you to leave. You used to talk about moving to California. You should do it.”

Milo blinks, looking at me quizzically. The uncomfortable silence stretches for minutes. At long last, he asks, “Do you hate me that much?”

Delivering hurtful news has never been my forte. Some possess a natural talent for breaking bad news gently. As evident from Milo’s reaction, I have no such tact. Shaking my head, I sit on the stool across from him, trying to organize my thoughts.

“Quite the opposite. I love you even despite what happened between you and Raven,” I cautiously admit. Milo’s furrowed brow reflects his awareness of my pointed hint. “I-I just think it’ll be good for you not to be responsible for such a large and needy family.”

“I’m not leaving you at a time like this. There’re so many things you’ll need help with—”

“Milo, we are not children anymore. It’s ridiculous for you to take care of us and even pay our bills. Dad can go back to work full-time. I have a job offer as well. Between the two of us, we’ll fill in the gap. Everything will be just fine, but I’m worried that you won’t be if this continues. It’s… it’s too much for any one person to handle.”

I have been skirting around this topic since last night. Milo and Raven are currently much too emotional to see things clearly. What they have together; it’s not love. It’s two broken people seeking out one another for comfort. Years of taking care of this family have left Milo drained. He wants someone to take care of him. If Milo distances himself from us, he won’t have this constant need for someone to save him from drowning; a role he has assigned to Raven.

As for Raven, she’s simply experiencing Stockholm Syndrome. With adequate time and space, I’m confident in my ability to change her perspective.

“You’re wrong,” Milo argues. “That’s not it. I made a mistake with Mia, but I can fix things with her. Raven and I can put our differences aside as well.”

“Milo, you are terrorizing the women in our family,” I remind sharply. “Mia doesn’t want to see you. Raven is scared shitless. All of us think she is engaging in self-harm. We all love you for everything you have done, but even you have to admit that you aren’t safe to be around right now. Maybe you need to do some soul searching and find a way to center yourself—”

“Soul searching?” he scoffs.

“If you take the time to self-reflect without all these distractions, you can figure out what’s causing you to unravel. Maybe it’ll help you mend your relationships down the road.”

“I already told you. I can figure this out with—”

“It’s not just Mia and Raven. I think you should break contact with everyone, at least for a little while. You care too much, Milo. That’s why you get so sucked into this family’s drama and neediness. Then you get frustrated and overwhelmed before ultimately losing your shit.”

“Reid, you could die if I—”

“Dude, stop! You are ruining your life by being around us… and you are ruining hers too. I don’t want to see either of you like this.”

Ignoring everything else I just pointed out, Milo declares, “I am not moving to California. You need me right now.”

“No, Milo,” I yell with disparity. “There’s only one thing I need from you—Leave! If you are around… thinking about how all of us are making you miserable will only make me nervous about the next time you’ll fall apart. And I’ll get angry every time I see you with her. Just do this for me while I go through this process.”

Milo looks saddened by my outburst. With eyes downcast, he contemplates my suggestion before asking, “She really doesn’t want to see me?”

“Raven said that she left you a note to explain.”

With a minute nod, Milo silently mulls over my words again.

To give him the last push, I take out some polaroid photos from my back pocket. Raven and I found a polaroid camera in Sam’s grandmother’s house and went overboard. “I want to show you something,” I tell him, handing him the photos we took.

“She looks happy,” he comments, smiling wistfully at the pictures.

“She is,” I respond, omitting that I forced her to dress up and wear makeup for a birthday photo session. Next, I tie the visual with my showstopper, another polaroid photo. I hand him a picture of Raven from her first day of arrival. “Here is a photo of her after I picked her up.”

Milo’s eyes widen, and he visibly shudders upon noticing the difference. Even his mouth hangs open slightly. A picture can say a thousand words, and right now, it’s saying much more than any logical argument I can make. The visual comparison is readily available for Milo.

Raven was at least five pounds lighter on that day, which reflected in her tiny frame. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, so all the dark bruises and circles under her eyes were visible.

For this session, I didn’t have to simulate a charade or have Raven downplay her looks. It was purely the aftereffect of their encounter.

I spent years being jealous over their bond, where in fact, I should have pitied their situation. Milo and Raven are nothing but each other’s emotional hostages.

“I don’t know how else to say this, but you two are terrible for one another. I am sure you can see what you do to her when she is around you. Milo, if anything happens to me—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”

“I know,” I mumble. “But if it does, I don’t want my last thoughts revolving around this. It’s too damn sad. I don’t want to go through this process alone. I want to be around our family, but I can’t deal with the drama that comes with you and Raven. I’m sorry.”

My lids lift slightly to meet his eyes before quickly averting my gaze. The guilt’s tearing me up, as much as it’s killing him to hear it.

“I can’t even explain what it’s like for me when I am not with her,” he mutters.

“Maybe after some time apart from this family, you’ll feel differently,” I suggest.

For Milo and Raven, it’s either all or nothing. So, we are balancing between a fresh start or utter annihilation. If only they agree to give this a chance, things can be different. Once Milo explores who he is without being bogged down by his obligations to this family, he’ll realize this codependency on Raven is illusory. If Raven can assess her feelings without the lingering threat of her assailant, her unobstructed mind will finally be free of him.

The alternate option leads to Raven’s demise in Milo’s hands when he finally goes too far. That’s how domestic abuse culminates, with one partner dead and the other one behind bars.

So, I don’t mind playing the villain to give them a better life. My resolution led to this difficult request, one that’s gutting my brother.

“You just don’t understand. I can’t breathe right without her,” Milo responds after a long pause, his voice so muted that I almost miss it.

I know how he feels. I have been drowning in an addiction of my own for years. Maybe he needs some tough love, something Raven provides for me but never did for Milo.

When they were young, Mia and Raven believed Milo to be God. Their hero-worship set unrealistic expectations. No one provided him with feedback on bettering his own life and choices. Milo’s not a God but a broken man who needs help. Perhaps I can provide him with that help in the form of tough love.

Identical to Raven's tactic during her time in Paris, I use a foolproof method. The most beloved Sinclair and a weak spot for all three of us: Mia.

“Raven will shun you forever if she finds out that you put your hands on Mia. If you don’t stay away, Mia will tell Raven what you did.” It’s a threat, but my voice is faint.

Milo’s eyes promise the wrath of a rupture. For a second, I wonder if he’ll try to choke me too. “So, either I oblige to this banishment, or you tell on me?”

Basically! But the least I can do is instill some purpose in his banishment. I silently consider the best way to articulate my next thought before blurting out, “Five years.”

Milo’s wrath momentarily disperses, face riddled with confusion instead.

“Five years is the minimum sentence you can get for…” I trail off, unsure if I want to finish the sentence.

Milo’s eyes flicker. He knows what I am insinuating as he referenced it in one of his emails to Raven. Five years is the minimum sentence for rape charges.

“You said it feels like you can’t breathe without her. So, maybe that’s your punishment. If you stay away for another year, that’s a total of five years. Just do that much, and I promise not to stand in your way. Mia won’t either. We just… we want what’s best for the both of you.”

Milo might hate me backing him into a corner, but he knows the same truth I do.

If he listens to me, there’ll at least be hope for the future. If he doesn’t, he’ll lose Raven forever once Mia discloses Milo’s actions. So, Milo does the only thing that he can.

He yells at me.

I let him.

He argues with me.

I remain silent.

In the end, Milo agrees to cease contact, bitterness still seeping through every fiber of his being. When it’s time for me to leave, we part on a manly handshake. Before I can turn around, Milo grabs me to pull me into a hug. He holds on to me tightly, like he used to when I was little.

Then Milo does something he has never done before. A trickle of wetness rolls down the back of my neck.

Never in my twenty-two years of life has Milo cried. For the first time in his life, my brother is crying. And it’s because he’s scared of losing me.

“Don’t fucking die,” he whispers.

“Redeem your damn soul,” I find myself replying back.

With those words, I do the one thing that I haven’t done before either. I shed a tear.

So, there we are, two grown-ass men, shedding a tear or two as we part ways in hopes to give each other our best chances at a better life.

Patience

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Raven,

In the last few months, I have woken up daily thinking the same thing; today will be better than yesterday. I have to force myself to crawl through the day to make it to the finish line. I go to sleep, and I am horrified to realize that I have to do it again tomorrow.

We have spoken so many times over this summer without drawing any conclusive results. It always circles back to the same discussion. Every time you ask me why I left so abruptly, I’m terrified of how you’ll look at me if you knew what truly transpired between Mia and me.

Once I see that look on your face, it will be confirmation of the monster I have become.

I have considered coming clean, but my intentions retreat when I remember that Reid and Mia have a hold on you that’s incomparable. You’ll always choose them over me, and once you find out the truth, the hope for a better future with you will be gone for good. And I can’t lose the only hope to keep me going in my otherwise lonely existence.

So, I lie and let you believe that I left to free myself of this family’s obligations. While it wasn’t the reason, it has proven to be a perk. Does it make me selfish for feeling this way?

Reid handed me a gift to leave without a guilty conscience. He was right. I have never known myself devoid of the commitment that comes with being the head of a household. And carrying the weight of so many needy people was making me irrational time and time over. Well-wishers as they might be, without our parents’ presence, I no longer feel overextended.

All the same, unable to fix things is driving me crazy. My necessity to be needed is as big of a crutch of mine as their need for me. I don’t trust them to make good decisions and would rather run the lives of every one of our family members. How fucked up is that?

As I come to that conclusion, I realize that I want to know who I can be around you without that constant pent-up frustration. I plan to maintain my distance from them if we were to reunite. I just don’t know when that will be, but I know it has to be after Reid’s ordeal.

The wait is excruciating. I keep taking random trips and embarking on adventures to fill every second I’m not working. But between the shuffle of filling every minute in my calendar, there are seconds left empty. Those seconds are filled with the sound of your voice to the point that I can’t fucking breathe. Every second is harder than the second before.

If possible, I love you even more than before.

-          Milo

Chapter 6

The Present: Summer, 2021

A Year With You

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Raven

“The upstairs bathroom broke down again,” my mother wails.

“Then call a plumber, Mom.” I hold onto my temple with two fingers.

This video chat has only commenced, and my migraine’s already exercising its full visitation rights. Despite my international residence, I maintain a daily video call with both sets of parents, mostly to moderate some of their ill-advised actions. The conversation above is the most taxing part of my day.

“I don’t know which plumber to call. Plus, they’ll never give us a good price. You are better at dealing with these things. Can’t you just call them?”

“Honey, which card should I use for the new fridge?” my father chimes in next.

“Dad, we talked about this. The old fridge works just fine.”

“Water leaks out of it whenever we push the button for ice.”

“Then use an ice cube tray.” I grind my teeth.

Dad's been working on reinstating his medical license, but the progress has been slow. My parents continue to live with the Sinclairs but are running low on funds, having spent most of the monetary support they received from Milo. I created a budget sheet for them to abide by, but Dad wants to split the cost of a new fridge with the Sinclairs. Even dividing the expense is not in the spectrum of their financial plan, especially considering the fridge Dad has been eyeing. He has all but thrown a temper tantrum about it.

“Is that Raven?” Tessa’s voice floats through the video on my computer, but she’s only visible from the neck down.

“Tessa, you need to sit down so I can see you,” I suggest.

The phone in my hand buzzes, concurrent to Tessa’s onset into the conversation. Alexa’s name flashes on the screen, likely reaching out about the wedding flowers. I silent the phone with the intention to call her back later.

“Raven, sweetie,” Tessa’s voice cracks, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Is Milo there? Can we talk to him?”

I have come to detest this specific part of our conversation.

In the last few weeks, Milo and I picked up exactly where we left off. Our weeks have been filled with a lot of laughter, teasing, and goofing around. We have immersed ourselves into one another, neglecting the outside world to spend our time between the hammock, the beach, and the bedroom. Though Milo insists on a strict workout and sleep schedule, these have been the best days of my life.

Milo remains averse to my dog but at least doesn’t make that disgruntled face anymore. And after that first time when Milo soothed away the reappearance of my nightmare, I have rarely had subconscious reactions.

The couple of times I retreated, Milo mollified me with sweet words. He talks about our future and the parallel universe we had once built, assuring me that we are on the path to attain our perfect life. He even endures all of my night-terror-induced attacks. Twice, he woke up covered in bruises and scratches. I was worried that Milo would eventually tire of the amount of crazy he could tolerate. The guilt eats away at me even after hours of making it up to him, but Milo’s insistent that he’s absolutely fine.

Milo’s considerations have me vigilant to return the favor.

So far, his only request is to remain in the bubble we have created—a feat that’s easily accomplished. Besides the gym, short walks for my dog, and lounging around the beach, we don’t venture far anymore, not even for food. Milo doesn’t trust me inside the kitchen, so we’ve been living off resort meals and room service.

Excluding the times when I call home, I’m always within his peripheral vision.

But news has traveled to our families that Milo’s here with me. His parents presume I’ll bridge the gap between them, whereas Milo shuts down whenever I broach the subject.

The entire family misses him desperately and wants to know how he’s doing. The parents are unsure why Milo cut them out of his life. Milo simply mentioned feeling overwhelmed in his previous life and needing a break.

I look outside the transparent double doors. Milo’s lounging on a beach chair, undoubtedly counting down to the minute I close the computer lid.

“Tessa,” I start softly, “we talked about this, remember?”

My phone buzzes again, announcing an incoming text.

Alexa: Call me.

Brides who are planning their weddings can be… let’s use the term challenging. If I continue ignoring her calls, I won’t put it past Alexa to attempt breaking into my room, especially since she’s staying at the same resort.

My attention is diverted when Tessa sniffles.

“I know, sweetie,” she says in a small voice. “But maybe he’ll change his mind if you ask him again. I just want to talk to him. Please, Raven.”

My harsh migraine is nothing compared to the pain in my chest.

“I’ll try again,” I hoarsely whisper as Tessa walks out of the room with a brief, understanding nod, no doubt to get herself together. I abhor these moments, knowing full well that Milo will refuse, and I’ll have to break Tessa’s heart all over again.

My mother starts talking again when Uncle Reese walks into the room. He joins the flock gathered around the computer. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi, Uncle Reese.”

“Raven, is Milo there? Can we speak to him?” he asks, oblivious of Tessa’s earlier plea mere seconds ago. My phone lights up precisely as he voices his inquiry.

Alexa: PICK UP!

Following the text, Alexa starts calling me relentlessly.

“Yeah?” I finally answer her call.

“Rave, did you tell the florist to add the extra centerpieces?” Alexa asks at the same time Uncle Reese clarifies in an expectant tone, “Yeah? He wants to talk to us?”

Fuck.

“No!” I hurriedly shout at the screen. His disappointed face resembles a kid who lost his Halloween candy to a bully. I’m instantly consumed with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“Raven, what the hell! I asked you to reach out to them days ago,” Alexa cries out.

Double fuck. “Alexa, I did talk to the florist. You’re all set.”

“Then why did you say no?”

Before I can respond, Mom cuts in. “Honey, where did we land on the plumber? Can I expect you to take care of that?”

How am I supposed to find a plumber, vet them, and schedule an appointment according to their schedule while I’m out of the country? “Mom,” I say exasperatedly, “there are a million bathrooms in the house. Can’t you just use a different one?”

“What bathroom are you talking about?” Alexa asks in a frustrated tone over the phone. “Also, I have received four complaints about the online orders not going through. Can you double-check that our website is not frozen?”

“So, I’ll go ahead and order the fridge then?” Dad asks before Mom can go on another melodramatic tirade about needing the bathroom fixed since it’s attached to her room.

“No!” I exclaim. “Let’s wait until I’m back in New York,” I suggest so I can ensure that Dad won’t buy the most expensive fridge available.

“We can’t put our business on pause for that long,” Alexa screeches on the phone. She might be acting like a bride right now, but first and foremost, Alexa’s a shrewd businesswoman.

“We are not. I’ll call you right back.” I hang up on Alexa before she can protest.

“You are going to call us right back?” my mother asks. “Okay, honey.” Mom ends the video chat before I can open my mouth to scold them about buying a ten thousand dollar fridge.

As soon as they all hang up, I shut the computer lid with force, cover my face with both hands and let out the loudest scream, just like I do every time I speak to them.

Maybe Milo made the right decision by cutting them out of his life.

The need to exert an action that displays my bubbling frustration has my hand rising to violently slam the phone down on the desk table. My hand’s suspended in mid-air when Milo grabs it. He kisses my knuckles and saves the destruction of my phone by prying it out of my grasp.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks. Milo just walked through the double doors, still sopping wet from his earlier swim. I look at the plethora of sand he dragged inside. Upon following my trail of vision, Milo sheepishly smiles.

“Nothing,” I mumble. “Alexa called. She’s just a demanding bride.” I don’t want to risk putting Milo off even more by bringing up family drama. It’ll only be a harsh reminder of why he left that life behind in the first place.

While Milo claims that his hesitancy to contact his parents stem from years of resentment and the desire for a clean break, the actions are so uncharacteristic of Milo’s personality that I’m constantly searching for the missing puzzle piece. In the very least, he’d pick up their calls to tell them off. Everyone in the family, including the adults, has been scolded or disciplined by Milo. He was always their absolute ruler—his words were the law everyone abided by. So, I’m confused over this fear to even conversate with them.

Getting into Milo’s head is the same as attempting to open a coconut with a butter knife, an impossible feat to accomplish. There’s only one person capable of reading him. If Mia were here, she’d figure out what Milo’s thinking.

Albeit, while I wish Mia were here, I’m wary of discussing that topic.

Milo and Mia had a bizarre feud. Mia was upset upon learning the specifics of our unsettling history. Mia worshipped Milo. Those two were so close; I was astonished that our past alone could be the catalyst for such a huge rift.

There is another thing… Reid accused Milo of putting his hands on Mia. But Milo would never, EVER, do that. He raised her like his own. So, the mystery remains; what was so deplorable to cause Milo and Mia to shun one another?

Milo and Mia recently made up. But whatever the particulars of their history might be, I have my suspicions that it plays a role in Milo shying away from the rest of the clan.

“What happened between you and Mia?” I ask abruptly, changing gears. Maintaining an inquisitive tone instead of accusatory, I set the groundwork for the conversation. “Is that why you don’t want to talk to your parents…” I let the sentence dwindle, so Milo can fill in the gap.

But Milo merely watches me instead of elaborating.

“While I don’t know of the exacts, there is no point in burning bridges with your own family over petty grudges. Whatever happened, let bygones be bygones. Everyone loves you and frankly misses the hell out of you. Tessa and Uncle Reese ask about you every day.”

I bite back the pain in my chest at the reminder. Tessa hasn’t spoken to Milo in over a year. Even before our reconciliation, she asked me daily if I had spoken to him. Tessa might have led a sick life crippled by her mental health issues, but she loves her son. To be frank, Milo is Uncle Reese and Tessa’s favorite child. They say parents aren’t supposed to have favorites. Well, the Sinclairs sure do.

Milo remains skeptical, as if anticipating a bad omen to follow at the mention of our family. Ultimately, he exhales at my displeased face. “You make some good points,” he concludes. “I’ll think about it.”

-----------

Milo

“I’ll think about it,” I promise while pondering the best methods to avoid this altogether.

In the last few weeks, Raven and I have finally found peace between the beach and our suite. But as always, the predictable rude awakening is here in the form of my goddamn family.

Raven shakes her head. “I know you are lying to me. You have no interest in talking to them. I just don’t understand what exactly happened—"

I sigh exasperatedly. “Baby…”

She mocks me by sighing back with similar irritation. “What’s up, baby?”

I smirk at her playfulness. Leaning down, I press a kiss on her lips. “They don’t matter. Can we just drop this, please?”

“Of course they matter. They are our family. We can’t exactly avoid them for the rest of our lives.” She nibbles on my lip and tries to tickle me while I slink away.

Ignoring her pursuit of a lighthearted chat, I remain focused on the task at hand. “I just don’t want to be around them.”

Raven passively inspects my guise, trying to break through it. If she keeps it up, she might be successful at her attempt.

An idea pops into my head. I take out my phone and text my secretary.

“Pack your things,” I demand to distract her from that analyzing brain of hers. Thankfully, it works. Raven drops the subject… for now, as she refocuses on the turn of events.

“Why?”

“Because we are moving to my suite. It’s bigger.” I tilt my head pointedly, motioning at the chaos surrounding us. The amount of things Raven brought along for her dog is an absolute nuisance, leaving barely any uncovered surface in her suite.

Though I was previously furious at my secretary for the internet mishap at the villa she booked, it might now be a blessing in disguise. It’s the reason why I am acquainted with the handicap of those villas, a fact that’s about to come in handy.

My schedule’s clear for the next few months, other than conference calls that I can easily join over the phone. As for Raven, her work requires a pencil and a sketchbook, not the internet. For all other purposes, her phone should work well enough, but video chats likely will not. It’s not much, but it will downplay our family’s capability to interrupt the remainder of our time in Mexico. If she’s not talking to them daily, these ideas will eventually die down.

“I thought you canceled that room.”

“I’m having my secretary re-book it. I don’t think we can continue living here. With Alexa’s wedding around the corner, there isn’t even enough space for us to get dressed.”

Raven’s eyes track the room alongside mine to conclude it’s much too crowded. My prerogative aside, it’s not a viable option to continue our stay in this suite for the remainder of the summer. No time like the present to move us into a bigger space, especially one that’s removed from civilization.

When my phone pings from my secretary, I lift it to read the message. “Good. She just booked it. I’m going to check into the room,” I ascertain. “Get your things together, and I’ll bring the car around after I’m done.” I nod toward the side table. “Hand me the extra key card. I’ll check out of this room too and settle the bill.”

Raven hesitates before mumbling, “that’s fine,” and hands me a copy of her key card. Walking to the closet, she starts packing as I towel off the sand.

My heart warms when I find Raven dutifully packing my bags as well. Raven’s unhappy with my lack of explanations about ignoring my parents. The simple truth is, I enjoy the freedom without their pestering presence and would like to continue living in this bubble we have created.

But I hate disappointing Raven as I know she feels bad for my parents.

I kiss the crown of her head and murmur a few appreciative words for being so understanding. I don’t leave the room until she’s smiling and giggling, telling me to hurry back.

However, it takes longer than expected to get situated. After checking in, the concierge directs me to the villa situated on the other side of the property. Driving my car the short distance, I’m greeted by the personal butler, a service included with the amenities.

My bag is snatched away by the butler, who’s showing me around and inquiring about unpacking my clothes into the closet. I distractedly give him permission, not realizing I have to remain on-site while he attends to the task.

Concentrating on this all-inclusive, going inappropriately above and beyond, customer service is nearly intolerable. The brief separation from Raven is presently hiking my unease to the pinnacle. I’m hoping sufficient time has passed for her to have gotten her things in order.

I’m aware of the irrationality behind the notion. There are work and obligations in life. It’s unfeasible to have a relationship without instances when the other is temporarily absent.

However, the concept of farewell has been overplayed with us. Even when we were little, Reid and Mia were always in Raven’s life, while I was ripped out of it due to family obligations. My presence in Raven’s life returned in eight subsequent years. But Raven left my life once more when she was seventeen and came back four years later, only to be torn away yet again.

Can anyone blame me if our separation sets me off? Given the nature of our history, overlooking any form of division between us is an unattainable goal.

With imperativeness, I rush the butler. As soon as he’s finished, I speed away in my Jeep to meet Raven. I locate her at the resort’s drop-off point.

A bell boy lugs a hotel cart behind Raven, which is presumably filled with only one of her bags, the residual items belonging to the damn dog: food, toys, crate, you name it. Even the mild irritation over the dog’s excessiveness wanes when I’m met with her radiating smile.

I hear Raven inform the bell boy that the Jeep is her ride as I disembark. The bell boy promptly loads the car without further instructions.

“Hey—” she greets, only to be cut off by my scorching kiss. Uncaring of probing eyes, I haul her closer to hold her against my chest. My mind’s been swarming with paranoia over the last hour and a half. My hands are shaky, and I can barely breathe my relief into her mouth. I don’t jerk my mouth away until the unease lessens.

“You all set?”

“Mmhmm.” She smiles knowingly. Raven appears just as relieved to see me. Perhaps both of us were flooded with memories of our past during the short separation.

Having that tranquility returned to my life, I tip the bell boy while Raven stashes her dog’s crate. He’s still sleeping, which isn’t a shocking scene considering the dog sleeps fourteen hours a day. During his limited sleepless intervals, he follows Raven around like literally a lost puppy. He has joined the Raven fan club.

“How’s the new place?” Raven asks as we drive the short distance and enter through the gated entranceway.

“You’ll see.” I grin secretively, knowing full well that Raven’s likely to make a comment about my bougieness the moment she sees our new living quarters.

I snatch the suitcase from the back as Raven seizes the crate with the dog in it. “We can grab the rest of the stuff tomorrow.” She motions at the Jeep piled high with the dog’s belongings. “Can he sleep on the bed with us tonight? Mr. Whiskers gets nervous in new places.”

I give Raven an incredulous look.

In the last few weeks, I have woken up multiple times with that dog on the bed with me. No matter how many times I tell Raven that dogs are not supposed to be on furniture, Raven dismisses it.

“Raven, your dog loves his crate and prefers to sleep inside it,” I point out because it’s true. Something about the crate being the dog’s room and happy place. “You are the one who’s so attached to the dog that you end up bringing him to bed every night. He has a good habit. Don’t ruin it.” I kiss the side of her face to gentle the blow.

“Fine.” Raven minutely sulks before marveling at her surroundings. We are outside on the paved path leading to the villa, facing the sandy white beach and clear, blue water. “This is where we are staying?” She queries, sounding enthralled rather than teasing me.

“Yeah. It’s part of the resort,” I explain.

“It’s like a private island,” she muses in disbelief as I lead her through the front door of the one-story bungalow.

I direct her to a spot in the living room. “I cleared this area out earlier for the dog’s crate. There’s enough light that he won’t get scared if he wakes up in the middle of the night.” Raven is insistent that her dog fears complete darkness, and his crate needs to be situated around ample lighting. I stare at the dog, then shake my head. “Not that he’d ever wake up to know otherwise.”

Raven gawps with slight amazement. “You did that for Mr. Whiskers?”

“Really wasn’t a big deal.”

“Oh my God! You like him,” she teases. Putting the crate down, Raven drops kisses all over my face. I roll my eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but I’m aware that I had secretly hoped for this exact reaction.

“I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?’

“You liiike him,” Raven sings.

“You’re not allowed to sing,” I retort.

Raven continues to sing in her terrible non-lyrical voice. She’s only moved a hair's breadth away from the crate before finding herself levitating in the air. Her singing turns into a shriek as I carry her with purpose, walking fast without explanation.

After our short separation, the drive here already tested every ounce of my patience. Her body barely hits the soft mattress before I practically rip off her clothes.

Chapter 7

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Raven

You know that moment, the first thing in the morning. You are awake, but not really. Your mind’s cognizant, but your body hasn’t caught up just yet.

Milo’s been lingering in that state of consciousness for minutes.

Even in this state of mind, he knows that I’m mindlessly gawking at him. My hands are tucked under my pillow, and I’m lying on my side to ogle him uninterruptedly. Staring at him has become my new favorite ritual.

Milo hates it.

“I can feel your damn eyes on me again,” he grumbles without peeling open his eyelids.

I smile instead of responding.

Milo’s never been a morning person. It irritates him much more when I do this in the a.m. versus an afternoon nap. In the last few weeks, almost every morning started just like this.

“You know, it’s super fucking creepy to stare at someone while they sleep.”

I mentally shrug. Where Milo says creepy, I say it’s sweet. One man’s trash, another man’s gold. Untangling one hand from under the pillow, I blindly reach to brush the hair off his forehead. His lips curve at the small contact while his eyes remain closed.

That liar. He loves it when I stare at him. It totally feeds his ego.

Milo lifts his head slightly off the pillow. “Come here.” He yanks me to his chest with my face landing in the hollow of his neck. Within seconds, his furnace-like body wraps around mine, securing me into a tight embrace.

I used to have numerous similar dreams, only to wake to a bleak reality. I’d also doubt the plausibility of this moment were it not for the ironclad grasp of Milo’s hold.

“I’m deeply disturbed by this behavior of yours,” he mumbles groggily with his lips against my temple. “I’m never gonna be able to rest easy now, knowing that your probing eyes are just around the corner. You have to make this up to me.”

I look up to be greeted by his unshaven jaw and strong Adam's apple. “What did you have in mind?”

Milo barks a laugh at my curious face. “Get your dirty head out of the gutter, perv.”

“Hmm.” I hum and flutter my eyes that are struggling to adjust to the sunlight seeping through the window. It’s only getting brighter by the minute. “It’s blazing in here.”

Milo grabs the remote from the side table and presses a button to close the automated shades. The problem is instantaneously solved.

“I like the customer service here,” I joke. “The turnaround time for guest complaints is impeccable. I didn’t even have to fill out a comment card.”

“We aim to please here at Milo’s casa,” he playfully responds.

“Ew. Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?”

“Maybe.” He nuzzles my neck. “What do you want for breakfast?” When I lift an unsure shoulder, Milo prods, determined to feed me. “You barely ate anything yesterday.”

Food does sound amazing, but I hate the idea of leaving this bed.

“You are going to laugh if I tell you what I want for breakfast.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not going to laugh. Tell me what you want.”

“Chocolate cake.”

Milo falls into a fit of laughter.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh,” I reprimand with an elbow jab.

“It’s a no to the chocolate cake, but we can have a normal people breakfast. I have to answer some emails. Why don’t you go take a shower in the meanwhile, and then we can eat.” He taps my butt with his hand.

“Okay,” I say in between a yawn. The cobwebs of my own mind haven’t entirely subsided. I am also naked. Looking around the floor, I reach for his sweatshirt that I had swiped last night since the air-conditioning was on full blast.

Milo props up his head. He is sporting a five o’clock shadow and looks as dirty as I feel. Messy, sex hair. Eyes slightly drowsy. He’s completely naked as well.

“Bathroom?” I mumble, moving on unsteady legs with the sweatshirt reaching past my thighs.

“Through there.” He points to one of the two doors in the room. “See you in a bit.” He kisses me on the cheek before heading out of the room.

It made sense to move to this villa as it's massive and located inside a gated property with private beach access. But by the time we made it here last night, it was pretty late. So, there wasn’t an opportunity to properly inspect this place. I hardly had the chance to drop Mr. Whisker’s crate in the living room when Milo dragged me to bed. Luckily, Mr. Whiskers was already asleep, and nothing in this world could disturb his beauty sleep.

I walk around the king-size bed. There is a sleek contemporary feel to this room. All of the furniture is white and minimalistic. I hold open the door Milo pointed out, expecting to be led into the bathroom. Instead, I find myself in a spacious closet filled with men’s clothing.

My suitcase is waiting dutifully in the middle of the closet. My heart warms a little when I realize that Milo unloaded all of Mr. Whisker’s stuff from the car last night after I fell asleep. I organize a few of the items before heading to the larger bathroom, which is just past the closet.

Sluggishly, I get started on my morning routine. I use the facilities. Brush my teeth with his toothbrush. Wash my face. Shower. Afterward, I throw on the same sweatshirt. Using a blow dryer, I tame my flyaway hairs.

By the time I’m finished, I resemble half a human. I do a silent prayer for that reprieve when I find Milo in the kitchen, looking like he’s gracing humankind with his appearance. Milo’s shirtless with only a pair of low-hanging light gray sweatpants. His dark hair is unruly. Even though he badly needs a shave, I secretly hope he doesn’t, having gotten used to this new, slightly edgy look.

The scent of something tantalizing is in the air, indicating that Milo’s done with his emails and has moved on to making breakfast. I stealthily tread to the kitchen to spook him. The wooden floor creaks under my feet, putting a damper on my mischievous plans.

“Hey, baby.” Milo’s sly look confirms his awareness of my objective.

“Hey,” I murmur, getting on my tippy toes to kiss him. He leans in with his cheek to accommodate our height difference but doesn’t turn or break concentration from the task at hand. Milo’s busy mixing and dicing things. White steam is evaporating from the two pans on the stovetop. Cartons of eggs and milk are scattered around the counter.

Milo’s a good cook, and this villa clearly has a fully equipped kitchen. He had mentioned that the service includes a butler who’ll personally attend to your every need. Apparently, they’ll even do a grocery run. I’m stunned by Milo’s choice to cook instead of simply calling room service, which has been our usual modus operandi.

While Milo cooks, I open Mr. Whiskers’ bag of food to feed him and then let him out.

Mr. Whiskers lazily cuts his walk short, practically dragging me inside to go back to sleep. They say dogs emulate their owners. I can’t argue since, other than working out occasionally, I’m just as sedentary as my dog. Our weekend routine consists of hours on the couch, binge-watching Netflix.

Things have changed with Milo’s entrance into our lives. Milo doesn’t like pets on furniture, which cuts down on our snuggle time. I have a feeling that Mr. Whiskers isn’t Milo’s biggest fan either, which bothers me more than I care to admit.

As my dog goes back to sleep, I deviate to the full cup of coffee at the breakfast table. Doubtless, it’s Milo’s effort to lure me away from the kitchen while the stove’s turned on. I’m not allowed near a heated stove without proper permits… Uhm… I mean supervision—Milo’s rules. Parking my butt on a chair while Milo cooks only elevates my sense of unproductivity.

“Can I help you with—”

I haven’t quite finished stating my offer to give him a hand when Milo interrupts me with deep, rumbling laughter that’s meant to be one part insulting and one part expected.

“No, baby. I don’t have the money to restore it if you burn this villa down.”

I roll my eyes.

You start one measly fire this one time, and all of a sudden, you have this reputation as an ‘arsonist.’ Milo banned me from entering any working kitchen unless overseen by watchful eyes. Plus, he insists that I use air quotations whenever referring to my ‘cooking.’

Whatever. It veritably works out to my benefit.

With an elbow on the breakfast table, I lean my cheek against my palm and return to my gawking that was so rudely denied earlier this morning.

Spending my teenage years with Milo, I pegged him as a handsome fella without looking too deeply into the surface level. When we started sleeping together, I found myself attracted to those looks. However, once I fell in love with Milo, he became the most beautiful man to ever walk this earth. It’s fascinating how emotions can change physical perception. I’m aware of my bias due to my feelings. Milo’s whole face could get burnt, and I’d still hopelessly gawk at him.

“Rave.”

“Yeah?” I respond dreamily.

“Stop fucking staring at me!”

Snapping out of my daydream, I straighten in my chair and scowl. I cross my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes to blaze him. Realizing I’m not Cyclops from X-Men and lack the required powers, I engage him in conversation, so my staring isn’t so blatant.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re buttering me up for?”

Milo turns his head before hastily returning his attention to cooking. “Why would you assume that I’m buttering you up?”

“Just a hunch.” My eyes roam the ingredients on the kitchen counter. All of them are for my favorite breakfast items, scrambled eggs with cheese and chocolate chip pancakes. Since Milo’s company has blown up, I don’t think he’s so much as stepped foot inside a kitchen, let alone make such an elaborate meal. “Why else would you be making food?”

“Well,” Milo taps his chin with his index finger, looking pensive, “food generally provides us with the nourishment needed to stay alive, and I’m quite fond of living. So, I thought we could partake in eating. However, I also do enjoy the chocolatey flavors and sugary syrup.”

Seemingly satisfied with himself over delivering his joke, Milo refocuses on the heated pans that are now sizzling and crackling.

“Har-har,” I say sarcastically while his lips tip to one side.

Looking at the spread on the kitchen counter, I realize this is Milo’s way of making it up to me for his continuous refusal to talk to his parents or divulge the specifics from the past.

But his efforts are in vain as I already decided to drop the topic. Not to mention, there isn’t much cell service at this villa. So, I texted Mia last night to inform her that I wouldn’t be able to hop on our daily chats either.

I tap open Milo’s phone that’s lying on the dining table alongside mine to see if his phone has signal. When I notice that he’s on the same boat, I fiddle with the photos app instead, so I can find the pictures Milo took when we saw pink flamingoes during one of our excursions.

However, in place of the pink flamingoes, all I discover are my own photos.

Hundreds and hundreds of my pictures cover every inch of the app. Photos of me on the hammock. Photos of me sleeping. Photos of me eating (yuck). Photos of me swimming. Photos of me lying on the beach.

Gah!

Blushing a million shades of crimson inwardly, I place the phone down before Milo notices that I’m going through these specific photos. I might chide him for taking so many pictures, but I can’t stop my heart from doing a somersault at the small validation.

With nothing else to distract me, I fervently tap my fingers, fuss with my hands, and jerk my knees while waiting for him to join me. Milo throws glances my way between cooking as if sending telepathic reminders to learn the virtue of patience.

We have been practically intertwined since our reunion. I realize that the lack of physical proximity has now metamorphosed into an abnormal reality for me, and I share Milo’s separation anxiety at times.

My call for company is answered sooner than expected as two piled-high plates land on the table. I happily clap my hands as Milo takes the seat next to me. My chair's legs screech on the wooden floors when Milo drags it closer with one strong hand. My legs prop up on his lap instinctively as we leisurely pick at our food while talking about nonsensical things.

When we conclude eating, Milo hauls me onto his lap, making no move to end the lazy breakfast. Although we should do exactly that since today is Alexa’s wedding.

“What time does the wedding start?”

“We should probably get there by—”

My sentence is cut short by an unexpected loud ringing. Milo snatches my phone from the breakfast table, where I had set it down earlier. Within seconds, his lighthearted demeanor disappears. I peek to inspect a familiar caller ID flashing on the screen. My heart stops momentarily before a palpitation of sorts travels along the streams of my veins, increasing the blood pumping into that organ.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

I reach for the phone. “I have to take this,” I whisper apologetically, my voice going down an octave. By some miraculous luck, Milo lets go instead of hurling the phone across the room. However, I am not fooled into thinking that this conversation is over.

Dashing out the kitchen door, I step outside to the small patio to pick up the call out of Milo’s earshot. Just as I’m about to answer, the ringing stops.

Like a statue, I stand in place with the phone in hand. I’m zapped out of my mind when the insistent ringing starts back up.

“Reid?” I greet him before he can even say hello.

A momentary pause. “Hello to you too, Rave,” he speaks, sounding unperturbed by my frantic telephone manners.

“W-what? H-hi... w—”

“Calm down, Rave,” Reid suggests without a trace of uncertainty. He patiently waits, no doubt with utter conviction that he’ll somehow sense when I have obliged his request.

Instead of fighting the system, I take his advice. My shallow exhalations adjust to a normal pace. Now that my erratic form of respiration has been regulated, it’s as if the physical phone is also marginally calmer. Like clockwork, Reid recognizes the change.

“You are with him,” he announces after the temporary noiselessness.

“Yes,” I admit in a small voice.

Reid’s quiet for so long that I pull the phone away to inspect if we’ve been disconnected.

“And… it’s been okay? You are fine…” he trails off, hinting at the most obvious.

“Yes, of course,” I attempt to sound casual, camouflaging my bewilderment over this call. I wasn’t supposed to hear from Reid unless for medical emergencies. “How are you?”

“Same old.”

“How was the last check-up?” I ask despite my flustered nerves.

“Rave, don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Tell me how things have been with… you know.”

We are both quiet following his crystal-clear insinuation.

“Reid, don’t worry about me. I’m just fine,” I finally speak, repeating his own words. “Why the sudden call? I never thought you’d call unless in cases of emergencies.”

“I thought this was an emergency,” he answers without hesitation. “You told Mia that you wouldn’t be able to do daily video chats with her anymore.”

I’ll admit. That’s an anomaly on my behalf for anyone who knows us and can be reason enough to raise suspicions. “Yeah. I moved to this new suite last night, and there isn’t strong internet or data connection here. I’m surprised your call even came through.”

“Oh. As long as you are okay.”

Before I can say more, Reid hangs up with a curt goodbye. My mind remains in shambles following the call, and my heart is equally demolished. It was the last thing I expected this morning.

Worst of all, the morning’s not over, and I know what’s waiting for me behind that door.

Chapter 8

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Raven

Four minutes; the duration of the call.

Milo’s been stewing in anger for each of those passing minutes. His fury has been festering into its own volatile concoction without anything else to distract him.

To say that Reid remains an unpleasant subject is putting it mildly.

Through our discussions, we uncovered a small deception played by Reid on the last morning I saw Milo before our year-long separation. The note I thought Reid had left in my handwriting for Mia was, in fact, directed at Milo.

Though Milo and I were initially upset, neither of us confronted Reid due to his daunting health issues. Not to mention, the sentiment behind the note wasn’t lost on us. Had Milo and I not taken some time apart, our turbulent relationship would have ended in an earth-shattering disaster.

While we both realized it was a necessary evil, it didn’t decrease the pain or what we went through. So, this morning is about to escalate.

After ending the call with Reid, it takes everything to transport my legs from the safety of the outdoors to indoors. I hold my breath as I enter the kitchen, where Milo’s no doubt waiting for my arrival. However, he’s nowhere to be found.

I swallow.

Perking my ears up, I listen for footsteps or any evidence of shuffling. The paranoia only increases when I don’t hear either. The villa is eerily quiet, signaling a bad omen.

My heart comes to a screeching halt when I locate Milo, who’s standing in the living room with his back to me. His right palm is lying flat on the transparent sliding glass doors, gaze searing through it to examine the clear blue ocean outside.

My footsteps disrupt his contemplation. The six-foot giant spins to tower over me with arms crossed in front of his chest. In the pit of my stomach, I know something bad is about to come my way.

Everything about him looks like a paradox right now.

The shirtless ensemble makes him appear vulnerable. However, the sunlight highlighting his larger-than-life biceps resemble a threatening entity.

His stance is rigid, controlled, precise. Yet his breathing is erratic, wild, and primitive.

The ridges of his abs are mouth-watering. But the expression on his face is bland.

He looks beautiful.

He also looks like a monster.

Like his appearance, his current mood is mercurial. Until today, our biggest hurdle was Milo’s continual refusal to allow the dog to sleep in the bed with us. So, this is unchartered territory to our newly developed bond. Milo’s unpredictable wherever jealousy is concerned. His unreadable dead expression only confirms the fact.

“He wasn’t supposed to call,” I explain in a flat tone.

Unable to meet his eyes, I lower them to the floor. Milo silently mulls me over. His hard-set jaw ticks in place. His expression is cold and aloof, almost detached from life.

“Get in the bedroom, Rave,” he finally chews out, staring at me impassively.

“Milo, please,” I whisper. “We should talk about this.”

“Go. To. The. Bedroom,” Milo enunciates each word when I don’t move.

Ignoring my heart palpitation, I move my heavy legs in that direction. I can barely hear Milo’s stealthy footsteps trailing mine, which only heightens my paranoia.

All of my senses are alert. My heart is beating so fast that it might break my chest open.

When I reach the middle of the room, I hear the bedroom door shut behind me and the click of the lock. Keeping my back to the door, I wait for him to say something. Anything.

I stay rooted on rigid feet, afraid any movement might set him off. The lack of ability to see the figure behind me only heightens the ominous tension between us.

I turn to find Milo standing a few feet away, looking larger than life. Fury dances in his eyes as he watches me with a stoic expression.

When he speaks, his voice is entirely devoid of emotions or empathy. “On the bed.”

I don’t argue. Climbing onto the middle of the bed, I pull my bare knees to my chest.

“Off.” Milo nods his head at my sweatshirt. “Get on your back.”

His darkened gaze fixes on me as I peel the sweatshirt off. Scratching his rough stubble, Milo watches me under hooded eyes while I lie flat, and he rids himself of his own sweatpants.

I can’t work up the nerve to look up. Milo’s silent presence is worse than if he were to yell. It’s freaking me out that I can’t read him at all, nor can I figure out what he’s thinking.

Milo presses one knee on the bed. I almost stop breathing when the mattress dips under his weight. A large hand wraps around my ankle. Without warning, Milo yanks at my ankle and drags my ass to the edge of the bed with my legs dangling off. His large, naked build overshadows my smaller one as if he is an otherworldly specimen.

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Milo

A volcanic fury is emanating from me.

It was easy to ignore the elephant in the room until it was blaring on her phone. She left the goddamn room to take his call.

What was so private that couldn’t be discussed in front of me?

The thought alone sets off this unraveling madness with my imagination running wild. Leaning down, I wrap my hand around Raven’s ankle and yank her toward me, with her legs hanging limply off the edge.

“Milo, you are scaring me,” Raven whispers. Her face is pinned under me with my elbows on either side of her. “Why are you so quiet?”

Raven doesn’t shudder, cower, or shy away from me anymore. The last thing I want is for her to fear me again. But I’m locked in this eternal cycle with her; fury mixed with desire. And currently, this lethal anger is winning. If I speak, I’m afraid of learning something that will obliterate me. I’m scared shitless that my own reaction might destroy her.

My chest rises and falls as my eyes trail her naked skin. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins like a barbarian on the hunt. This lust is nothing if not savage.

Raven remains unmoving as she watches me with apprehension.

I part her legs with my knee. Without a word, I grab my dick and stroke it between her folds. The head of my cock rubs against her until I am hard enough to burst. Until her pool of moisture is covering my cock. Until precum is dripping out of me, making her wetter by mixing with her juices.

By the time I slant my face to meet her mouth, Raven is kissing me back just as greedily.

-----------

Raven

Milo doesn’t push inside. Instead, he rubs against me until my pussy is pulsing and wet and aching. With a hand under my lower back, he breaks our kiss and flips me over to my stomach, so I’m bent over the edge of the bed while he remains standing next to it. The bed is too high. My floppy feet struggle to find the floor for support. Before I can get my bearing, Milo parts my thighs and sheaths himself inside with enough force to make me scream.

My toes curl, and my body instantly surrenders. A tousled moan seeps out, goosebumps breaking out at his low, earthy groan.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

I hiss when Milo twists his hand into my locks. Grabbing a fistful of hair, he pulls on it until my back curves. The angle grants him access to invade deeper, letting me feel every ridge of his cock. Searing pain shoots through my prickling scalp with Milo tightening his grasp and rigidly yanking at my hair. I momentarily lose sight when soft tendrils break free from his hold to frame my face and fall over my eyes.

Milo’s cheek is resting next to my mine. His shallow breaths tickle me as he tilts his face to press feathery light kisses. The airy sensation contrasts against his merciless thrusts that are driving long, hard strokes inside me with brute force. I can barely find solid ground for balance and try to reach for the mattress to support my body weight. I only move an inch when Milo viciously pulls my hair again to keep me in place.

By the time Milo hits a spot that blurs my vision, I don’t bother to decipher if I’m upright because of his hold or if my body has found some sort of alternate support. It’s hard to pay attention in this state of mind with him fucking me so hard.

“Oh God, Milo,” I pant, digging my nails into the arm banded around my waist.

I’m afraid of even the slightest shift that might stop the friction from hitting the spot I so urgently need. My body locks up while I desperately climb to my peak. The swell of my breasts is rising and falling. My lungs are scalding.

“Fu—” my lips part, but the frenzy hits me too fast to continue. All I see is pure bliss. All I hear is a ringing. My face clenches as I drag a huge gulp of air. My mouth remains open, but I don’t blow the breath out even though my lungs start burning.

“Breathe,” Milo reminds me when I still haven’t exhaled.

My eyes fly open when Milo suddenly retracts, leaving me feeling empty inside. Taken back, I look over my shoulders to find Milo lifting my limp legs onto the bed. He places me on all fours on my shaky knees and hands. There is no opportunity to overthink before Milo grabs hold of my butt cheeks to spread them wide and dips his face between my ass cheeks.

“Milo, wha— Jesus.” An expert tongue raids my senses as it swipes over my puckered hole. “Oh, God!”

Milo keeps licking my rim forcefully, then soothes it with gentle flicks. It’s like fire and ice. The relentless tongue pushes against the sensitive nerve bundles, wetting them until I am panting and wanton and once more stimulated beyond belief.

My legs continue quaking, about to give out, even when Milo moves his head back. He shoves his cock inside my pussy again, this time pounding into me with truly no holds barred.

Without forewarning, he slides a finger all the way inside my ass.

“Fuck,” I sob. My body’s crumples from the intrusion. I jolt forward, my upper body sinking down to the mattress. Without allowing to break our physical contact, Milo dips his knee onto the bed to descend downward and chase after me. He doesn’t miss a beat as he persists in the pace of his wild ravaging.

-----------

Milo

Raven’s face is resting against the mattress. After her body goes boneless, I rise to my knees, lifting her lower body with an arm around her waist.

Raven is panting. Her knees are wobbly and knocking together. She doesn’t get much time to acclimate before I spread her legs wider to accommodate the constricted space to sink into her further. I don’t stop until I’m buried so deep that her slippery wetness coats my balls. Her cunt is so squeezing my cock while her ass is suffocating my finger through the thin barrier of skin separating the two. She is full of me in every way.

I push my finger in and out of her ass slowly, even though I am pounding her tight pussy like there is no tomorrow. The harder I thrust into her, the more I feel it isn’t enough. I need more to exact my possession over her. So much more. I need to wreak havoc until we are both dying of exhaustion and euphoria, and lust.

It’s these thoughts that have me pulling my finger out. Before her rosebud can contract, I shove two fingers inside. Raven cries out again, not expecting the merciless attack. This time I’m prepared. My arm is around her waist to keep her in place.

“You good, baby?” I breathe against her ear, giving her a moment to recuperate.

Raven whimpers in my hold. When I see the tears stinging her eyes, I move to retract my fingers, but she stops me. “Don’t. I’m fine. Just give me a second to adjust.”

My heart beats like wild drums at her admission. Not only does she know what sets me off, but she also knows what centers me again.

My blood is heated. My insides are on fire.

I’m driven by unwarranted jealousy. Reid was, in fact, the reason for our reunion. So, this jealousy is uncalled for. All the same, I have this manic need to demonstrate that our bond is somehow greater than theirs. That it surpasses what they could have ever had.

I start fucking her harder, this time with my lubricated fingers in her backdoor keeping the same rough pace. It’s still not enough to satiate the rampage of this volcanic frenzy.

Reaching over to the side table drawer with my free hand, I retrieve the bottle of lube inside. I pull my cock out to smear lube on it. Raven looks over her shoulders in confusion. As an answer to her unposed question, I pull my fingers out of her ass, and without giving Raven a chance to clench her cheeks, I press the head of my dick into her pink asshole.

Raven stills, her body screaming in protest. I give her a moment to verbally state objections. When she doesn’t voice any, I plunge forward.

My dick is still glistening from her wet, slick arousal mixed with the lube. I watch with awe as the head moves inside her tight ring of muscles.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe for me. Take your time.”

Raven blows out a harsh breath, but I stiffen when she claws the bedsheet searching for an anchor. “Ow,” Raven yelps. “Fuck… that hurts,” she grits through her teeth.

“Take a deep breath and exhale slowly,” I whisper, all the while panting to gain control myself. It’s taking everything to keep from ramming inside her. But Raven hasn’t done this before. In the past, I’ve only used my fingers. Last night, I used a small sex toy on her, but nothing big enough to get her used to my size. So, she could get hurt if I don’t keep pace.

Raven lets out a long breath this time. Her inner muscles instinctively relax, letting me in a little further.

“Jesus,” I groan, “you’re killing me.” This is the tightest grip I have ever felt. Even tighter than her pussy.

I drop the other hand around her waist to stroke her clit. Her muscles eventually relax from the stimulation. Her ass stretches again, letting me slip another inch deeper.

“That’s it, baby,” I commend through clenched teeth.

Tilting my head, I watch for her reaction. Raven is on her elbows, face resting against the mattress, ass is in the air. I am only halfway in. My pace is snail-like, but her hold on me is making it goddamn near impossible.

Every time her muscles adapt, I ease forward.

Raven’s body suddenly locks up again, unable to take any more. A couple of lone tears dribble down to the sheets underneath. I work her clit faster until her pussy vibrates against my fingers, the pleasure finally dominating her pain.

“That… fuck, Milo... feels good,” her breathless words drive me to the brink.

“Holy fuck,” I grunt, my voice echoing through the room and my cock pulsing.

We are both struggling to breathe by the time Raven tilts her face to look at me over her shoulders. Her face clenches. My dick throbs. I see the veins on her neck protruding while I’m fighting the urge to come, praying for a semblance of control.

I swipe at her engorged clit until her ass dilates again, allowing my final advance.

By the time I’m buried deep inside her, I am growling and grunting with her ass choking my dick. I stroke her swollen clit faster. The erotic sounds she makes have me thrusting, though I’m barely able to move with that death-clutch grip.

“I am close,” I falter, struggling to speak, my pelvis smacking against her ass.

“Oh, God. Don’t stop,” Raven moans like she is about to lose her shit.

I can’t hold back any longer. I pick up the pace, feeling consumed by her. My eyes roll to the back of my head, and every one of my sensations comes alive in an epic proportion. This is the most intense experience of my life. My mind’s blanking out, all of my muscles are straining.

“Fuck, baby, fuck!” I growl like a lust-crazed maniac, saying incoherent things as ecstasy shoots through me.

“Right there… I am so close… Milo,” Raven pants just as vigorously.

Suddenly Raven shudders, screaming her head off as she peaks.

“I am gonna come.” I barely manage to hold on until Raven convulses before erupting violently. Achingly. Pulling out, I drench her ass with my cum.

Raven lets out a hiss from the sudden withdrawal. I keep stroking my dick until her ass, thighs, back, and every part of her body is covered in me. Marking her. Stamping her. I keep going and going until my lungs burn.

My body gives out in exhaustion. Drained. Depleted. Spent.

Raven collapses face forward on the mattress, and I follow her down, covering her with my body. It’s only when she grumbles that I shift my weight so as not to suffocate her. My face rests between her shoulder blades, pressing gentle kisses there every so often.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Raven is still breathing harshly. “I’m fine.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She laughs a little, tugging at my heartstrings even at this moment. “Only in my asshole.”

I chuckle, shocked that she is not angry with my impulsivity.

“I’ll take care of you,” I murmur, doing a mental inventory of baths and rituals I can do to ease her soreness. I press another kiss, not caring about lying on the sticky mess between us that’s smeared over her body. Feeling infinitely calmer, I smile at the image in front of me.

After a serene moment, Raven gently asks, “Do you want to talk about—”

“No,” I cut her off starkly.

What’s there to talk about?

While it pisses me off, I can’t bash her anymore for accepting Reid’s calls. I’ll never be successful in breaking their emotional bond, so I rely on the bond they don’t share.

The thought is shortly followed by dread over leaving our well-spun cocoon. Every moment outside of this sanctuary is filled with threats, especially when she’s out of my sight. Raven belongs in my hold. After this wedding, I just have to keep a stronger chokehold, so she can never get out of it again.

Chapter 9

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Raven

“This way.” Milo rounds the Jeep to pull the passenger door open.

After the events of this morning, we slept off the warring tension. I was mentally drained more than physically. I had barely opened my eyes when Milo dragged me out of bed for a bath and practically dressed me before piling me into his Jeep.

The wedding ceremony and reception are both at the same resort where Milo and I are staying. But these resorts are so huge that it made more sense to drive. We were still the scrambling wedding guests—the ones who sneak in last and hope to avoid getting caught red-handed for it. Despite the tardiness, we didn’t miss the beautiful ceremony. It was as romantic as one would imagine a beachfront wedding to be with an ocean backdrop.

The bride and groom are now taking family photos. Guests are to indulge in an hour-long cocktail party with free-flowing booze, followed by a dinner during their absence. Both the cocktail hour and the reception are ensuing on the other end of the resort. So, once again, Milo drove his rental.

I follow Milo out of the Jeep and fall into step next to him. Stopping in front of the reception venue, I look at the structure that can only be described as a cross between a barn and a cabin.

“Do you plan to murder me and leave me here?” I gesture toward the secluded setting, which is nowhere near the action-packed areas of the resort.

Milo holds open the entrance door for me with a leisurely smile. “Night’s still young. Let’s see how things go.”

“You are hilarious,” I say dryly.

Milo guides me indoors with a hand on my lower back. The event coordinators are waiting by the entrance door to direct the guests. One of them ushers us through the barn. The cocktail party is taking place out back, so we are prompted to exit through the back doorway.

As we near the double doors that lead outside, our ears are filled with the sounds of laughter and promises of a lively crowd. But when we physically walk through the double doors, that’s when we are transported to a different world: an enchanted forest.

Farm tables with a plethora of lanterns are set up under the shades of various tall trees: pine, oak, and cypress. Bistro lights are hanging from corner to corner. The pathway to enter is lit by hundreds of LED candles. The look is completed with outdoor lounge furniture and hammocks that are lazily strung up.

“Wow,” I marvel, doing a quick spin to take it all in. When I look up to the sky, I see the greens from the top of the tall trees with specs of light peeking through. A few birds chirp and fly across from tree to tree, only elevating the magical ambiance of this outdoor reception.

I’m so captivated by this magnificence that I barely hear the shutter-click sound go off on Milo’s phone.

“Did you just take another photo of me?”

He smiles craftily. “Yes, I took one picture.” Milo holds out his hand for me. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

Prior to grabbing a drink, we make a pitstop to drop off an envelope in the card box. It’s our gift to the happy couple. Milo and I looked through their registry for hours before realizing that all newlyweds simply prefer cash as a gift.

We also sign their guestbook at the welcome table. Premade signature cocktails are lined up at the same table, which we promptly grab after writing in our well wishes for the couple.

I sneak glances at Milo while sauntering to the high-top bar tables. This is the first time we are truly out in public in quite some time. I can sense that the change in pace is making him nervous, especially after this morning. Our drive here was strenuous, limited to small talk. I’m wracking my mind for neutral topics, but it’s difficult with the depletion of our natural banter.

Milo doesn’t seem bothered by the silence. He is candidly watching me and sampling his drink. Instead of grasping at straws to renew our conversations, I give him the most reassuring smile I can muster and squeeze his large hand that’s resting on the table.

In response, he wordlessly puts down the drink and reaches over to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. We both grin at the other, the unnatural strain already a distant memory.

And that’s all it takes for the air to shift; one tender moment.

This thing between us… it’s like nature.

His fingers sift through my hair as if reassuring me with the small physical touch not to worry about his change in demeanor, the same way I’m reassuring him by squeezing his hand that he’s the only man for me.

The problem is, after what happened this morning, I can tell Milo that I love him a million times, but the words will fall on deaf ears. Without tangible proof, the concept of love doesn’t materialize for Milo, nor do the words translate the same. Physical intimacy is the only thing to erase Milo’s moments of doubt.

In turn, it’s agonizing for me when I’m unable to console him. All I want to do is pounce on him for another carnal moment to give him exactly that. I’m unconcerned about the probing wedding guests surrounding us.

There is no moderation to this love. This intensity we share is completely passion-driven; it’s all or nothing. We can’t live apart, so we might as well burn down in flames together. Both outcomes are equally turbulent at times.

When we fight, we get caught amidst a raging inferno.

When we love, we drown in the throes of passion, oblivious of the world around us.

Maybe what I need is a minute to get myself together, splash some cold water on my face… and my pussy. After all, it is someone else’s big day. They might consider it rude if we were to have sex on top of one of the dinner tables, especially before dinner is served.

“I have to use the bathroom. Be right back,” I inform, putting my drink down.

A dark shadow crosses Milo’s face when I attempt to break contact from his touch. His fingers quickly close in to grip my hair as if reinstating his right to touch me at will.

Startled by his sudden shift in mood, I hastily look around to see if anyone’s watching this scene. My face turns beet red when two wedding guests walk by and frown at Milo's aggressive display of grabbing my hair. I nervously shift from foot to foot. Milo detains me with more purpose in response to my reluctance.

“Milo?” I implore in a small voice so as not to make a further scene.

The aggression dissipates just as rapidly it accumulated. Milo’s eyes widen before loosening the grip. “Don’t take too long,” he instructs in a definite tone. I withdraw my hands, only to be jerked back by the arm. “I mean it, Rave,” he repeats more hastily.

This time I nod to assert my recognition of his request. Turning away, I walk toward the ‘baños’ sign, tuning out the alarm bells in my head. A dreaded voice whispers a warning; Milo’s volatility will always remain the precipice in driving a wedge between us.

-----------

Milo

My eyes follow Raven. I momentarily lose sight of her in the crowd before she re-emerges. My knuckles turn white from gripping the edge of the cocktail table when she disappears entirely behind the double doors. I recite in my head that it can’t take her more than five minutes.

I play with my phone to distract myself from the speculations that made me bloodthirsty earlier. As soon as we walked in, heads turned to check out the girl in the emerald-green dress she wore to match my eyes. Half a dozen fuckers ogled her tanned legs and peach of an ass, her high heels openly advertising her assets. By the time they caught drift of the slight cleavage she was sporting, no more attempts were made to hide the greed behind their leering eyes.

Raven could kill a man with her looks but spent most of her life convincing herself otherwise. Her fashionable wardrobe is only a representation of her career and passion. Don’t misconstrue a sense of style as personal ownership of sexuality. I learned the hard way that there’s a difference.

Raven craves the title of the girl next door, aspiring to be a caretaker and peacemaker. Her reluctance toward sexual attention stems from her family-motivated desires. So, she brushes off signals differently than the kind she covets. That girl oozes sex but has never owned it.

However, Raven’s unawareness has no impact on calming my homicidal thoughts. In fact, it only pisses me off further. It means that a man could openly flirt with her, and she’d be oblivious enough to chalk it off to friendly gestures.

My stampede is conceivably a by-product of Reid’s phone call. I need her to remain in my line of vision right now. Boring my impatient gaze through the double doors, I tap my fingers on the table more ardently. It’s been more than a few minutes.

I crane my neck all around in search of her. An unbearable itch gnaws at my skin. Horrifying imaginative possibilities resurface without Raven’s presence.

Fuck it. I have already lost this battle. I’m not going to pretend otherwise.

Guzzling my drink, I slam the glass down with gusto and cut through the throngs of guests in my path leading to the restroom. Storming over to cross the threshold inside the barn, I stand across the restroom until Raven finally opens the door to exit.

Raven’s steps falter when she notices me. “Hey.”

My compulsion claims that I demand answers about her delay. With my self-restraint scarcely tucked away, I wait until she’s within reach to speak.

“Where have you been?” I ask gruffly.

Wringing her wrists, Raven nervously laughs. “I wasn’t gone that long. Miss me already?” The beam on Raven’s face disappears when she takes in my unamused nature. The scorching pair of hazel eyes silently bore into me. “I didn’t think I was gone for that long,” she says faintly. “I was just touching up…” Raven’s voice trails off as she studies the intensity in my eyes vigilantly as if attempting to extinguish the fire evident in my hasty presence.

Raven is searching for answers in every one of my expressions, no doubt wondering if separation anxiety caused this impromptu visit. Using her face as a marker for serenity, I rely on it to repair this turmoil of mine. I fervently memorize every detail until my unbearable paranoia morphs into that unbearable craving.

That goddamned raven-haired vixen.

The sexiest face and body I have ever seen. My addiction of choice. I can’t camouflage the lust emanating from my eyes. It’s an automatic response in her presence.

“It’s fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I mumble, all of my apprehension forgotten and replaced by my libido. In a flash, my mind becomes one-tracked.

Her eagle eyes continue their surveillance, implying to have an insight over my inner-most thoughts. Before I can open my mouth to speak again, Raven fists my shirt collar with her hand and tugs. Blindsided by the sudden turn of events, I hypnotically watch Raven shuffling us inside the bathroom she just exited.

It’s a fancy restroom with all the indications of a recent face-lift. There is a stone fountain in the middle, a waiting room with overstuffed couches, and even lit-up scented candles.

With one hand behind her back, Raven locks the door. She places both of her hands on my shoulders and pushes down with abrupt force, her resolute face echoing with ill intentions.

I don’t challenge her swift motions, instead stumbling backward slightly to fall on one of the loveseats. The moment she reaches for my belt to practically rip it off, my agitation from earlier utterly depletes. I can only focus on my search for a fix and salivate after the dose she’s about to hand out. My cock stirs, the blood there already pounding.

I lazily trail the length of Raven’s body, drinking her in. I don’t bother hiding the lewd hunger in my eyes as she straddles my lap with her dress hiking up her thighs. My body’s flush against hers, but I still grip her bare thighs to drag her even closer. Our bodies are practically adjoined with our breaths mingling and our scents mixing to become one.

Wrapping a hand around her fragile neck, I pull her face to mine. My mouth collides against hers with some sort of manic need. My rage-filled kiss is meant to demolish and obliterate without caution. My tongue greedily explores her mouth thoroughly. Every possible inch inside her mouth needs to be covered by my taste. When she eats something, she’ll taste me. When she drinks something, the aftereffects should still be there.

All the while, Raven reaches inside my pants to whip out my cock, never breaking the frenzied lip lock. All other thoughts shut down when she wraps a soft hand around the base.

The sickening and boundless desire sets off some sort of lunacy. My frantic hand reaches under to hike Raven’s dress up to her waist. The other hand roughly tugs her thong to the side with force, baring her little pussy. Raven matches my demonic need and places my tip against herself. Grabbing her ass possessively, I bring her down my length.

“Holy fuck!” I groan with my head thrown back as soon as I access her slick heat. Raven heeds my possessed plea and slams down right as I thrust up.

“Oh my God!” she moans against my ear. “Fuck, Milo.”

She slants her lips against mine, muffling the grunts from both of us. Her mouth is parted with hair falling over her shoulders as she senselessly rides me with abandon. My hands land on her ass cheeks to spread them wide as I pound into her ferociously.

I practically rip her dress in my effort to pull it down so her tits can spill out. Gripping her breast in a ruthless grip, I lower my mouth to suck her nipple savagely. They are stiff and no doubt sensitive beyond belief. But there is no holding back.

“Milo!” she hisses. She is trembling unbearably, writhing as if she’ll burst any second. “Feels…so,” Raven croaks, unable to finish her thought.

She stagnates when I start sucking her nipple harder, even biting in between, no doubt leaving a trail of markings in the wake. The small act makes Raven nervous, but mindfulness for her comfort level is gone. I have been more adventurous in bed lately since the revelation of Raven’s uneasiness being scarce. Refusing to allow her apprehension to win, I rub my thumb on her clit over and over until desperate gasps leak out of her parted mouth, slowly gaining volume while she scrapes her nails on my shoulders to rein in control.

“Holy fuck,” I shudder as her wet cunt almost forces the come out of my cock. “You feel so good… so fucking good,” I chew out, pumping my hips. My balls draw up painfully, and my cock is swollen. I need to come, but not without her. Raven’s close as well. She is dripping onto my cock, her arousal smudged over the exposed skin of my lower abdomen.

Raven rolls her hips with more purpose, her body ready for take-off. Her eyes are glazed over as savage convulsion ripples through her. I growl, pressing her down and impaling into her mercilessly. She pushes me over the edge by rivaling my barbaric move and sinking into me.

I erupt through every muscle of my body. My dick throbs inside her before painting her walls with my come. I am kissing her manically and swallowing her moans down my throat. I keep fucking her until my dick spasms, my vision burns bright, and Raven’s screaming incoherently even though I can barely hear her over the thundering beating of my heart.

We are loud. Too loud for an impromptu fuck at someone else’s wedding, and I don’t give a shit. I blindly thrust my hips up a couple more times for good measure. Raven spasms into my arms with her arms limply around my neck.

This bliss is too overpowering.

Wrenching my mouth off hers, I gasp for air, feeling drained and empty. We are both attempting to gulp air inside our lungs. My hands are shaking, refusing to calm down. The indelible effect has my consciousness bouncing between dormant and strangely wired.

I am not sure when we both calm down, but I feel Raven’s breath trickling against my jaw. She is slumped over me, and I can barely manage to turn my head to kiss her neck.

My world’s still fucking spinning by the time Raven wiggles out of my hold to stand on quivering legs. I am fazed, dazed, and out of my mind. So, I simply watch with stupefaction as Raven fishes out a lipstick from her purse and uses the mirror behind us to apply a coat. My hand has an absentminded hold on her thigh while she fixes her clothes and smooths out any wrinkles. Every so often, she bestows me with a mischievous look, amusement dancing in her eyes.

My mind is still numb, but the idiotic grin I’m wearing is probably big enough to split my face open. The back of my head is lazily knocked back on the sofa.

After she’s done, Raven leans over to kiss me. “I see that you still need a minute,” she murmurs in my ears as I smirk. “I’ll go out first, so it doesn’t look suspicious. Don’t forget to wipe off the lipstick.”

Everything is moving in slow motion for me. My intense high continues to block my ability to hear, process, and speak simultaneously. It takes significant effort to tell her that I give no flying fucks about who catches us leaving this restroom together. But of course, I’m only thinking the words in my mind. I don’t actually say them out loud when a gust of cool air hits my senses. Suddenly alert, I do a double-take to find Raven speeding out of the bathroom.

“Rave! What the hell...” The swinging door slams shut by the time I form words.

Raven’s far gone, taking my silence as approval. I stare after that bathroom door for a full minute before laughing in amusement.

Raven just fucked me in a bathroom and left me to do the walk of shame.

-----------

It takes me longer than I care to admit to getting my bearing straight. That girl’s in my head, and she has got me turned inside out. Her intensity is always able to shake me to the core.

I head to the reception out back and quickly spot the flurry of black hair at the same high-top table. My focal point hones into her with every step I take.

As if sensing my heated gaze, Raven peeks up through her lashes and looks right at me. It will never cease to surprise me how much that look can disarm me.

Our exchange is cut short by a familiar loud voice that booms out, startling us both. “Rave! Milo!” Jaci and Brandon are marching in our direction. I reach Raven at the same moment they do.

Brandon and Jaci couldn’t make it here until today, but I texted them about Raven being my plus one to this wedding to preemptively deal with their confounded stares at our reunion.

“Hi, girl,” Raven chirps happily as Jaci takes her into a hug. “How are you?”

“I am good. I missed you.” Jaci moves Raven from side to side.

“Hey, man,” Brandon greets me with a curt fist bump before turning to Raven.

“And hello to you, good sir,” Jaci jests, approaching me after getting reacquainted with Raven. She takes me into a hug as well.

Over Jaci’s shoulders, I watch Brandon and Raven swap a stiff greeting.

Brandon’s not one to shy away from goading me on, and he also knows of the only kryptonite that presses my buttons. When he lived with us last year, he flirted with Raven at every opportunity to piss me off. The fact he is restraining himself tonight is unexpected. Perhaps he doesn’t want to start a fight at someone else’s wedding.

Jaci lets go of me to dive into various conversation topics. With my hand on Raven’s lower back, I pull her close, drawing circles with my thumb. Raven looks so casual and immersed in the conversation with Jaci that if I weren’t personally present, I wouldn’t believe this girl just fucked my brains out in a bathroom.

“So, how was the engagement party? I bet they went all out,” Jaci gushes.

“It was spectacular,” Raven easily confirms.

“Ugh! Can’t believe we missed it. I just didn’t have the time to make two trips out to Tulum or stay here for weeks until their wedding.”

“Well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters. How was your flight?”

“Not so bad. But this resort is amaze-balls.”

Jaci excitedly tells us all about her room and her plans to snag a groomsman. We chat in a circle, swapping stories of recent events.

The planners soon announce that the reception is about to start and guide guests to their respective tables. Raven and I sit at the same table as Brandon and Jaci, giving me a window to Raven and Brandon’s ongoing peculiar interaction.

Raven’s been more rigid around any men as of late to keep my jealousy at bay.

Good. I don’t care what her reasons are; I’m happy with the result since Raven clearly doesn’t know how to read signals from men. While I don’t care to share her attention with other males, if I am reading the situation correctly, there is an odd tension between Raven and Brandon that’s extending further than Raven’s consideration for my jealousy.

Jaci’s the only one not to notice the tautness in the air, so she babbles on. I never understood how Jaci always possessed so much energy to entertain a group. She single-handedly carries the conversation as the night progresses.

Meanwhile, I continue to note the aversion Raven and Brandon exercise throughout dinner and attempt to dissect the subliminal message behind it. In my experience, this particular type of strain is similar to that of a lover’s quarrel, which is a justifiable cause for alarm.

Brandon and Raven have never shared anything past a courteous friendship. Maybe my paranoia’s being triggered by the events of this morning. Still, I can’t shake it away. Call it intuition.

I silently stew over my observations, but I don’t bring it up to Raven as we watch the newlyweds making their grand entrance. I don’t comment when dinner wraps up or even when the dance floor opens up.

Notwithstanding the events of this morning, things are fleetingly calm between us. But if history has taught us anything, soon I’ll snap or cause Raven to snap. So, I let us have this moment and oblige when she grabs my hand to drag me to the dance floor.

PART 3

FALL

Chapter 10

The Past: Fall, 2020

A Year Without You

-----------

Reid

“Stop being my Yoda.”

“Yoda is hot.”

Raven throws her head back with a genuine laugh instead of the dark cloud that’s been surrounding her as of late. “Only if you are into green-looking monsters.”

“I love green-looking monsters. That chick in Avatar... Hot!”

“She was blue, you idiot.”

Raven and I moved back to New York to break the news to the rest of the family. Other than the minor glitch of my possible impending death, the last few months have been okay.

Milo moved to California before we returned to New York. Raven’s still wallowing over him. I loathe Raven’s despondency, but a few months of self-pity is far superior to ending up in a hospital with broken ribs.

While we frequently speak about her past, Raven will never admit anything that might compromise Milo. I veer away from questions pertaining to his crimes so as not to spook her.

We peeled back the layers of what landed her in the depression clinic, another fun fact I had discovered while rummaging through her emails. By the last email I read, I already knew she’d never return to that life of healing.

While I also don’t believe in therapy, I encouraged Raven to explore alternative options customized to her personality and past.

The factors circulating her issues stem from trauma and her fear from a lack of control.

For the trauma portion, I used a friend of mine as a guide. He had enlisted in the military but was discharged early. The few years in service left him with triggers that cause him to relive his traumatic memories. Later, he had adopted a dog as an emotional support animal. The companionship grounded him and eased his anxiety.

It was the textbook answer for Raven. She a huge caretaker, generally transferring the trait to everyone around her.

A tiny furball whines by my leg for a treat. Reaching down, I pet Mr. Whiskers while Raven puts on her boxing gloves.

This French Bulldog is a rescue from a local animal shelter and my belated birthday gift to Raven. She always wanted a Frenchie, but only if it’s a rescue. This breed rarely ever ends up in shelters. After a lot of research, I found him and knew he’d be perfect for Raven.

Unfortunately, Raven’s the only person in this world to name a dog after a cat. She named the dog Mr. Whiskers as if this dog hasn’t suffered enough already.

Unbeknownst to Raven, Mr. Whiskers is her unofficial emotional support animal. Within just a couple of days, Raven and this dog have fused into an inseparable unit. He’s already soothing Raven’s anxiety, but since her afflictions only returned with Milo’s presence in her life, this theory can truly be put to the test whenever Raven faces him again.

The control aspect of her mental health issues was trickier. Milo was actually the one to inadvertently provide a solution through some packages he was sending.

Following my diagnosis, the doctors quickly categorized me as an alcoholic, handing out brochures for rehabs. I didn’t bother opening the tri-fold pamphlets, refusing to identify myself with a label that will remain with me forever. I need to do this my way and prove that I assume the willpower to manage this for the long haul. I don’t want to be another sucker that falls off the wagon twenty times, spending their lives in and out of rehab.

My plan is to one day learn moderation and find a healthy balance for my body’s intake.

Upon our return to New York, Raven eradicated all traces of alcohol from the house. Unable to help himself, Milo also sends anonymous packages addressed to Raven. These parcels contain information for addicts and brochures to rehab facilities near us. However, he addresses them to Raven so as not to incite my fury.

Similarly, Milo sends anonymous packages addressed to me with information for Raven.  He researched art therapy, a popular medium amongst creative individuals like Raven, who found their center through drawing, dancing, singing, and even exercising. Milo’s obviously cognizant of Raven’s preference to steer away from traditional therapy.

After thinking about it for days, I called my friend Sam, who is a personal trainer. He teaches everything from Martial Arts to Zumba. He has been coming over for private dance and workout classes. I have been forcing Raven to participate, chalking it up to moral support.

With my nausea recently under control, the doctor recommended a healthier track. And Raven was happy to entertain anything to keep me away from the ‘the devil’s juice.’ That was until she realized what was in store for herself.

“Stop procrastinating and punch the bag.” I hold up the punching bag that Raven has yet to make a dent in. She put on her boxing gloves then dilly-dallied by playing with the dog.

Raven barely hits the bag, sweat already dripping from her forehead. Jesus, this girl is out of shape. “What exactly is the point of me learning this?” Raven pants.

Her workout sessions are marginally better now. Instead of tapping out after one punch, Raven throws all of two punches. Head shake and facepalm.

“The point is for us to learn this together. Now, get punching.”

“Why don’t you move your pretty face a little closer, and I can punch you right in the fucking nose?”

I pout at her. “You’d really punch a dying man?”

“Oh my God, you’re not dying. And you already used that joke today.”

“Did I?” I furrow my brow pensively. This is what I love about us. Our ability to make the best out of the situation when faced with the worst adversities. “My bad. I’ll save it for now and use it again tomorrow. Back to punching.”

Raven looks down at her hands. “My hand hurts.” She has done absolutely nothing.

“Stop being a drama queen!”

“I think my back hurts too. I better go lie down.”

“Raven Riley Beckett, punch the fucking bag or so help me God!”

Raven makes no attempt and instead stares at the bag like it’s her mortal enemy.

“Who wants lemonade and the last donut?” Mia enters with a pitcher and only one donut.

“Me,” Raven’s hand shoots up in the air at the same time I also say, “Me.”

Raven and I look at each other. “That donut is mine, Rave.”

“No way, I have been working my butt off.” Again, she has thrown two punches.

“Nope. I might be dying. That trumps you. Dead man gets the donut.”

“You already used that joke today,” Mia and Raven shout in unison.

Full Circle

-----------

Raven

Reid and I moved back to New York to break the bad news to our family. The whole family, sans Milo.

Milo sent me one email, then left New York behind. The email was concise; he loved me, but our lives were better off without him in it.

Stunned by Reid’s health news and Milo’s sudden departure, I am living every dreadful day with two mantras to keep myself sane.

Nothing will happen to Reid.

And Milo will return to me. Driven by jealousy, Milo threatened Reid’s life on numerous occasions. Though Milo wasn’t himself when he said those things, he’s drowning in guilt now that it’s turned into a real-life possibility. He’s momentarily lost but will soon regain his senses.

Milo does call me sporadically, keeping our conversations succinct. He generally ends the calls with an unyielding warning against mentioning the communication to our remaining family members. When I ask Milo for a reason, Milo indicates Reid’s discomfort over our relationship and not wanting to upset him while he’s sick.

I know Milo well enough to recognize there’s more to it.

There is simply no harmony in the sequence of events. Milo and I partook in a challenging heart-to-heart conversation. Then I left for Baltimore to calm Reid down. Meanwhile, Milo vanished even though we had decided to continue the dialogue over our budding romance.

Based on speculation, I trust that a three-way fight between the Sinclair siblings played a larger role in Milo skipping town. A pestering voice in my head often orbits around an allegation Reid had planted, that Milo put his hands on Mia. To give her a voice, I prodded Mia for an answer, who set the record straight that it was a baseless accusation.

While relieved at the confirmation, an integral piece of the puzzle is still missing. None of the parties are willing to expand on it, remaining mutually tight-lipped about their quarrel and only providing abstract answers when demanded. So, it’s impossible to play diplomat.

Another voice in my head nags that Milo’s using all of this as a pretext. Our short-lived relationship was teeming with baggage. While I was determined to make it work, perhaps it was too daunting for Milo, and he wanted an indefinite sabbatical from me.

Reid still doesn’t believe what I feel for Milo is real, chalking it off to Stockholm Syndrome. But the truth is, things only turned for us after Milo stopped forcing his will on me.

Milo and I established an understanding and reconstructed our friendship with a foundation built brick by brick. I fell in love when I saw Milo’s beautiful soul with adult glasses on and gave my heart away unequivocally.

The same heart that follows elementary rules: no takesy-backsies.

I never declared my feelings for Milo until experiencing that soul-crushing, consuming kind of true love. I wish Milo exercised the same respect. If he couldn’t carry the weight of those words, he shouldn’t have said them to me.

Hence, my understanding, along with my sanity and maturity, is waning with each passing month that indicates Milo’s return is nowhere on the horizon. At times, I’m convinced that Milo thrives on pushing my buttons for attention. Our phone conversations only end up fueling my fire and sparking my anger, leading to actions I’m ashamed to admit.

For example, a few weeks ago, after yet another fruitless conversation with Milo, I bought some paint cans and painted his old bedroom pink.

Another time, I took all of Milo’s designer clothes and distributed them amongst the nearby homeless population. One particular homeless gentleman in our neighborhood, known as Victor, is infamous for jerking off at the corner of 86th and Amsterdam. I saved Milo’s favorite items of clothing for him. It made me smile every time I’d pass Victor and note the smeared cum on Milo’s Armani pants. Later, I felt terrible for inadvertently making Victor partake in my quest for revenge, so now I regularly drop off soup for him. In turn, Victor always asks if I’d like to take photos wearing more of my ex’s clothes so we can stick it to him.

Milo should have never worked so hard to make me fall in love with him. I’m turning into an unstable person that I don’t recognize, yet I lack the willpower to stop.

At least, my daily endeavors keep my plate full. Reid forces me to comply with his new health regime. Other than Reid’s efforts, my schedule’s jam-packed with doctor visits and research for Reid. A new development in our financial hurdles has also increased my stress.

By the time I crawl to bed after my busy day, and the exhaustion takes over, I have all of fifteen minutes that belong only to me. Those private moments are filled with tears and dread over my failures to salvage my relationship and Reid’s deteriorating health.

While my insides remain crumpled up like a tangled mess, I’m careful to ensure my smile is bright during the day, especially while dealing with Reid, our family, and work. For which, I’m currently late.

In a frenzy, I rummage through my closet for my black sweater. Alexa and I are meeting to sign a lease for our business. Alexa recently met a boy and is head over heels. As a result, her schedule’s restricted, with her new love interest occupying most of it. She only has two hours to meet with me, and I rather utilize every minute of her time to discuss future projects. So, I’m rushing. After combing through my closet for my sweater, I charge to Mia’s room.

“Mia, did you borrow my sweater—” I burst open Mia’s bedroom door and… freeze. So do Mia and Brandon, who are entwined together against the wall. Mia quickly shoves him off.

“Rave!” Mia exclaims in surprise. “I thought you were at work.”

Taking a step inside her room, I stand with my jaw to the floor.

“Raven,” Brandon says quietly, “we didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

We?!

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I scream in Brandon’s face. “She is a child, and you are a grown-ass man. Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Rave—” Mia calls out, but Brandon puts up his hand to silence her.

“What the hell is going on? Someone better start talking right fucking now.”

“Mia and I are together,” Brandon answers without an ounce of doubt.

“Like hell you are.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” I counter.

Shortly after Milo left, Jaci and Alexa moved out. Brandon told us his apartment was being renovated, so he stayed behind in the split-level apartment. However, it’s clear his intentions were far from honorable.

A silent communication ensues between Brandon and Mia. Milo and I used to swap similar looks while sneaking around. That connection doesn’t develop overnight. When Mia opens her mouth again, I raise my hand and shush her. Attacking Brandon is futile. The details of this scene might be ambiguous, but they are clearly in on it together.

Composing myself, I twist my body entirely to only face Mia. “Sit,” I say authoritatively.

Mia doesn’t argue and plops down in her vanity chair.

“How long?” I demand using a forthright approach.

Mia holds my gaze. “A little while,” she whispers guiltily.

I turn to Brandon next. “Have you two been physical?”

“Excuse me!” Brandon’s brows almost hit his hairline.

“Did I stutter?”

The question is answered in the form of Mia vehemently shaking her head at Brandon from my peripheral vision. “Yes,” he replies, nonetheless.

I take a sharp inhale. “Brandon, we have known your family for a long time. Out of respect for them, I’m not going to take any actions right this second, but as of now, whatever’s been going on between you two, it’s over,” I say stoically.

“Rave, please,” Mia shoots to her feet and circles around me. She stands between Brandon and me, shielding his massive body with her more petite frame. “We are not doing anything illegal. The legal age of consent is seventeen.”

“I don’t care about the age of consent. No statement about your ‘boyfriend’ should start with citing the legal age of consent.”

“Mia, pack your things,” Brandon says with an eerie calm that I have never known him to possess. “We are leaving.”

I breathe as if fire is about to come out of my nostrils. “Brandon, you have exactly one hour to pack your shit and get the fuck out of our home.” I pause, then add to clarify, “And you are leaving alone.”

“Rave, listen to me—”

“I’m not going anywhere without Mia,” Brandon cuts her off, speaking directly to me without bothering to acknowledge her. This is exactly the problem with dating someone older who’s in a different position in life than you. There’s no equal power distribution or say. He’s making all the decisions for her, and Mia’s abiding by it. This is a nightmare. Everything we were supposed to protect Mia from has manifested in the form of Brandon.

“Then you are going to be sadly disappointed when you walk out of here alone. Mia isn’t going anywhere with you.”

“Mia’s not okay in this house, nor does she belong here. I’m not leaving her someplace where her well-being is jeopardized.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me where she belongs? I look after her well-being. She is seventeen and belongs with her family. I’m not going to repeat myself, Brandon. Get the fuck out of my house and stay the fuck away from my sister!”

“This is not your fucking house!” Brandon yells back. “And she is not your sister.”

A slap smacks across Brandon’s face, but it’s not my palm that connects with his cheek.

It’s Mia’s.

“Apologize,” is the only word Mia says to Brandon as her eyes bore into him. Brandon stares in disbelief while I am stumped. “Apologize to Raven. And don’t ever speak to her that way again.”

Brandon’s bewildered expression only intensifies. We appear equally flabbergasted by Mia’s actions, and it makes me wonder if I gave her too little credit for standing her ground.

Mia fathoms Brandon’s lack of enthusiasm over retracting his words and breaks the silence. “Brandon, I need to speak to Raven alone.”

“Fine,” he mutters before storming toward the bedroom door. “I am moving out,” he throws over his shoulder, waiting momentarily with a supposed expectation for Mia to follow him out. Mia stays rooted in place, further increasing my pride in her stance.

Ultimately, Brandon slams the door behind him, retreating down the stairs.

With serene composure, Mia walks to the bed and sits at the edge. I imitate her move, walking the tightrope between baffled and troubled.

“Mia,” I approach her cautiously. “Please tell me this is some sort of joke.”

What could have possibly driven Mia to do this? She isn’t one to make errors. Mia is customarily the voice of reason who corrects these types of mistakes. And Brandon should have exercised better judgment as the adult between the two. Why the hell is he pursuing a teenager?

“Rave, please,” Mia says shakily. “It’s not what you think.”

“Mia, you have a boyfriend. Whatever happened to Chris?”

Mia’s been dating Chris forever. He even tagged along to Paris during one of her visits. I love that young gentleman, though I have come to realize that Chris is gay. Compared to the alternate choice, someone Mia has zero sexual chemistry with is a godsend.

“Chris is gay, but you already know that.”

Stumped, I speak slowly, “Then why were you going out with him?”

“Because he’s a good friend, and I was helping him out until he came to terms with that fact. However, there’s only one man I have ever been truly interested in.”

Mia quickly steals a glance. Her lids return to the floor as I openly gape at her confession.

This is my fault. Due to my ridiculous obsession, I haven’t been paying enough attention to Mia. I knew Mia had a crush on Brandon but assumed it was harmless. I shouldn’t have discounted it. People used to think the same of my ‘crush’ on Milo when I was younger. The thing is, consensual or not, a teenager knows nothing about a relationship with a grown man.

My past, the one I never wanted for Mia, is now blazingly reflected in her choices. Mia’s repeating all of my mistakes. However, she’s throwing her future away as the aftermath.

We have come full circle.

I can’t let history repeat itself in this manner.

“Mia,” I start slowly, “I’m glad you were helping out your friend. But you know as well as I do that Brandon’s not a good choice for you either. He’s ten years older than you and your brother’s business partner. He shouldn’t be pursuing you.”

“But he didn’t pursue me. I swear, it just happened. I was upset about Milo—”

“So, that’s what this is about,” I pronounce, my initial instinct confirmed. These aren’t real feelings; it’s misguided ones. Mia’s upset because of Milo and is transferring it to an older man who’s giving her attention. This is her unsuccessful attempt at replacing Milo.

It’s not Mia’s fault. Most teenagers seek attention. Even the smartest ones turn naïve when it comes to a boy, especially an older one. I should have recalled myself at Mia’s age. As a teenager, I was starving for attention, especially from my parents or authoritative figures. As an adult, not so much.

Suddenly, I am relieved that I never fell in love with Milo when I was younger. Had I told Milo I loved him back then, it wouldn’t have been real. Milo deserved better than being a substitute placeholder for the void in my heart left behind by my father’s rejection.

Falling truly in love was only a plausibility once my mind wasn’t fogged by what Milo represented for me, nor was I disoriented by his authority over my life. Factors such as power dynamics had to be taken out of the equation for true love to blossom.

“You were feeling vulnerable after your fight with Milo, and Brandon took advantage of the situation,” I reassert my theory, hoping Mia will recognize the lesson I learned the hard way—it’s impossible to give yourself wholly to another while still drifting through life.

Agitated by my statement, Mia angrily jumps to her feet instead. Like every seventeen-year-old, she presumes to have it all figured out. “Of course not! I get that you are upset, but you have known Brandon for years. Deep down, you know that he is a good guy.”

“If he is such a good guy, then why is he chasing a teenager?” I snap with frustration.

“The same thing could be said about Milo,” Mia fires back. My eyes widen at the reminder. Mia’s face softens immediately, looking guilty over the outburst. “Rave, I’m sorry. I know this is difficult, but please believe me when I tell you that he’s not taking advantage of me. Brandon loves me. He told me so himself.”

Oh, God.

Closing my eyes, I breathe through it. “Mia, men sometimes say things they think you want to hear. And dating a twenty-seven-year-old man is entirely different than what Milo and I had.”

“Oh, so you guys get a pass? You can make your fair share of mistakes while I’m not even allowed to explore what I want?” Mia points her hand toward her chest, anger rising with the flush of her face. “This is exactly what Brandon was talking about. You and Milo act like you know what’s best for me, but you don’t.”

I stand to put an arm around Mia. “Okay, so, talk to me. Tell me what’s best for you?”

“What do you want me to say?” Mia’s voice chokes. “Your definition of a good life doesn’t jive with mine. But you guys keep forcing me down a path that only fits in with your ideologies.”

“W-What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and Milo have been high-strung for years, convinced that I’m some sort of genius in the making. Milo made me skip a grade and signed me up for an advanced curriculum. But he didn’t even ask me what I wanted. My only path is the one etched by him. If I ever veer off course, you step in and list logical reasons to placate me. Milo acts like my gilded cage with you as the gatekeeper to coax me with sweet words until I willingly stay locked up. Brandon’s the first person to understand that my likes and dislikes are different. He accepts me for who I am. I love all three of you, but I don’t fit in with you. I have never had expensive taste like you guys. I smoke pot. I wanna dye my hair blue—”

“Mia, I’m sorry. We’ll ease up on you. None of us give you grief for smoking pot anyway. And if you want to dye your hair, that’s fine—”

“—And I’d much rather work as a makeup artist instead of attending Yale.”

My lightheaded dizziness almost makes me stumble backward.

“I was offered a full-time job as a makeup artist for a newscast. It starts next year. I want to take the job and do beauty school on the side. I don’t want to go to college, but all three of you have such a strong stance against it. Even Reid would throw a fit if I took a different route.”

If this were anyone else, there’d be nothing wrong with an alternate route. But Mia’s beautiful mind needs to be challenged. Despite her modesty, Mia is a semi-genius according to her IQ tests and the near-perfect score on her standardized exam. For Mia to skip on Yale… it’s as if Galileo just announced he’d never look through a telescope again.

When Mia was younger, she’d frequently throw temper tantrums. I remember even my parents struggling with her during Reid and Mia’s visits to Boston.

The only person to constantly keep her level by sufficiently challenging her was Milo. I never realized Milo did so by simply redirecting her attention to productive activities.

At times, Mia gets irritated that Milo is a helicopter parent. She thinks that I blindly abide by it, but I only started following Milo’s lead upon realizing that he was correct. Someone has to stay on Mia constantly to guide her in the right direction. Despite her age, Mia needs a bit more time until she’s ready to be in better control of her life.

One winter break, while Mia was visiting me in Paris, Milo dropped the ball. Mia blew through her coursework within the first five days of her three-week break, after which I was ready to pull out my hair. All of Mia’s tantrums from her childhood came back with full force.

Milo only lets her work as a makeup artist part-time in order to further fill her schedule. Even her guidance counselors insist that Mia’s interests are fickle, and she needs a lot of stimulation to keep herself occupied.

Mia will be bored with both the makeup job and living with Brandon within the year, by which point she would’ve lost the greatest opportunity of her life. Mia worked years toward her acceptance at Yale. I can’t watch her flush it down the drain.

“Mia, you have to go to Yale,” I announce with conviction.

“Rave, I am not going—”

“Mia, just listen to me for a second—”

“No!” Mia exclaims. “Brandon said the four of us have an unhealthy attachment to each other, and we meddle way more than it’s normal. We don’t have any boundaries with one another, and he’s right. This decision belongs only to me.”

I grit my teeth, fists clenched at the side of my body. If there were ever a person I hated, it’d be Brandon. I hate him. I have half a mind to let Mia move in with Brandon. The aftereffect of a bored Mia for an elongated period will speak volumes of her need for direction in life. With the first tantrum Mia throws, Brandon will realize that he’s practically her glorified babysitter.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the time for Mia to figure it out for herself. Mia’s college starts shortly, and her tuition’s been paid in full, courtesy of Milo. Even amidst their worst fight, Milo didn’t abandon Mia. My only job was not to fuck up all the hard work he put in to give Mia a good life. I can’t even accomplish that much.

“Rave,” Mia’s voice gentles. “It’s not just you. I am guilty of doing the same things. I shouldn’t have meddled in whatever happened between you and Milo. I don’t understand your relationship, but it’s clear that relationships are complicated looking from the outside in. I never understood that until experiencing it for myself. I’m sorry.”

My eyes shoot up to hers, my whole body jerking intuitively.

Oh, hell no!

Fuck.

Milo and I are the culprits of setting such a terrible example for Mia. We didn’t have the best role models while growing up, but that doesn’t have to be Mia’s truth.

“No, Mia. You were right to interfere,” I say decisively, stomping on any doubt in my voice. “Our circle is tight-knit. If Milo and I hadn’t broken things off back then, a scandal like ours would have left both of our reputations in shreds. Just like it would for you and Brandon.”

“But you love him.”

My stance remains self-assured. The next words I’m about to utter are untrue. But I’ll say whatever it takes because Mia appears to have lost her sense of self and morals. “Milo and I were a mistake. Because we started our relationship so preemptively, it caused issues that could never be salvaged. We are stuck in a bad cycle. Please, Mia, don’t follow in my footsteps.”

“But it’s not like that with Brandon. You have no idea how much he has been there for me since my fight with Milo and everything else going on with Reid.”

My shoulders slump, and I sit back down on the bed.

For weeks, I have been distracted by my everlasting obsession with Milo. Instead, I should have been tunnel-visioned on Reid and Mia’s welfare.

Milo was right, yet again. When you have someone relying on you, heartbreak and obsession aren’t luxuries you can afford. Your needs don’t matter because their needs take precedence.

Rocking back and forth on the bed, a decision comes to me. In one of those eureka moments, I suddenly know how I’ll turn all of this around.

“Babe, I am so sorry we have been so hard on you,” I confess with sincerity. “But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Look, I’ll meet you halfway. Do your college courses online and do your job on the side. If later in life you decide against being a makeup artist, you’ll always have the degree to fall back on.”

Mia’s tone goes up an octave. “Beauty school is feasible with a full-time job, but not Yale. Do you know how difficult those courses are?”

“Then do Yale part-time only and go to beauty school on the side. Another job is bound to come around by the time you finish—”

“No, it won’t, Rave. This is a dream job. An opportunity like this—”

“Will be plenty available once you graduate,” I finish the sentence and watch Mia carefully, who’s finally listening to me. Mia’s silently contemplating my offer, so I proceed with my closing argument. “You said even Reid will freak out if he finds out that you aren’t going to Yale. Do you really want to stress Reid out even more right now?”

I know. I’m a terrible human being for using Reid’s affliction, but my guilt recedes when the misfortune saves at least one person in this household. Mia concedes.

“No, of course not.”

“So…”

“You’ll really let me do both?”

The respite must be evident in every single one of my expressions at her acceptance of my compromise. “I’ll pay the tuition for your beauty school myself.”

Mia sighs heavily and sits next to me on the bed. “Okay. I’ll do both.”

“Thank you.” I grab her hand to squeeze it appreciatively.

One issue down. One more to go.

“And Mia, you have to end things with Brandon.”

After her fall out with Milo, not a soul was around for Mia. While I was too busy drowning in my own obsession, it cleared the path for a creep like Brandon, one we have been housing under our very roof. If I forcefully rid Brandon from her life now, Mia will only rebel and never forgive me for it. So, this has to be her decision.

Mia opens her mouth to argue, but I swiftly continue. “Mia, I’m sure Brandon cares for you. But do you want to wager his entire life just to explore those feelings? If you’re caught, it’ll be solely on him. We know so many people who will persecute him for chasing a younger girl. Plus, you know your brother. Brandon’s family is rich, but Milo is better connected. He can ruin anyone’s life in the snap of a finger, and he will ruin Brandon for this.”

Mia grimaces. She is sharp, alert, and giving me her full attention.

“Maybe Milo will understand—”

“Do you remember what Milo did to Asher?” I cut her off.

“Milo kicked him out of their company.”

“And where’s Asher now?”

Mia’s eyes are downcast as she mumbles, “I don’t know.”

“Exactly my point.”

Mia’s shoulders slack in response, looking defeated.

Conceivably, I’m fretting due to my own past. However, I’m still speaking the truth regarding the consequences. While they are fantastic about reflecting on other people’s choices, the Sinclair kids rarely think long term about their own actions. Mia and I were always supposed to be off-limits to Milo’s friend group. He will lose it if he finds out about Brandon.

I might lack the details of their fight, but I know Mia’s doing this to get a rise out of Milo. She just didn’t consider the long-term effect it will have on Brandon. Even my disdain toward Brandon isn’t strong enough to ruin his life by letting him get caught in the crossfire of this Sinclair duel.

Not to mention, once the novelty of sex wears off, Mia will realize the same truth I had to learn the hard way—Brandon can never heal the heartbreak left behind by Milo. By that point, they would have both lost way too much.

“Milo will kick Brandon out of their company, dissolve their partnership, ruin his name, and deter any of his future opportunities. If you care for Brandon, then the best thing you can do is let him go,” I assert.

“How can you say that when you’ve been moping around for months over Milo? Can you ever let him go?”

When her eyes flip to mine, I disclose the decision I’ve already made: Lead by example.

Taking Mia’s hand, I stroke it in a consoling manner. “What if we both let them go and reflect on our feelings after some time? If you still feel the same, then you’ll know it’s real.”

Mia nods slowly as a lone tear falls down her cheek. Your first real breakup is the worst.

“I am sorry,” Mia murmurs. “I’m so sorry that I disappointed you.”

I pull her into a hug. “Never. I’m so proud of you for making such a mature decision.”

Mia was right about one thing. Growing up, Milo and I were silent partners. I’d be in charge of calming down Mia and Reid’s tantrums; he’d be in charge of disciplining them. I’d be the good cop; he’d be the bad cop. Even during all those years apart, we had an unspoken understanding about Mia.

Now that Milo’s entirely out of our lives, I’m the only one here to pick up the pieces. I learned a long time ago not to rely on our parents or count them as part of any equation.

It’s always been us four against the world. Except, my remaining family members are presently all hell-bent on self-destruction, and I’m too inadequate to stop any of it.

Reid hardly takes his life-threatening prognosis seriously.

Milo practically excommunicated himself from us.

Mia, who has never done anything out of line, was hours away from moving in with her twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend instead of attending Yale.

As the understanding settles in about what needs to happen, I squeeze Mia tighter. We stay huddled together, neither ready to let go of the other. Part of me is reborn at that very moment with only one mission in mind—to fix everything, no matter the cost.

-----------

“Hi, honey.” Dad waves as he walks into my study for our family meeting, followed closely by my mom.

“Hey, Dad. Where are Uncle Reese and Tessa?”

“Present,” Uncle Reese raises his hand.

I called a family meeting to discuss a new development in our finances. As soon as everyone settles down, I clasp my hands together. “I looked over the budget sheets I had made, and the news isn’t great. So, we have to make some changes.”

“What kind of changes?”

Responsible as always, even after ‘emancipating’ himself at the age of twenty-five, Milo was generous enough to provide a cushion until this family got situated to a life without his financial assistance. Milo arranged to pay for six months of living expenses, after which he’s cutting them off. I view this as the only positive in Milo’s conscious decision to move on from this family. Grown-ass adults should have their own jobs.

Everyone except for Reid.

I encouraged Reid to put his new job on hold until his health crisis is averted. Reid offered to use his trust fund money to help fill the gap left behind by Milo, but I declined it. There are bound to be unexpected expenses for his health issues.

With my new influx of income, this family will be okay financially as long as our parents get jobs. However, if they don’t, we won’t continue enjoying luxuries such as food, water, and shelter.

Milo’s been taking care of this family for so long that our parents have forgotten the word ‘responsibility.’ They have reverted back to their childhood selves, giving into their every whim and emotion as they please.

And if they are acting like children, then you have to treat them as such. You inform children of your decision; you don’t ask for their opinion. You assume to know what’s best and lay down the law.

With that thought in mind, I turn to my mother first.

“Mom, you are going to start working for me.”

“W-What?” Theressa asks in disbelief. “B-But with everything going on…” she trails off at my guise, expressing, what’s your point?

“Alexa and I signed a lease for a new space. We’ll be moving there next week. I was planning to hire seamstresses, but since you aren’t currently working, you can help me sew.” When Mom doesn’t respond, I charge ahead. “So, you’ll come to work with me on Monday.”

A shared silence is exchanged between the parents, but I don’t care. They need jobs and to make their own money. I rather allow Mom an opportunity to make an income over strangers.

“Tessa, I also want to see you there on Monday alongside Mom.”

“Me?” Tessa asks in shock.

There is one thing I’ve come to understand about depression. It spreads from loneliness and a lack of purpose. Medication and therapy never worked for me but having Reid back in my life did. Reid gave me friendship, family, and hope. Maybe it’s time we try a different approach for Tessa. Theressa is Tessa’s best friend. If Tessa works at a place surrounded by positivity and friendship, it’ll be a step in the right direction. It’s better than being cooped up in that room.

“Yes, you. I’ll train you on how to run the shop, take online orders and ship the outfits.”

Tessa doesn’t argue.

“Since Tessa won’t be at home anymore and Mia is going off to college, nothing is stopping you from going back to work full-time. What do you think, Uncle Reese?”

I feel bad for calling Uncle Reese out, the only working adult in the household, but asking him to work full-time is a fair request. Normal adults, like myself, have full-time jobs.

“We could use the extra income. Can you speak to your clinic on Monday to turn your position back to full-time?”

“Of-Of course, dear.”

“Thank you.” I turn to my father to close the loop. “Dad, I’m going to help you reinstate your medical license. I looked up the requirements. We can go over it tomorrow.”

Not a single argument from my father.

Milo accommodated all of them when they refused. He is a caretaker and took care of them instead of pushing them. Unfortunately for our parents, I’m not Milo.

Reid, my sick best friend, and Mia, my underaged sister, are the only ones who get a pass. Other than them, the adults in this house need to pull their weight. If they need some time to get acclimated, I will happily help them sort out their finances until they can stand on their own. However, if I try to take care of our parents for too long, Reid and Mia will drown. They have no one else, so my primary focus has to remain on them.

Both sets of parents are still looking at me like I have grown three heads. Too bad!

One of their kids had a mental breakdown and left town. The other one has no regard for his own mortality. And their youngest is crying out for attention. Someone needs to take charge.

“Well, thank you for coming by. If you guys will excuse me, I have some work to do.”

They wordlessly get up to make their exit, looking unsure about the hand they got dealt.

-----------

I stumble into bed after the exhausting day. My lull is interrupted by a high pitch ringing. My heart stops beating when I look at my phone and fumble with it to answer the call.

“Hello.”

“Rave,” Milo’s deep voice hits my earbuds.

My mind withdraws into a stupor, drawing a blank after my long day and from the impact of hearing his voice after two days. But for the first time since Milo left, I am suddenly glad that he moved away from the insanity of this family.

Individually, they are all tolerable.

Together, they are enough to drive any sane person out of their mind.

I’ll be in love with Milo until my dying breath, but loving someone means wanting the best for them, with or without you in their lives. Being around this family is not wanting the best for him. To be honest, neither is being around me and all of my baggage.

Milo spent years taking care of this family and has more than paid his dues. He shouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life inundated with more of the same. I am not angry with him anymore for leaving. Instead, I hope he finds the peace he is looking for in his new life.

“Are you there?”

Knowing what’s to come at the end of this conversation, I lead with the one thing I can currently tolerate, humor. “Who is this?”

A deep sigh. “How are you?”

“Janeen? When did your voice get so deep?”

I can’t see him, but I’m sure Milo’s rolling his eyes. “I’m offended,” he replies dryly.

“Dave?”

Silence on the other end. “Who is Dave?” he finally asks tightly. I can practically hear his jaw ticking.

“Seriously?”

“Janeen is a friend of yours,” he continues. “She is a real person. You are too lazy to make up fake names. So, who is Dave?”

“Our new handyman.”

Milo doesn’t respond. I know his irrational senses are encouraging him to ask why Dave’s name was significant enough for me to remember. But instead, he says, “I miss you.”

Picking at an imaginary thread on my bed, I say, “I miss you too.”

We generally start these calls admitting that we love and miss one another. But the calls quickly escalate from heated phone sex to lover’s quarrel.

Tonight’s no different. “Do you ever think about the last time we were together?”

All the fucking time. “Yes,” I whisper. That night plays on repeat in my mind. No matter how much I shut it down, the memories of the best night of my life pop back up.

“You said no one else ever touched you the way I did,” he narrates, his tone turning gravelly and sexy. So fucking sexy.

My heart palpitations take over in the direction of this call. My breathing picks up as memories of that night start washing over me. Us on that dingy couch at my old brownstone, surrounded by broken glass and knocked-over chairs.

“Do you remember my tongue on your clit when I bent you over the couch,” he demands, his voice trembling slightly.

“Milo…”

“Fuck, Rave,” Milo continues. “I wish I could taste you right now. I wanna suck those perfect pink nipples of yours. I’d drag my tongue down your stomach, then suck on that sweet clit. Take your underwear off.”

With one quick yank, I pull down my shorts, taking my underwear with it.

“Move your hand down.”

I put the phone on speaker to comply, feeling mind-numbingly free that after a day of struggle, I can shut my brain off while Milo takes the reigns.

“Push two fingers into that tight cunt of yours.”

I do it without hesitation. “Fuck,” a gasp falls out of my mouth.

“I am fisting my dick, wishing it were your small hand wrapped around it instead. My cock’s hurting for you, baby. I love how you used to suck me off. Your tongue… fuck. Does it turn you on to know that I am pumping my cock right now while looking at a photo of you?”

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh, God.”

“Slip another finger inside that tight pussy of yours.”

And I do.

“I wish it were me stretching you out instead of your fingers. Are you pretending it’s my dick that’s fucking you instead of your fingers?”

“Yes.”

“You are gonna come right as I do. Curl your fingers inside your pussy and use your thumb to circle your clit.”

I try to keep up. At this point, my breathing is too heavy, and I feel lightheaded. I am panting, aching for a release, yet unable to let go until Milo does.

“If I were there, I’d lick that sweet pussy of yours until you scream. I’d make you squirt on my tongue and lick every single drop.”

“I am going to come,” I cry out before biting down on my bottom lip to muffle my voice.

“Fuck, baby. I am coming.”

I pant heavily over the phone alongside him. The exertion required to breathe is heightened. When our breathlessness diminishes, we are both silent.

These phone calls have persevered in the same fashion over the last few months. Both of us express concern over Reid, then reassert that we love one another, leading to my exasperated demand about his impromptu move and Milo’s reference over some inconsequential polaroid photos over the variation in my physical appearance when I’m around Reid versus him. Apparently, I imitate a ghost around Milo while a vision of perfection around Reid.

Subsequently, Milo’s sympathy for Reid transforms into jealousy, with demands for an account of what’s happening between the two of us.

That’s the juncture where I get pissed off over Milo’s unwarranted jealousy since Milo can be with me if he so pleases. At which point Milo concedes, unable to provide me with a proper explanation. Adamant that he fucked up beyond repair, Milo digresses about how he shouldn’t have called in the first place, and we are all better off without him.

Within two days, Milo ends up calling me again.

On and on, the cycle continues.

“I texted Reid again,” he finally speaks. “He’s still refusing my offer.”

“He’s a stubborn asshole.”

Milo and I researched something called a living donor. I offered to give Reid a portion of my liver as the liver is one of the only organs with the capacity to regenerate. If we are compatible, a living donor increases the chances of a successful transplant.

I once told Reid that I’d give him every single one of my organs if he needed. I meant it.

However, Reid turned down my offer even though there are no implications or life-threatening risks to the living donor. The risk lies with the person receiving a portion of the organ, which is Reid. In the end, it didn’t matter as I wasn’t deemed a suitable candidate.

To be a living donor, you are required to have an emotional tie with the patient and between eighteen and sixty years of age. But the most compatible donor is a blood relative of the same sex who practices healthy living habits. With the remaining family members ruled out due to age and compatibility, the best candidate for Reid’s chances of survival falls on Milo.

However, this topic is futile since Reid also turned down Milo’s numerous offers to help. Instead of harping on it, I relate the day’s event to open the challenging discussion that’s to supervene. Sitting on Mia’s bed, I was enlightened that Milo unintentionally passed me the torch of his previous role. So, until this crisis is over, my concentration has to remain laser-focused. Meanwhile, Milo needs space to live his life out of this family’s grasp, and that includes me.

“How’s Mia?” Milo asks after I disclose some of today’s proceedings.

“A little lost. I think we are too hard on her.”

“Not at all. She’s almost an adult—”

“I’m starting to realize that being an adult for us four might not mean the same as most other people,” I cut Milo off. “You have to admit that we were all late to the game.”

“How so?”

With a deep sigh, I reveal, “Reid started drinking early but got completely out of control after turning eighteen. Perhaps it would’ve helped if he had a few more years of supervision. It’s not enough to be an adult; you also have to be an adult who exercises good judgment. Mia’s almost an adult as well. But at the first sign of a failed relationship between you two, she lost herself and started dating someone who is no good for her.”

Milo might question his parenting skills at times, but this isn’t his fault. He did the best he could under the circumstances. None of us knew better, and as a result of passing down misinformation, navigating into adulthood has taken us longer. We were simply unsupervised children who had access to money and alcohol. To be honest, I’m shocked that more of us didn’t misuse our resources to turn into addicts.

“Who is Mia dating?” Milo demands, ignoring all of my other revelations. As insistent as he might be on finding out, there’s no point in fueling a fire between Milo and Brandon since Mia already promised to break things off.

“No one important, and that’s not my point. I did the same thing at Mia’s age…” I trail off at the reminder of the sore subject. As a rule of thumb, Milo and I don’t discuss our affair from when we were younger as we both now understand the depth required in a real relationship. “I just meant, it’s not her fault. No one set good examples for Mia,” I quietly conclude.

Even if I only alluded to the topic, Milo picked up on my reference. “Things could have been different between us if we started later in life,” he admits after the reluctant gap.

“Yes,” I reply without hesitation. “We both made a lot of mistakes, and things can never be any different if we continue those same patterns.”

“What are you saying?” Milo asks, slight panic lacing his tone.

“I’m just wondering how we can lead anyone by example when we are repeating all of the same mistakes from our past. We are lying to our families about the extent of our communication, which can’t be an indicator of a healthy relationship. I still don’t understand why you left, but I get it if you need time to sort yourself out. Until you do, perhaps the best thing we can both do is to let each other go.”

“So, things can be different for Mia?”

“So, things can be different for all of us.”

Milo is quiet at my words before he slowly admits that he can’t help his jealousy. And I admit that I can’t stop my subsequent reactions.

In the end, we acknowledge that these calls are only making things worse.

I burst out crying while Milo patiently listens to my sobs until they subside. A silent agreement lingers in the background that once this call ends, it’ll be a long while before we speak again. Finding myself unable to end the call that might very well be our last, I hold the phone to my ear for dear life. Soft assurances are made that there’s no one else for either of us, but it can’t go on like this. His saddened voice on the other end reflects my own.

“Good night, Rave,” he whispers when there’s nothing else left to say. “I love you.”

The phone hangs loosely in my hand, the dial tone audible in my otherwise quiet room. I’m aware that Milo wasn’t saying good night; he was saying goodbye.

I burst out crying again, my sobs dissipating into thin air. Worse than my wailing is the other noise that’s easily missed because it’s barely there.

Close your eyes and listen carefully to hear that small, cracking noise.

That’s the sound of my heart breaking.

Hope

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Raven,

The last few months have been unbearable. But despite my difficulty in maintaining distance from you, I gave in to Reid’s demands because I couldn’t stand to be the cause for pain for yet another person I love. I couldn’t watch all three of you drown at the same time.

The only thing worse than losing you was watching you get destroyed, and I watched it for weeks. I was worried it was about to result in your utter annihilation.

Why were you hurting yourself around me, Raven?

And why were you suddenly okay around Reid?

I can only hope for this distance to give us both clarity, even though I remain a non-believer. As the matter stands, our volatile relationship has less to do with Reid or Mia and more to do with us. It’s an actual part of our dynamics. We will always have the potential of getting out of hand, just as we did in the past.

If these letters are meant to be my most honest confessions, I have to admit as much. Regardless of my best intentions and the time I’m taking to work on myself, I don’t know if I can change. I thrive on your retaliations because they are the small confirmations of your love.

Reid, Mia, and I used to tease you for being unreactive, but we failed to consider that your non-reactive nature was shaped by our hot tempers. Our whims never left you with enough space to lose your shit. Maybe that’s why I subconsciously push your buttons. Every spurt of violence and reaction indicates that you share my fierce instability. As humans, we hate being alone. Unfortunately, I’m only human, and I don’t want to be alone in this manic need for you. I need you to experience the same insanity that I feel at every threat of losing you.

It’s sick, I know. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but I don’t want to lie in a letter I’ll never send. Eventually, this prison sentence will end. I’ll find my way back to you, but this insatiable need for you will still rule my every instinct. I’ll go back to being the mad man I am when around you, and it will be up to you to somehow pull me back.

Please pull me back instead of giving up because a relationship like ours will always be a work in progress. But I rather have an imperfect relationship with you forever than a perfect one with anyone else.

I love you.

-Milo

Chapter 11

The Present: Fall, 2021

A Year With You

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Raven

The flat screen in the villa’s broken.

More specifically, Milo smashed the flat-screen television in the villa’s living room by throwing a vase at it, along with other questionable items.

Remnants of shattered glass are scattered on the floor. I’m huddled in one corner of the room, my arms protectively hugging Mr. Whiskers. My poor dog is shaking uncontrollably. He’s a rescue and is easily jarred by loud noises. I hold him closer to my chest, hoping to somehow drown out the fear-inducing noises.

Milo takes a swig of his whiskey while taking another swing at the television, though there isn’t much more left to break. It’s worrisome what he’ll do after running out of things to destroy. Never would I have considered the lack of breakable objects to be a disconcerting problem.

After a few months of bliss, some of our repressed issues have hit us like a tornado.

Milo views all external interactions as an explicit hazard of losing me. And for him, our family members remain the biggest threat. Besides Mia, I have progressively limited my own contact with our family back home until Milo gets on board. Our history isn’t the best once they are incorporated into it. Meanwhile, I've been working on convincing Milo to simply speak only to Tessa and take things from there.

However, a parcel was dropped off earlier to diminish what little progress I had made.

Since Alexa’s wedding, Milo and I haven’t left this villa, staying holed up in this secluded brick-and-mortar structure. The inclusivity of this place makes the task relatively easy. We have access to a private beach, a gym, and butler service for all of our meals. We’ve grown accustomed to our cocoon, spending our mornings between breakfast and work, afternoons at the gym and lying on the beach, and evenings between the sheets.

Though I have been making attempts to break this routine, don’t misinterpret my earnestness to flee these four walls barricading us as anything more than concern over Milo’s welfare. I adore this bubble, but the truth is, we need normalcy.

Milo likes to explore and immerse himself in new cultures. When we’d visit the Grand Cayman as kids, he’d yank us out of bed for a day filled with adventures. Even when my range of motion was limited after falling down a flight of stairs, Milo pushed me to be active. If his active lifestyle didn’t indicate it, his antsy behavior demonstrated the need to resume his normal routine. A guy who is keen on an active lifestyle can only turn unpredictable when caged.

The glitch is no one is caging Milo but himself.

Our terrible past with extended separation provokes inexplicable reactions in Milo. If we don’t take steps to extinguish the trepidation, the fear will rule the rest of our lives. This living arrangement can only lead us back on the same path we should be deviating from.

So, after days of playing recluse, I insisted on a night out in town.

Milo caved, agreeing to leave after meeting with Alexa, Brandon, and Jaci. Since we extended our stay in Mexico, and Alexa’s also around due to her new hubby, Brandon and Jaci now make occasional trips to Tulum. It’s a nice getaway for them while allowing them the chance to sort out their business affairs with Milo and Alexa in person.

Brandon used to be one of my favorite people, but not anymore. As to minimize my interactions with him, I stayed in our bedroom when everyone came over. However, Milo was determined that I socialized by joining them in the living room.

“Baby, you are the one who wanted to get out and see people. Now that we have people over, why are you hiding in the bedroom?”

“I’m not hiding. I’m just getting dressed,” I responded with a shrug, shimming myself into the outfit Milo had insisted on for our night out—a white knee-length lacey sheath dress. “I want to look good for you, and I don’t want to interrupt your business meeting.” I blew him a kiss, only to be met with half a smile and a pair of unconvinced eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Raven. Stop being anti-social and come outside.”

He said Raven, not Rave or baby, generally a solemn warning for phase one anger. “Fine,” I sighed. “Be there in a minute.”

“Exactly one minute,” Milo responded pointedly before strolling away.

Milo’s an anomaly at times. The last I checked, he couldn’t stand it when Brandon even breathed the same air as me. Yet, Milo had no problem picking out a skintight dress before persistently shoving me in front of Brandon and enforcing our companionship.

Deciding to play nice, I momentarily joined them in the living room, awkwardly skirting around Brandon. When their meeting finally concluded, Jaci suddenly shot up to her feet. “Rave, I completely forgot. I have something for you.”

“What?” I asked, but she was already out the door, letting it shut behind her.

Soon after, Alexa left as well. It only made my uncomfortableness more apparent. I awkwardly conversed with Brandon under Milo’s watchful eyes. Luckily, Brandon finally stood up from his chair, indicating his own departure.

“I should head back to pack. It’s a two-hour drive to the airport, and my flight’s at—”

“Okay. It was good seeing you. Bye,” I responded quickly before realizing my failed attempt at hiding my enthusiasm.

Milo looked back and forth. “Someone’s excited that you’re leaving. What did you do to piss off my girlfriend?” he asked in that pointed manner, voice thick with hidden meaning.

“You’d have to ask her yourself,” Brandon mumbled.

Before Brandon could move, Milo had his comeback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure Brandon didn’t mean anything,” I hurriedly barged in to nip it in the bud. “Sorry, Brandon,” I mumbled under my breath, irritated that on top of everything, Brandon’s now a hindrance in my relationship. “I’m just excited for a night out with my man.” I glanced at Milo, smiling warmly.

Brandon barely acknowledged my words, already sauntering to the door. “Bye,” he threw over his shoulders as an afterthought, the disdain vibrantly painted in his voice.

“What was that about?” Milo asked instantaneously.

“I was going to ask you the same.”

“You’ve been skittish around Brandon.”

Surprised at Milo’s intuitiveness, I paused to find the right words before responding with the half-truth. “I wasn’t trying to be. I just know that you get weird when I talk to other men.”

Milo contemplated my answer, assessing the believability of my words under his intense scrutinization, which cracks the best of them.

I held my steady stare until Milo declared, “Okay. I’m gonna go change.”

It was evident that he wanted to prod further, so I was grateful when he dropped it. I didn’t want to lie, but the history behind my fallout with Brandon wasn’t mine to divulge.

Milo changed speedily. He had just walked out to the living room in a black t-shirt and white shorts when banging ensued on our front door.

“Open up,” Jaci yelled from the other side.

“Coming.” Milo lazily meandered to the door, undoubtedly attempting to piss off an impatient Jaci.

“What’s taking so long?” Jaci banged on the door again.

“I’m all the way on the other side of the house,” Milo said from mere feet away. “I’m moving as fast as I can.” His strut only slowed, making me giggle. I love goofy Milo, who pranks people.

When Milo finally opened the door, Jaci practically shoved him aside to enter. “Finally.”

“Hello to you too.”

I primed to greet Jaci, who was carrying a generic brown shipping box that she plopped on the floor. Jaci mentioned dropping something off before her departure since she’s leaving Tulum tonight, alongside Brandon. Had I known the contents of that box, I would’ve never let Milo open the door or given Jaci the access code to the gate guarding this villa.

When I left New York, I left behind one of Mr. Whiskers’ boxes by accident. I asked Mia to give the box to Jaci the next time she flew out. I had packed the box such a long time ago, I had forgotten all about the contents inside it.

“Here you go,” she happily chirped, ignorant about the trail of destruction she was going to leave behind. “Mia gave me this box and said it was for you. Can’t believe I almost forgot.”

“Thanks, girl!”

“Alright. I have to go pack.” Jaci took me in a swift hug before turning to do the same to Milo. “Great catching up with both of you. Milo, send me those reports on Monday. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The door had hardly shut close when Milo propped the box on the table so we can go through it. Not thinking too much of it, I followed suit.

However, when Milo found photos of the dog, Reid, and me—all taken shortly after Mr. Whiskers’ adoption—I cautiously stepped away, watching from afar with apprehension.

The pictures were part of a photo series meant to be a satirical twist on a modern family. The box contained the few prints that were framed. Taken out of context, the pictures looked like precious holiday card photos—A couple with their dog.

Through my peripheral, I watched Milo’s rigid posture and the emanating rage ready to demolish all that’s good in our lives. Reid was still a sore topic, but a small part of me trusted things not to spiral due to some silly photos. My hope for it relied on Milo’s reaction.

Idiotic hope.

All of the frames were promptly thrown against the wall to be met with their destruction. Any remaining non-framed pictures were shredded to pieces and discarded.

Closing my eyes, I remained tranquil, mentally preparing for more mayhem that I knew was about to follow.

Milo has been accommodating me since our reunion. Jaci and Brandon weren’t happy with Milo’s temporary move to Mexico since Alexa’s also working remotely due to her new marriage. But Milo heeded them no mind. While rare, my nightmares still make their appearance. He tolerates them without a second thought, always drawing a parallel to our alternate reality, reassuring me that we attained our perfect future. Milo even pretends that the random scratches and bruises on him are non-existent.

In the shuffle of ensuring that my reactions don’t chase Milo away, I had discounted his triggers. Long ago, I had associated his reactive volatility with being triggered at the threat of losing me and scoured for solutions that might deactivate Milo’s anxiety.

Though I didn’t iron out all the kinks in my theory, when Milo took out Mr. Whiskers’ adoption papers next, my instincts screamed that my self-training was about to be tested. Even before it happened, I knew Milo was about to spin out of control and turn our safe haven into anarchy.

With the folder containing the adoption papers in hand, Milo walked over to pour himself a glass of whiskey. His eyes remained downcast as he took a sip and noiselessly inspected the documents. If possible, his wrath further mutated for the worst. It was followed by the dreaded question I had previously hoped to bypass.

“Was that dog a gift from Reid?” he inquired tersely.

I didn’t have to respond.

The living room was already in shambles from the broken picture frames. I solely watched with petrified horror as Milo took the vase off the table and threw it at the television. Mr. Whiskers was already distressed from the previous events, but this unhinged him. He ran out of his crate, scarcely missing the byproducts of Milo’s fury scattered on the floor. I hastily scooped him up and nestled with him in one corner.

And that’s where we have been standing for the last ten minutes since I’m barefoot, and staying immobile is better than risking the shreds of broken glass on the floor.

Milo perseveres in his hazardous behavior, a destruction pattern stretching from the living room's decorative purlieus to the embellished hallway. This will no doubt cost us a fortune from the looks of this room.

All the while, Milo’s voice remains nonexistent and uncommunicative, rendering me clueless on the actual trigger. The largest quandary in finding a solution during these moments—Milo’s silence. Is the reminder about my bond with Reid pissing Milo off, or is this about the photos, or is it a combination of both?

Mr. Whiskers whimpers again when Milo picks up the bust-sized crystal figurine in the hallway and smashes it against the wall. My own hands are now cold despite the heatwave outside. More ornate pieces are obliterated at the hands of madness, causing the slow disintegration of this beautiful house, along with our relationship.

“Milo, please,” I whisper almost inaudibly, “You are even scaring the dog, not just me.”

Milo scorches me with a look before lowering his lids to Mr. Whiskers, staring him down like he’s the devil incarnate. I suddenly realize that Milo’s taking out his anger because verbalizing his true wish is abhorrent as it’s an impossible ask.

Milo wants me to get rid of my dog.

“Let’s throw away the box if that’s what’s bothering you,” I suggest cautiously to divert his attention away from Mr. Whiskers. “We have enough toys as it is.”

Milo disregards my remark, resuming his vigilant observation of us. My shoulders are hunched, my eyes distraught, and my spirit broken. Despite my resolve to stay resilient during these charged moments, I hate watching Milo like this and want to remove inductions to elicit this response.

However, giving up my dog is not in the cards. This dog was a rescue who never had a kind owner before and was left traumatized from abuse. He’s super attached to me and freaks out around most other people. As for myself, words can’t express how much this dog means to me.

Due to my incessant attachment to the dog and a general dislike of furry animals, Milo was never a fan. This discovery about his origin will only set us back. Milo will view my regard for the dog as a direct reflection of my fondness for Reid. Regardless of the numerous reassurances, Milo might convince himself that there’s truth behind the notion.

There is only one action Milo associates with love and comfort. It’s a proven, sure-fire way to calm him down. Yet, I don’t move to pursue said action, hesitating to initiate physical intimacy while Milo further traumatizes my previously abused dog by tearing our lives apart.

But my reserve cracks when Milo punches the wall after all the breakable items cease. Once I see blood oozing on his knuckles, I scream the same time Mr. Whiskers howls. “Milo!”

Running to his crate, I shove my dog inside and close it. If I don’t act fast, this will deteriorate for the worse, with Milo inflicting more physical pain on himself.

Taking five careful steps to where Milo’s standing with his back to me, I throw myself at him, hugging him from the back. Milo momentarily freezes in place, distracted from the contact. His fist is still raised in mid-air in preparation to punch the wall again.

“Shh,” I placate. “Please, Milo. You have to stop. You’re bleeding.”

Rubbing both hands up and down his sides, I struggle to soothe the uncertainty he has carried throughout the entirety of our relationship.

“I love you so, so much,” I remind him, covering the back of his neck with gentle kisses.

When his stance remains aggressive, I circle a hand around his waist, smoothing my way down to his groin and caressing him over his clothes until I feel the bulge hardening under my palm. I cautiously kiss more of the exposed skin. Without giving him a chance to overthink, I duck under his arm and spin myself to face him.

Milo’s watching me suspiciously. Ignoring the distrustful eyes, I press kisses on his collarbone, the base of his neck, his jaw. When our bodies are flush against one another, I reach between us, unbuttoning his white shorts to pull out his hard length.

A deep groan instinctively resonates from deep within his chest, his lids slightly drooping to take in the length of my body.

“What are you doing, Rave?” he demands, as if aware of my antics. His inclination to indulge in creating more havoc is evident, but so is his struggle to deny what is being readily served up to him on a silver platter.

My dress is form-fitting; doubtless, the reason Milo picked it out. It’s off the shoulder, exposing a portion of my neckline and décolleté. Tugging with more intent until Milo grows harder in my hold, I use my other hand to grab the fabric of my dress and remove it off my shoulder, working quickly to pull it down until my chest is exposed.

I grab Milo’s bruised hand and place it on my breast, forcing his hand to close around it. The predisposition to clean up his bloodied knuckles is at the forefront of my mind. But I’m cognizant this is the only way Milo will let me take care of him right now.

Pushing away the visual of the smudged blood painting my breast red, I take a few steps backward until my spine hits the wall he was punching. Milo follows me blindly, transfixed on me as if I’m his very salvation. As if even a brief break in contact will cost him redemption.

I mute my croak when he flexes his fingers, crushing my mound with his grasp. I’m unable to do it again when rapidly, and without warning, Milo grabs both of my wrists and slams them against the wall.

Nonetheless, I remain docile, readily available for his taking—a pliable body to redirect his wrath. Milo slants his face to bite my breast. My echoes steadily increase with his ferocity of sucking on my nipple. The release from my voice resembles the volume dial gradually turning up. “Godddd,” I plead unbearably for a reprieve when he swirls his tongue. “Milo—”

My words are cut off when he spins me around, my palms landing flat on the drywall. Milo attempts to peel my dress up, but it sticks to my skin, the aftermath of fusing skin-tight material with humid weather.

Milo grunts, barely able to get the fabric over the hump of my ass, leaving it bunched.

“Fuck.” He tugs my panties down and rubs my ass with an approving pat. His low growl of appreciation is the only optimistic sign of Milo’s return to rational senses, while his furious moves tell a different tale.

“Ah,” I moan when two cold fingers nudge my sex, probing aggressively for entry. My pussy spasms and I have hardly felt the trickle of wetness when Milo buries himself inside me with absolute force.

I almost jump, which is an impossible motion with his strong arms to hold me in place. My body attempts to eject the intrusion, practically fighting back. He sheaths himself deeper with a tight grip on the back of my neck.

“God, I love your body,” he chews out as if suppressing some sort of deeper agony.

My head struggles to move from side to side while my body’s endeavor to thrash is shut down by his intensified hold, no doubt strong enough to leave bruises. His searing touch is making me believe in both gods and demons alike.

Milo starts ravaging me like the rapture is upon us. My small protests fall on deaf ears. His assault on my clit with his fingers is equally wild. The unrestrained thrusts speed up severely with no end in sight. My small involuntary whimpers heighten as I bounce between pain and pleasure. I turn my face to communicate with my eyes to slow down. He doesn’t.

“Milo, please,” I sob, unsure if I’m asking him to finish or begging for more. Turns out it’s both as he flicks my clit while his vicious plunges are far past feeling full of him and lingering in the territory of piercing me from the inside.

I exclaim, reaching my peak. All the same, tears bubble from the pain of his intrusion and swollen cock. Any more penetration might as well rip my insides apart.

Milo starts pounding harder, pelvis smacking against my ass without restraint. With demented lust, he takes out every last ounce of his madness on my body until my body’s screaming in intolerable pain.

“Holy shit. Fuck, baby. Fuck, yes!” Milo roars.

I feel the warm liquid spreading between us. His hips keep pumping into me, draining him completely until every bit spills inside me and even out of me.

-----------

Afterward, I cover my thighs by smoothing my dress down and use a tissue to wipe off remnants of cum on my thighs and blood on my breasts.

Sparing a quick glance at Mr. Whiskers, I find him sleeping in his crate. Our brutal lovemaking didn’t bother him, and he fell asleep halfway through the act.

I search for the first-aid kit to clean up Milo’s wounds. All thoughts of going out tonight are far gone. I’ll simply be grateful if there isn’t an encore of this insanity for the remaining weekend. But my respite is short-lived when I realize that the day’s drama is yet to conclude.

“We shld gt marrd,” Milo mumbles under his breath the same time I realize that the first-aid kit is in the bathroom.

“What?”

He sighs deeply. “I said that we should get married.”

An effect similar to a bucket of ice-cold water dumped on you dominates my common sense. We’ve only talked about marriage once. So, why now? “Okaaayy…”

“Tomorrow,” Milo announces with an acute reminder of where we actually stand. After today’s debacle, I can sense his urgency to fortify this relationship. “We can work out the paperwork later. There’s a church nearby—"

“Church?” I nearly choke on the word. Milo and I share the same cynical view on theology. We used to joke about stepping foot inside a church, convinced we’d both go up in flames if we did. “Neither of us believes in God. And our families wouldn’t be there.”

“Why does that matter?” he asks agitatedly.

“Guess I had this unreasonable expectation of having a say over my own wedding.”

“We are all mistaken at times,” he retorts, earning him an unimpressed look. I don’t know if Milo’s trying to make light of the situation by cracking jokes or if he means it.

Today was a harsh reminder of how Milo sporadically molds the truth to fit his worst fears. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, his qualms will eventually become a reality if he continues exhibiting more erratic behavior. So, it’s difficult to partake in happiness when the blatant reminder lies all around us of how Milo reacts based on crazy theories. The complete disregard for Mr. Whiskers sits high on that list.

“Why do you want to get married?” I ask inquisitively without a hint of delight.

“Are you serious? So, we can be done with this shit. I don’t have to worry about you and him anymore.”

“Wow!” Shaking my head, I throw both of my hands up in surrender.

“What?”

“Milo, I can’t marry you to make you trust me.”

Truth be told, I want to marry Milo more than anything in this world. I’d marry him right here in the living room of this villa. But what should be the happiest moment in our lives is currently covered with broken glass and chaos. The evidence of how he destroyed our temporary safe haven is all around us. Our relationship stemmed from toxicity. There has to be at least one crumb of healthy reasoning to start a new chapter.

“I am going out for a walk.”

“Hold on. Let me throw on some shoes.”

“That’s okay. I’d like to go by myself to clear my head—"

“No,” he says as I spin to exit, grabbing my flip-flops with a swift scoop. “Where do you think you’re going?” Milo bellows but isn’t quick enough to follow me out.

Ignoring his resounding warnings about leaving the premises, I sprint outside. I’m sure he’s already preparing a dozen threats to bestow upon my return to avoid future defiance. But I’m not in the mood.

I would have taken Mr. Whiskers along to remove him from that environment, but he was finally calm and sleeping peacefully in his crate, which he generally views as a safe space. I didn’t want to rip him away from that.

I can suck it up if Milo’s not an animal lover, but there was no reason to scare my poor dog in the way he did today. On top of that, to declare that we are getting married, and at a church no less, all because he doesn’t trust me… I can’t bear to look at him for the rest of the evening.

Chapter 12

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Raven

By the time I return home, it’s dusk. The sunset, paired with the red and orange streaks on the sky of this gothic backdrop, should be an excuse to celebrate romance. Instead of being on the beach to watch the sunset with my boyfriend, I’m tiptoeing inside the dark villa, worried about the wreckage I left behind.

It turns out my trepidation was for nothing when I turn on the lights to be met with an empty room. Remnants of our previous spat remain. The glass has been cleaned up off the floor, no doubt an effort by the super-efficient butler, but some of the damage was likely too irreparable to fix within the day.

Milo was doling out threats when I sped out of here earlier. As a rule of thumb, I ignore statements that the Sinclair kids make under duress. All three of them have a compulsion to say things they don’t mean when agitated. But when I see Mr. Whiskers’ empty crate, an inner voice whispers a premonition that I shouldn’t have taken Milo’s threats lightly. Based on what occurred earlier, I should have taken Mr. Whiskers along.

Milo is insistent on removing any reminders of my bond with Reid, so what if he were to hurt… I chide the alarmed voice. That’s ridiculous; Milo would never hurt an innocent animal.

Don’t count on it, the voice argues back.

Since changing my perspective to view Milo’s outbursts like the aftermath of trauma, I compare notes based on my knowledge of PTSD during my stay at the depression clinic. One particular soldier had disclosed fragments of his past that landed him there. He grabbed his wife in a chokehold after hearing fireworks, which he correlated to gunfire, ultimately setting him off.

Reactions occur within a split-second response. From my personal experience, I recall the body unable to understand logic or ethics. It simply goes into fight-or-flight mode. And Milo was in fight mode. It was ignorant to rule out any possible repercussions from our spar.

I can be understanding whenever my partner acts out after he is triggered. And while it’s not ideal that Milo is averse to my dog, yet another thing I love, it’s a manageable issue.

But if he hurts my dog in any way… I don’t let myself finish the thought.

“Mr. Whiskers,” I call out, frantically running through the rooms. After combing through the bungalow twice, I find a note left from Milo.

Be back soon.

-Milo

My stomach inadvertently drops. Falling on one of the intact chairs, my body shakes from head to toe as I fervently start dialing Milo’s number.

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Milo

The villa and the surrounding location aren’t the best for communication. We barely receive reception, making it difficult to keep in constant contact. Earlier in the evening, I unsuccessfully tried to call Raven. Later, I assumed it might be best to give us both the chance to cool off, so we haven’t had any interactions since the big blowout. That’s why I’m surprised to walk through the doorway and find a distraught Raven appear out of nowhere.

“Rave?”

Raven remains soundless with the chilly silence lingering between us.

“Are you hungry?” I almost roll my eyes at myself. After our massive fight, it’s hardly the inquiry I should be making. It’s become the instinctive question whenever I see her, though a little ridiculous considering that Raven isn’t five years old.

Over the last few months, my mission has revolved around keeping Raven well fed and rested. I’m determined not to let Reid’s hard work go to waste by allowing Raven to turn into a shell of a person once more.

Raven is oblivious to my inquiry. She charges forward to grab Mr. Whiskers, who’s nestled in my hold. He refused to walk the last stretch home, so I finally had to carry his lazy butt. “How could you take him?” Raven fumes without needing context on my intentions.

I shrug noncommittally, refusing to acknowledge the accusation. “I assumed Mr. Whiskers might enjoy a longer walk.”

“He hates long walks, and you know it. He feels safer in his crate than he does with you, so there was no reason to take Mr. Whiskers unless you had ulterior motives. I’ll ask you again. Where were you, and why did you take him? This time, don’t lie to me.”

I don’t. “I was thinking about giving him away.”

Grabbing the first item in her vicinity, a hairbrush on the sofa’s side table, Raven chucks it in my direction. “What is wrong with you?” she screams.

Raven continues to throw a variety of items. Some of them hit me; the rest hits the wall behind. The butler was displeased at the state of this villa when I called him to clean up. I left a hefty tip for him, plus I paid the hotel for all the damages. I was shocked when they didn’t ask us to leave. However, if we incur more damages, they might overlook the generosity and really kick us out this time.

“Rave, stop it!” I warn.

Turning on her heels, Raven runs to the bedroom. She locks the door, unaware that these futile locks are more for show. The door opens as soon as I turn the knob. I barge in to find Raven standing by the bay window with Mr. Whiskers held protectively against her chest, facing the door as if expecting this very move.

“Baby,” I address cautiously. She might want distance from me right now, but I’ve already given her space this evening.

Minutes pass before Raven acknowledges me again. “How can you still be this jealous of Reid? Giving my dog away just because he was a gift from Reid makes no sense, especially since Reid made peace with our union.”

Yes, it was a sadistic notion to give her dog away. Shortly after Raven’s departure, I grabbed Mr. Whiskers and found a local yoga resort in Tulum that fosters street dogs. I had every intention of giving them the dog and buying her a new one. But once I pulled into their driveway, I realized the total path of destruction I was about to embark on.

I had spent months resenting my family for playing a part in my history with Raven. I loathed them for ripping Raven away from me yet again because she was supposed to become my family and my ticket to freedom, away from my toxic-as-fuck family members.

However, it wasn’t them; it was me. At every corner, my lousy decision led us to a worse predicament. Our family might have incited the situation, but I progressed it.

I was doing the same things repeatedly but expecting to yield different results.

After leaving New York behind, I agonized for months over my inability to improve my siblings' lives. The only person who could comfort me was the very person I was supposed to avoid. I wanted to wait until Reid was better and until Raven was marginally okay in my proximity before returning to New York.

In the meanwhile, I kept calling Raven for weeks following my move, even though my abstract answers only drove her insane while I was sick with jealousy.

Then something abnormal occurred that was out of accordance with Raven’s nature.

It started with a photo Raven posted on Instagram. She only ever posted photos of her designs, so the content was peculiar. The background of the photo was of a homeless man dressed in some of my finest clothes.

Excitement coursed through me when I realized the photo was directed at me. It was Raven’s silent retaliation for my impromptu departure and lack of explanations.

For the first time since I left New York, I felt alive.

Raven’s lack of reaction was always my biggest pet peeve. It drove me insane when she acted indifferent toward me while I reacted so easily to her. It was a thrill to distinguish my ability to provoke such a reaction, especially since Raven doesn’t do vindictive things.

A realization dawned on me as I mapped the progression of our relationship.

The night at the brownstone when Raven started hitting me.

Raven’s acts of retribution after I left.

All of her other inadvertent reactions.

Good or bad, I’m the only person in this world who could turn a non-reactive Raven into an explosive ticking timebomb.

It was exhilarating.

It was confirmation of her love in the oddest of forms.

So, I pushed her buttons, relying on her vengeance to make it to that invisible finish line. I wanted to affect her deeply enough so Raven would turn over a new leaf. It became imperative that her most visceral traits: warmth, selflessness, and affection, could only be tainted by me.

Not the healthiest outlook on love, but she was the only person with the power to affect my own wholesome perspectives. It was invigorating to have the same effect on her.

Every part of me was reawakened following an extended hibernation. Instead of going through the motions, I was buzzing once more.

So, when Raven declared that we needed to mitigate our conversations to set a better example for Mia, I feared she wasn’t concerned with my actions anymore. I became manic. My frenzy was bubbling like a downright volcanic explosion, the magma about to erupt and eviscerate everything in the vicinity.

A few months following that exchange, Reid accepted my offer to travel to California for a liver transplant. I didn’t want Raven there, worried that if Reid were to become emotionally charged upon seeing us together, the past about Mia might resurface.

However, my intentions served a dual purpose. For people like Raven and myself, one of the worst things in life is not feeling needed. If she couldn’t take care of me after a major operation, it would hit home for her. I needed to know that I could still invoke infuriation in Raven, so I specifically asked Reid not to bring her.

Following my conversation with Reid, I waited and waited, impatiently salivating after the fruits of his labor. I was the villain rubbing his palms together while coming up with his evil plans. In my quest for tangible proof of her love, I pursued yet another sadistic approach.

The problem was that my plan worked, and a little too well.

In the pursuit of exacting revenge for my decision, Raven burnt some mementos I had given her. While doing so, Raven accidentally burnt down the entire kitchen—something that could have killed her.

Thrill and exhilaration were no longer the emotions I felt.

Anger was what I felt. Death was what I saw. Rage was what I wanted to dole out.

All of it was directed toward myself.

The worst part was that I didn’t even find out until my siblings visited me in California. I couldn’t hold back anymore; the consequences be damned. I had to see Raven, and for once, I had the support of both of my siblings.

So, yes. To ostracize Reid is ridiculous. It’s ironic yet beautiful, even poetic in a way. Because the same person who tore us apart was the one to orchestrate bringing us back together. Reid’s the reason why we can be together now. He fixed the issues we couldn’t fix ourselves. Reid’s a genius in a way. He predicted what Raven needed and stepped in where I failed.

It’s the reason why that dog burns me. He can provide her something I can’t: safety.

Although I initially missed the cues, it’s evident that this dog acts as Raven’s emotional support animal based on the attachment she exhibits. I shouldn’t have tried to give the dog away due to this continuous, unjustified jealousy. I changed my mind upon realizing as much.

“I didn’t give your dog away,” I remind her. “I only considered it.”

“Even so,” Raven seethes at my mention of semantics, “you had no right. Reid and I maintain our distance. Other than to check on his health, I don’t reach out to him. So, why would you do this?”

“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely.

“That doesn’t cut it. You tried to give my dog away, so you owe me a better answer. Why do you still feel this way?” Raven asks with built-in frustration mixed with exasperation.

“Because it was supposed to be you and him,” I admit through gritted teeth, my muscles tensing at the admission.

“What?”

“You two have this cosmic connection—”

“Enough,” Raven cuts me off by slashing the air in front of her with one hand. “You can’t keep holding that against me because Reid and I were born on the same day and grew up as best friends. You always called kismet connections nothing but mumbo jumbo. It’s insane for you to base our entire relationship on something you don’t even believe in. Don’t you see that?”

“That’s easy for you to say. I spent years watching you two share telepathic conversations. How do you think it makes me feel that Reid knew exactly how to heal you twice when I couldn’t even do it once,” I profess, unable to meet Raven’s eyes at the accusation.

Considering I’m the reason Raven needed healing in the first place, and I’m also the one reaping the benefits from Reid’s efforts, my thought process is entirely fucked up.

However, my assessment is correct.

During our short-lived relationship, Raven’s deterioration filled me with dread. She was grasping for an anchor to get her through the ordeal of being with me. The worst of thoughts weighed on me; Raven acted like Tessa and was troubled enough to harm herself. When Reid showed me photos and a side-by-side comparison of what Raven looked like while she was around me versus her norm, that was the straw to break the camel’s back.

If anything ever happened to her, I’d also find a way to take myself out of this world. My existence is tethered to hers. It’s the only reason I managed to stay away.

But since the first moment of our reconciliation, I noticed the changes in Raven, courtesy of Reid. Turns out, their connection was the only anchor Raven ever needed.

Following my outburst, Raven heaves a sigh. She lets Mr. Whiskers down and sits at the edge of the bed, indicating that I follow suit. A dark premonition threatens her composure.

Raven is getting situated for a longer conversation instead of outright refuting my remarks. It only increases my unease over Reid and Raven being fated for one another. They came into this world together, conceived and made for each other. In every way, they were destined for one another until I came between them. So, where the hell do I fit in amidst all this?

“Reid knew what I needed to put my past behind because we grew up together,” Raven starts gently. “We are in sync and can have telepathic conversations because we spent so much of our childhood together. You and I didn’t grow up together, which might be a blessing in hindsight. The way Reid and I grew up changed how I perceived him: as my twin, not a romantic partner. The quantity of time didn’t necessarily equate to quality of time.”

Tamping down any of her residual anger, Raven attempts to smile sadly while I remain wary. Waving a hand between us, she says, “You and I spent far less time together in comparison, yet our bond is more significant. It’s the only romantic one I have ever known.”

“But you admitted to loving Reid when you two were young. Reid loves you as well.”

Raven blows out a long breath, determined eyes rapidly moving all over my face. “I was five-years-old when I loved Reid, and only because everyone else told us that we were supposed to end up together. It wasn’t real.”

“How do you know that with certainty?”

“Because I experienced true love later in life,” Raven replies pointedly. “What I felt as a child was nonsense. Until experiencing the loss of the real thing, I had nothing else to compare. I am the living proof of that confirmed fact.”

I scoff, wishing it were enough to alleviate my qualms. “You want me to believe that? It’s a little difficult when evidence of your kismet connection keeps stacking up. You two were born together, literally made for each other. He exists only because you do. Adolescent feelings or not, you felt something for him. And he knows how to… fix you. So, where does that leave me? It’s as if the entire universe is screaming that we are wrong, and you belong with him instead.”

“You’re right,” she confesses to the accusation I had hoped she’d vehemently deny. “The stars were aligned to fate Reid and me together. Every single thing was lined up perfectly for me to choose him. Our connection, our parents, our relation to one another, even the fact that I didn’t have adverse reactions around him.”

Clasping both hands on the side of my face, she turns me to face her.

“And still, we defied all odds to fall in love. We aren’t easy by any means, but nothing worth having is meant to be easy. A path toward Reid would have been the easy option, but I’d rather be on an infinite road to recovery with you than be without you. So, where does that leave me?” Raven repeats my words, but they have a different connotation than the one I had inferred.

“Then how come our families manage to come between us over and over again?” I put up one more wall to somehow explain my incessant jealousy, a fight that’s waning with each passing moment.

“There will always be external factors and issues in a relationship,” Raven says exasperatedly. “We have to learn not to let those things affect us. Instead, you keep giving them the power to tear us apart. You left because of a fight with your brother and sister. Yet, you refuse to provide me an explanation about what exactly happened to propel such drastic actions.”

After our recent reunion, Raven prodded me numerous times about making up with the family. I told Rave that I’d rather not harp on the past because there’s no way to properly explain it without revealing my history with Mia.

Mia didn’t rat me to Raven, but anxiety bubbles to the surface at the possibility of Raven learning this information in the future. The backlash would be horrendous. I don’t know if Raven would stay with me if she found out. What I do know for certain is that she’d never look at me like I’m her whole world again.

The look I need as badly as my heart needs to pump blood.

The thought is enough to screw with my brain. It’s the exact reason why I hate that poisonous family. They have forever managed to rip away anything good in my life.

“How many times do I have to tell you that nothing happened?”

“Is that right?” Raven ascertains. “You knew how I’d feel when you asked me to be nowhere near you while you were being cut open on an operating table. So, it was because of nothing that you didn’t want me there?”

“No!” I yell in frustration. “I was worried that you’d learn something you didn’t like if you were around all three of us. And the moment you found out, you’d choose them over me. Whether it was their opinion you heeded or their feelings you protected, you always cared more about them than you did for me.”

Raven retreats briefly, mulling over my words.

“Is that... what you think?” Raven stumbles over her words as if unsure how to proceed. “It wasn’t because I cared less about you. It was… I assumed you’d be okay. I didn’t expect the same of Reid or Mia.”

“Why?” I ask curiously.

“Because you were the adult, and they were the kids,” Raven states the fact easily as if it’s the most obvious answer in the universe.

Astonished by her revelation, I blink a few times to clear my vision and mind.

“Milo,” she gradually adds, “remember the pet lizard Reid had begged for and the goldfish Mia couldn’t do without?”

Surprised by the offbeat reference, I slowly nod. How could I forget? I promised Mia and Reid they could have pets if they were responsible, only to buy them new ones within months after I had to bury both of their pets in the backyard.

“Neither of those pets lasted more than a couple of months. Mia and Reid turned into amazing human beings, but they used to be irresponsible and scatterbrained.”

“It’s normal for children to misplace pets or be negligent. Do you know how many kids accidentally kill their hamsters or goldfish every year?”

“Not as often as Reid and Mia did.”

That part is true. I had a strict rule to never allow them anything past a fish or a reptile. I tried to instill responsibility and assumed owning a pet would teach them better. However, after one too many dead goldfish, I refused to buy more.

“You always took care of them, so they never learned how to take care of themselves ‘til much later in life. I focused on them because…because they needed that love and support until they were ready to fly the nest. If I didn’t keep an eye on Reid, he’d go off the handle partying and drinking. Mia always deviated whenever someone wasn’t constantly on her case. But I didn’t see you that way. You were the only adult in the household. Does any of this make sense?”

Reflecting on it, I realize that this, in fact, makes more sense than anything else.

The irony of the situation bemuses me.

Raven assumed I was the only adult in the household, while I assumed the same of her. Reid and Mia were always the kids. As parents, you have to choose the kids’ needs over the adults. Raven assumed I could handle the blow. But Reid, as the child, couldn’t.

I have no idea how I never connected these dots. After all, I did the same when I was at a crossroads between Tessa and the teenagers I was raising. At that time, I chose Reid, Mia, and Raven’s welfare because they were younger and helpless. Their needs took precedence.

It’s the parent versus child complex.

You expect the grownup to be alright, so you take care of the children.

But Raven miscalculated as it turned out I was the mad man. Reid held his own while I reverted back to a child who felt entitled to Raven.

“It makes perfect sense,” I admit, grabbing her hand and gently brushing my lips over her knuckles. Like the last piece of the puzzle that lets you see the big picture, it fits with a snap.

Yet, the uncertainty remains over my own parenting skills, dreading Reid and Mia’s future without our constant intervention. “Despite everything, they grew up okay. Didn’t they?”

“Better than okay,” Raven reassures with a smile.

I sneer at the thought, the skepticism still very much alive. “Even though Mia was ready to throw it all away the moment either of us looked the other way. And Reid drank himself half to death simply because he had no one supervising him anymore. Reid will—"

“Be just fine,” she finishes my sentence. “In the last year, each person in our family has gone through transformations, including our parents who hate change. Without you as the backup, they had no choice but to grow up. I saw it with my own eyes. Mia knows how to stand her ground. Reid moderates all of his bad habits.”

“I’m afraid it might be a little too late.”

Raven shakes her head. “None of us know how long we’ll be alive. And Reid is a survivor. He’ll make the twenty-year cut, then go on to outlive the rest of us.”

I laugh at the thought, and for the first time, I’m comforted with the idea that Reid will outlive me. It was one of my most jarring thoughts over the last year. The way a parent never wants to outlive their children, I couldn’t imagine outliving Reid.

“And you know what?” Raven bumps my shoulder as if gearing up to make a mischievous suggestion. “If we make up with our families, we can easily monitor all of their growths and success.”

I roll my eyes. “Maybe.”

“As long as we maintain our distance, we don’t have to get sucked into that life again,” Raven adds, presumably reading my ongoing reservation.

Nonetheless, I nod because Raven is right. We can’t avoid our parents forever, but if we keep them at arm’s length, we can maintain a cordial relationship. We’ll forever be resentful towards them, but it’s up to us to never again allow their terrible actions to dictate our future.

I gear up for one last question, the answer I need to move forward. The question is rhetorical because no matter the response, my only choice is to move forward with Raven.

“Raven, did something happen between you and Reid while we were apart?” Raven opens her mouth in defense, but I quickly continue. “You were both going through a lot, and I wasn’t there. At that time, perhaps you thought his future looked bleak and wanted him to have something more to hold on to... it doesn’t change anything between us, but I need to know.”

Although I hum a mantra that it doesn’t matter, I have hope for the answer I desire. My body language is rigid from the languid suspense.

Raven closes her eyes. “What don’t you understand? For me, it’s either you or no one. I already gave away everything that I am to you. My romantic feelings. My sexual needs. My every emotion. I’m yours. Body. Mind. Soul.”

Through one modest statement, Raven sums up everything I’ve ever needed to hear, putting years of agony to rest. My forehead drops to hers, a relief like I have never known washing over at the validation.

Raven quietly peeks at me through her lashes. She doesn’t make similar demands or queries because, by now, she knows that her presence in my life is irrelevant in regard to being with someone else.

It’s either her or no one.

We both share the same truth. I forget it at times, but Raven doesn’t. And if I can’t yet provide her with my trust, I sure as hell can try to give her everything else she needs.

“Do you still want to know what happened with Mia and Reid that made me leave New York?” I ask, voice resonating with trepidation as every fiber of my being screams to abort this mission. Even a few minutes ago, I wouldn’t have disclosed the truth.

A lone tear falls from her eye instantaneously, sliding down her cheek. Some sort of tranquility reverberates through Raven at my offer.

“Is it really that unpleasant?” Raven inquires.

“Yes.”

“But everything is fixed between you three?”

“I believe so.”

“By your body language, I assume that you hate every second of this conversation.”

“Correct, again.”

“Thank you for offering to tell me.” Raven lifts both of her shoulders. “If you don’t want to talk about this, I’m ready to let it go. There’s no reason to open old wounds. I trust you,” she announces. “I just wanted to know that you could trust me in return.”

“You are really okay with not knowing what happened?”

“Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. Our past doesn’t define our future any longer.”

I silently hold her, wiping her tears away. Raven ultimately pulls us both up to stand. Without a word, she takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. Like her shadow, I move with her like I’d follow her to the edge of the world and to the end of life.

-----------

Raven

For months, I asked Milo what transpired between him, Reid, and Mia. There’s peace in my soul that he’s finally willing to share. Knowing how hard it is for Milo, the simple willingness to share is suddenly enough. I’m okay not knowing. After all, I have my own secret about Brandon. None of those details matter anymore as it’s inconsequential to our big picture.

Taking his hand, I lead a puzzled Milo to the bathroom. He watches me with anxiety-ridden eyes as I reach for the first-aid kit. Alleviated by our heart to heart, I find myself relatively content even while scouring for gauze and antiseptic.

An anomaly of sorts occurs when I start cleaning off the scrapes that are already forming into lumps on Milo’s knuckles. His thumb gently caresses my own newly formed bruises from our rough tumble when my face was smashed against the wall. While I place the gauze on his knuckles, he reaches for something inside the box and pats a cool ointment on my heated skin. I wince at the sensation but let him use his fingertips to apply the balm until it’s evenly distributed.

Milo’s fingers drift into my hair, a ghost of a smile displaying on his features. His small joy wrenches a smile out of me with a mutual understanding lugging behind our beaming faces.

While we remedy each other’s injuries, both the physical scars and the emotional ones, we sign a silent pact. It’s a pact we’ll inadvertently follow for years to come.

The promise to heal the pain caused by the other while being the anchor we both need in one another.

PART 4

WINTER

Chapter 13

The Past: Winter, 2020

A Year Without You

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Raven

The components to push this family forward in life came together over the last seven months. However, even after celebrating Thanksgiving, the fragile life we are most grateful for still remains in peril.

“Hey, Stud.” I look up at Reid with enthusiasm that I don’t feel. I’m sitting on Reid’s bedroom floor, going over new transplant centers I have found. But it all leads to the same conclusion I drew a month ago—a subject I have to bring up yet again before Reid officially runs out of time.

“Hey, Beautiful.” Reid lifts his head off the pillow, finally awake. His headphones are wrapped around his neck.

“How was your nap?” I ask.

Reid pulls himself to a sitting position and yawns. “Not long enough. Dying is exhausting.”

Recently, Reid’s been cracking a lot more morbid jokes. He was initially certain of a quick donor turnaround due to his age. As more time passes, the delay in the news is elevating his distress. The dark comedy is his defense mechanism, so I play along.

“Want me to push you down the stairs to expedite the process?” I ask with a straight face.

“That’s so 2020, and you already did it. I rather not die by copying someone else. It should be more original. Ugh! Why couldn’t I die of something cool?”

“How about I stab you?” I suggest. “That’s something cool.”

Reid grimaces. “I don’t like blood.”

“Drowning?”

“Ew. What am I, five? No way.”

“Ah. Got it!” I sit up as if I have the best idea. “Drowning by alcohol?”

Reid’s eyes light up. “I love it. If I can’t drink it, I’ll drown in it. Poetic justice.”

“Fantastic. You go to the store and buy some beer. I can come back early from work tonight, and we can drown you at six pm.”

“I can’t do six. I have to meet up with Sam. How about at eight pm?”

“Done!”

We look at each other for a moment and fall over in a fit of giggles.

Reid’s in an oddly good mood today despite the fact he’s stone-cold sober. The lack of alcohol has changed Reid’s personality drastically. He isn’t as angry or short-tempered anymore. Now, he is the normal amount of ‘Sinclair-rage.’

Perhaps the alcohol played a bigger part in his personality than I had previously assumed.

Nonetheless, we gave Reid too little credit for his self-restraint. I haven’t so much as seen him touch a drop of liquor in months.

Milo remains a skeptic, sending packages with brochures and information for rehabs near us. We received yet another parcel today, which I was sure to discard before Reid saw it. I need Reid to remain in a good mood for the upcoming repeat discussion.

“I have to talk to you about something.”

Reid cocks his head inquiringly.

“It’s about Milo’s offer to be your living donor—”

“Raven—”

“Before you say no again, I just want to remind you that nothing else has come through, and there’s no risk to Milo. Not to mention, you have a better chance at a successful transplant with a living donor who’s your brother. So, your hesitancy makes no sense.”

“Relax, Rave. There is no—”

“Both of us just want to see you alive,” I cut Reid off. After weeks of failure to secure something for Reid, I’m at my wit's end. “Milo offered to do something wonderful for you because he loves you, so help me understand why you’re turning it down.”

“Dude, can I get a word in—”

“Is this because of what you think happened between Milo and me?”

I stare at Reid blankly, who closes his eyes. “Raven,” he says quietly. “Please!”

“Your brother gave up his own childhood to give you a better one. I’m sorry if you think that his actions are so fucked up that it doesn’t fit your moral compass. But have you considered that you’re also liable for said actions? You played a part in pushing Milo over the edge, so whatever grievances you hold against Milo, hold it against yourself as well.”

“Rave, it’s not what you think.”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it. I can’t watch you suffer anymore, and neither can he.”

“Rave, I—”

“At this point, you are doing this to punish him because you know that if anything happens to either of you, it will kill Milo. Destroying yourself just to send a message is selfish toward the other people who love you, not heroic. You are killing yourself because of a petty squabble between brothers, but at the end of the day, the only person you are truly hurting is yourself.”

-----------

Reid

Raven’s sitting on the floor, highlighting reports scattered around the coffee table. A fierce message is sent through the pile of paperwork—the power of organization might extend life expectancy. Like a woman on a mission, she’s spouting angry words at me, her hazel eyes lit up with passion.

Bouts of laughter at her gutsiness prickle my senses, but I push it down.

She is cute.

After years of manipulation at the hands of the Sinclairs, sweet and naïve Raven has learned a few tricks. And I couldn’t be prouder.

It allowed her to be triumphant in accomplishing deeds Milo had previously failed.

Raven uncovered the method of handling our parents. She unearthed the techniques to keep our malleable sister in line. Using guilt trips and an assortment of optimism, Raven also swayed my decision about agreeing to Milo as my donor.

For months, Raven bugged me about accepting Milo’s offer because both of them will gladly give up their body parts if it meant another day for me. That unconditional love of theirs cuts me so deeply. To be loved so purely, so profusely, by another human being… None of us are deserving of that kind of love. We never had that from our own parents. But Raven and Milo will never give up, breathing life into me even past my expiration date.

Unlike Raven’s beliefs, I didn’t turn down Milo’s offer to spite him. Dissimilar to Milo’s beliefs, it wasn’t because of what happened between him and Raven either. I turned down Milo’s offer because he has done enough for this family without having to impart with his very organs.

It appears that Milo’s finally doing well without the stress of carrying an entire household. The occasional photos I see online are of him with new friends. He is trying new things, even did a road trip around the West Coast, and… he looks happy.

I miss my brother, especially at a time like this. Now that I’m not drinking anymore, the changes in my personality are apparent to everyone around me. I feel like an entirely different entity, rather than someone constantly boggled down by rage.

I know Milo would be proud. Over the last few months, I picked up the phone several times to call Milo and tell him as much, only to second guess myself, wondering if perhaps further communication with any of us would drag him back to this life out of guilt.

Yet, thoughts of Milo only multiply, specifically when I saw his increased efforts in anonymous packages. Milo remains adamant about contributing to my crisis. Realizing Milo wasn’t ready to part with his previous role as Mr. Fix-It, I finally picked up the phone to call him. I can only free him from this life physically, not from the mental prison he has created for himself. Milo found peace in dictating our lives. Controlling every aspect of it assured him of our safety and welfare.

Similarly, all four of us find peace in controlling one another to some extent. We use this medium to guarantee each other’s well-being because that’s all we’ve ever known. Raven’s outburst over the liver transplant is her exasperated attempt to feel in control and keep me safe.

Looking at it from Milo’s perspective, a lifetime habit of taking care of others can’t be so easily broken. Though my intentions to rebuff his offer were pure, it was killing Milo. Raven recognized as much because that’s how she felt when declared an incompatible donor. Raven amplified her preaching as neither of them can withstand feeling useless when someone they love is in peril.

Unbeknownst to Raven, I accepted Milo’s offer and will be traveling to California soon. If only she allows me to utter a single word, she’d also be privy to that information.

“Are you done?” I ask cautiously when her rambling comes to an end. “I talked to Milo yesterday. I’m going to California for the transplant.”

“You did?” Looking stunned, Raven lays down her highlighter.

“Hmm.”

“Oh… I didn’t… when do we leave—”

I mentally prepare for the next bit. She isn’t going to like any of it, but I have decided it’s for the best. “I’m leaving soon, but there are a few things we need to talk about.”

Raven lifts a curious shoulder. “Shoot.”

“Listen, Beautiful… I have been thinking about this a lot.” I shift uncomfortably. “I don’t want you or any of the parents coming to California with me.”

Raven blinks. “Excuse me?”

Regardless of Milo’s suspicions, I have no intention of pursuing Raven again.

The life expectancy of someone who undergoes a liver transplant is fickle. I have a 75% percent chance of surviving the next five years, which cuts down to a 50% survival rate in the next twenty years. By the time I’m forty-two, I have a 50-50 shot at being alive.

The morbid jokes are now my lifelong companions, not Raven. Once discovering the long-term effects of my health issues, I couldn’t drag her into that uncertain life.

However, the alternate isn’t leaving Raven behind in a more precarious situation with the worst-case scenario of ending up dead at my brother’s hands. We’ve finally made some progress on that front, and I don’t want to backtrack.

A couple of months ago, I overheard Raven speaking to Mia.

Right before Mia started college, I heard some commotion coming from Mia’s room. I came out of my own room to find Brandon angrily storming out of the house while Raven and Mia argued behind closed doors. Their voices were muffled, but I grasped the gist of it. From the little I heard, Raven admitted to Mia that she viewed her relationship with Milo as a mistake.

It’s possible that at long last, Raven finally understands the folly of an abusive relationship.

Likewise, Milo’s moving on for the better.

Though he might crave being needed at times, Milo’s flourishing from his fresh start. He didn’t need Raven. He simply needed a clean break from the stress of carrying an entire household. Sources tell me that women are circulating Milo like hounds as always. He’ll find a better fit and move on from this fixation on Raven with someone who doesn’t drive him to the brink of insanity.

Milo invited me out to California to stay with him post-recovery as he found a nearby transplant facility that meets his high standards. I’m excited to see him thrive in this new life of his. Milo and Raven are both on a great track. It’s ridiculous to relinquish all of their hard work.

“I just think it’ll be better this way.” I know Raven and the entire family will insist on coming along to California, but I’m putting my foot down.

“How can you say that? You are both undergoing major surgery. Who the hell is supposed to take care of you?”

“Mia’s coming with me.” I peek at Raven, who looks startled by the revelation.

“Mia and Milo made up?”

I shrug, unsure of the details myself. “I don’t know. I passed the phone to Mia because he insisted on talking to her. Mia came in here afterward, announcing she was coming with me.”

“I’m glad they made up. But it’s still a huge undertaking—”

“It was Milo’s decision too,” I inform because it’s true.

I told Milo of all the great things Raven has embarked on. Milo was proud of her accomplishments and agreed she shouldn’t be there.

“You are both going under,” Raven says quietly. “He’d rather go through it alone instead of seeing me—”

“No,” I cut her off, despising every moment of this conversation. “It’s not that. He just thought it would be better this way, so there aren’t any fights or issues...” I trail off, scrambling for a way to make this better.

Raven’s wounded face is enough to twist my heart from inside out. She stares at me the way Milo once did during a similar instant—betrayed.

Inaudibly, Raven collects the paperwork from the table and strides out of the room without a backward glance.

-----------

It’s ironic.

Raven’s obsessed with healing me from my physical disease, just as I am obsessed with curing Raven of her mental one. With the improvement in her physical appearance, I believed her to be on a spiritual path of wellness. I was promptly proven incorrect.

There’s a box containing Raven’s most prized possessions. Apparently, Raven had saved a plethora of notes from Milo inside that box. After our conversation and my admission that Milo thought it’d be best if she didn’t come along to California, Raven silently exited my room. Scouring her own, she found that box and carried it to the kitchen sink, ultimately lighting a match inside it. She burnt everything, nearly taking the kitchen down with the flames.

Upon smelling smoke and hearing the commotion, I charged downstairs in time to find Raven fumbling to retrieve the fire extinguisher before it considerably overheated. I shoved her aside and took control.

Raven didn’t mean for the fire to get out of hand. She was counting on turning on the sink faucet after burning the contents of the box. However, as Raven doesn’t cook very often, she had no clue that the water pipe to the kitchen was shut off yesterday. That girl’s no Martha Stewart, and this incident will certainly not help her reputation inside a kitchen.

While Raven hid in her room, I handled the successive hysterics of our parents. I assured them it was an accident, but I have no idea how we’ll convince the insurance company of the same. Nonetheless, I took photos to document the damages in order to file an insurance claim.

By the time I’m done dealing with the mess, it’s nearly nighttime. Heading upstairs, I open the door to Raven’s room. She turns from her computer, eyeing me guiltily. Our dialogue is limited, relying on our telepathy to bypass small talk.

“Why?” I get right to the point.

Raven appears skeptical, deciding how to proceed. There’s no need for excuses since I can smell through her bullshit better than the kitchen fire from earlier.

“You know how we sometimes get a pass on things. That’s what I need right now.”

“Rave, you nearly burnt the kitchen—”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Insurance will cover it, but that’s not the point.”

“In that case, I’d like to be alone.”

“Rave—”

“Please, Reid. Leave me alone.”

I walk backward out of her room with a perplexed nod, leaving the door open to look at her from outside. I never pegged Raven as volatile or impulsive. I was hell-bent on molding her out of this fixation over Milo, never expecting Raven to be the one who’d scare me more than Milo.

Raven has grown so much over the last few months. She’s physically stronger and mentally capable of handling herself against the most vicious of people, including Sinclairs. She’s even a savvy businesswoman now. Raven has healed mentally and physically. I credited these changes to Milo’s absence.

But as I stare at the lone figure, the conscious vision declares none of those things matter to her. The rest is an empty façade when the most essential ingredient in her life is missing.

For the first time since we excavated Raven and Milo’s tumultuous past, I wonder if I made a terrible mistake.

A Few Months Later

-----------

“Do you remember when Reid watched all of the MasterChef reruns and thought that he was a professional cook?”

Milo laughs at Mia’s upturned face while I roll my eyes at both of them. “A little sympathy for a man in pain?”

Mia ignores my plea. “And remember the time he tried to cook an entire chicken in sixty minutes because he saw Gordon Ramsay do it. The chicken was still frozen on the inside.”

Milo grimaces at the reminder. “Oh, God. Don’t remind me. He insisted that we eat it. I am pretty sure we were all one bite away from salmonella.”

I used the ‘dead man’ card one too many times to make demands, so Mia and Milo decided to pretend that I’m dead. They are doing a roast at my funeral. Welcome to the Sinclair family’s sense of humor. And people wonder where I get it from.

Shortly after celebrating Christmas, Mia and I left for California to prep for my surgery.

Ever since our move to California, I have been picking up on the subtle hints about the variances in Milo’s personality. Even though he’s keeping a cheery attitude, everything is odd about Milo, down to his new unshaven look. Initially, I thought he was just living a new, free life away from us. But as I ascertain the disastrous condition of his condo, I’m not so sure anymore. This rendition of his condo is jogging my memory of my own place over the years. Never have I known Milo not to keep a tidy place. He’s usually a neat freak.

Milo and I went through our operations a few weeks ago. Following his procedure, Milo was released shortly after, while I stayed longer at the transplant clinic. I was released today and transported back to his apartment.

Since then, both Mia and Milo have been annoyingly present. They are mocking me, but I know they are keeping me company to distract me from the pain. Honestly, I’d rather have some downtime on this couch to sort through my Netflix options.

However, I haven’t voiced my preference. Milo and Mia made up, and for the first time, they are cracking jokes together. I don’t want to break up this little reunion.

Milo reached out to Mia on numerous occasions over the last year, hoping to make up. The first olive branch Mia even accepted was his invite to come along on this trip.

Initially, Mia simply called it a truce over the phone. She was determined to travel here to keep an eye on us during post-operation recovery. After we arrived in California, Mia continued to willfully maintain her distance from Milo. While Mia can forgive Milo for putting his hands on her, I know she can’t forgive him for what he did to Raven.

Despite his actions, I couldn’t let Mia believe the worst of Milo. All three of us are on the same page about one thing. Mia doesn’t need to drown in our shit. The rest of us are messed up. We need at least one Sinclair to graduate unscathed from the fuckery of that household. All of us put our money on Mia, and I am not giving up.

The fall out with Milo was affecting Mia worse than I had imagined. Mia’s been acting uncharacteristically since their fight. That’s what happens when your innocent beliefs about your hero are shattered to pieces. Mia is much too young to live with that sort of cynicism.

Over the weeks, I watered down Milo and Raven’s past to convince Mia of the exact lie Raven had spouted. Mia didn’t believe Raven’s explanations because it’s in Raven’s genes to protect the people she loves. However, Mia knows that I have nothing to gain from lying.

I asserted that whatever transpired between Mia and Milo was an isolated incident. There wasn’t a conventional answer, but Mia understood that her accusations hit home for Milo, and he lost it because of all the pressures from work and his responsibilities at home. I further insisted that Milo never hit Raven, a detail that I am starting to believe myself with each passing day.

Whenever I brought up the topic of consent, Raven dodged me, which indicated that it happened. However, she vehemently maintained that Milo never hit her. Initially, I was adamant that it was her mental instability, but now I think she was telling me the truth all along.

Milo constantly buys Mia expensive things, assuming money will eradicate his remorse. The thing is, Mia already forgave him. Regardless of the broken heart from Milo’s actions, Mia’s old enough to understand that she held Milo to impossibly higher standards since she considered her hero to be better than others. It wasn’t fair.

Recently, Milo and Mia have spent countless hours catching up. Now that Mia’s blissfully ignorant, she’s able to make amends with Milo without her conscience acting as a hindrance. She’s returned to a unicorn bubble where the sky is pink, and I’ll kill any fucker who tries to convince my baby sister otherwise.

“Yuck!” Mia makes a face, making me wonder if I should go ahead and ruin her new picture-perfect world. “At least it was better than his American Idol phase.”

“Hey, asshole. I’m still sitting right here.”

“I believe that was a dual-phase for both of them.” Milo quirks an eyebrow. “Reid and Raven wouldn’t stop singing along to every single song on that damn show. Do you know how many of my favorite songs those two ruined?”

Milo sucks in a breath upon recognizing that he mentioned Raven yet again. He does it frequently—bring up Raven’s name without meaning to do so.

Every time he does, Milo’s entire aura changes.

Yesterday, we disclosed Raven’s kitchen incident and the fire to Milo. Ever since then, there’s been a dark cloud over his head. Milo’s struggling.

Quickly brushing over the sour topic, I charge ahead. “I am an excellent singer. Way to throw a dead man under the bus with no way of defending himself.”

“Are you serious? You’ve been defending yourself the whole time.”

“But you two are pretending that I’m dead. So, technically, you can’t hear my protests.”

Mia and I continue arguing, subconsciously distracting Milo now instead of me because it’s transparent that his pain is greater than mine.

“I’m gonna make a sandwich. Do you guys want anything?” Milo asks, no doubt in an attempt to hide his pain-stricken face at the mention of Raven’s name.

As soon as Mia and I shake our heads, Milo leaves the room. Mia gives me a shoulder nudge and a pointed head nod. Exchanging a knowing look, I pull myself to standing. Luckily, light activity, such as walking, has been sanctioned by the doctor.

With a deep sigh, I follow Milo out of the room and into the kitchen. “Hey, you okay?” I inquire casually.

“Yeah.” He turns slightly in my direction before scouring the fridge again. There’s no food inside it, yet another irregularity in Milo’s behavior pattern.

“Hmm, I can see that.” I arch my eyebrow at the empty fridge Milo’s blankly staring at.

Giving up the facade, Milo closes the refrigerator door and turns to me, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “What's up?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to see how long you can pretend there's food inside that fridge."

Milo blesses me with his signature scowl. "Got something to say, Reid?"

"Plenty," I admit, warily watching Milo’s demeanor. Seconds pass as Milo waits for me to emphasize on the ‘plenty’ that I have to say. “She’s in Mexico now,” I finally announce.

“Who?”

I ignore Milo’s insistence to maintain this charade. It’s been killing him since learning about Raven’s accident. He won’t rest easy any time soon. “I think you should go see her.”

I remain apathetic while Milo stares at me quizzically, face covered with suspicion. “That’s a very different tune than the one you have been singing.”

“According to you, I have no tune.”

Milo rolls his eyes at me, but his attention is peaked. There’s something in his features I haven’t seen since my arrival to California. He’s cautiously optimistic.

“What about all of her involuntary reactions. What if—” Milo averts his gaze before quickly muttering— “what if Raven hurts herself again?”

I shrug noncommittally, though I know Raven wouldn’t do that anymore. She watched me in pain for a whole year. She knows firsthand that when one of us suffers, everyone else suffers alongside. There’s no way she’ll put everyone else what I put them through.

“The only way to find out is to see her in person.”

“After everything that happened with Mia—”

“Raven won’t find out about that… at least not from either of us.”

Mia and I have been watching Milo walk around like a ghost since our arrival. We both expected Milo’s new life to be uplifting, but it’s clear that he has gradually descended into a pit of everlasting sorrow.

The same is true of Raven.

“Neither of us want to see you guys this sad. While we don’t understand your dynamics, it’s evident that it can’t go on like this for either of your sake.”

“You, of all people, are saying this?”

“Actually, I’m not. It was Mia’s decision.” It’s Mia’s prerogative whether or not Raven should be informed of what happened with Milo.

After Milo became privy to the fire incident, Mia and I had a conversation. Mia suggested talking to Milo about visiting Raven in Mexico. She even insisted that Milo shouldn’t mention the choking incident to Raven. The only way they can move past this is by simply moving forward.

Milo scoffs, shaking his head. “What happened to Mia’s moral compass?”

“She realized it was overrated. But—” I look Milo over with as much menace I can muster— “we’ll always have this to hold over your head. If there’s even a hint of a repeat of past behaviors, Mia will bring down her wrath. I’m sure neither of us wants that.”

My half attempt at a threat makes Milo smirk. It’s the first genuine smile I have seen in Milo. He’s happy… and all it took was the possibility of seeing Raven again.

“Noted,” he says slyly before marching out as I watch his retreating back.

My doubts will never be put to rest about those two, but my conclusion is finally drawn. Raven and Milo might kill each other over their tumultuous relationship. However, being alive without the other person is a fate worse than death for both of them.

-----------

Raven

It’s been a few months since the living donor transplant.

I was surprised by Reid’s change of heart to accept Milo as a donor, yet not at all. With the increase in parcels, informational brochures sent our way, and various email subscriptions that Milo no doubt signed us up for, I knew Milo was growing hopeless at the thought of Reid’s deteriorating health. Honestly, so was I.

Fortunately, everything went better than expected with both of the boys recovering well. Unable to help myself, I incessantly bug Mia for updates. She tries her best to contact me, indisputably busy in her efforts to take care of her brothers while continuing her college curriculum online.

I know Reid isn’t out of the woods yet. I have read the long-term statistics, but I’m choosing to push away the grim thoughts to celebrate the smaller victories.

The surgery went well, and the three of them are staying at Milo’s place. As they are healing physically, they are also mending the broken bond between the three siblings.

I felt beyond wretched upon learning that Milo didn’t want me around while undergoing major surgery. After our last phone conversation, I left the ball in his court. I thought he’d at least want me there while recovering from a procedure of such magnitude.

Initially, my heart would lurch at the reminder every time, and I’d unconsciously rub my chest to heal the imaginary wound. However, now I’m glad that the three of them have this time to bury the hatchet. Whatever transpired, it’s evident that I was the common denominator. So, I have been maintaining my distance, only reaching out to Mia occasionally for updates on both of the boys. As much as possible, I resist asking everything about Milo and his new life.

Mia sends me regular texts and emails. One of her emails was particularly eye-opening. She revealed running into Brandon and his new ‘side piece’ in California.

Though initially furious, Mia was relieved over not throwing away life-changing opportunities based on his advice. Mia expressed disappointment in herself for getting carried away on a whim and admitted she was happy with her decision to go to Yale while attending beauty school on the side.

Now that her bond with Milo is restored, she realizes the folly in her entanglement with Brandon. Apparently, her conversations with Milo have put her trepidations over our relationship to rest as well. Mia suggested that I defy Reid’s wishes and visit them on the West Coast.

But I turned down Mia’s idea since Reid banned anyone else from coming to California. He didn’t want the fuss of a giant, crazy family around him.

Instead, I booked a trip to Mexico for Alexa’s wedding.

Alexa recently got engaged to the man of her dreams. He owns a couple of hotels in Mexico, so she’ll be shifting to Tulum temporarily. She invited me along to work remotely and help her with wedding planning during my downtime.

Now that Milo’s physical condition is back to normal, he’s allowed to travel again. I hoped he’d also be in attendance but was disappointed to learn that Milo turned down the invite to Alexa’s wedding festivities.

However, within the first week of my arrival in Mexico, I received an eye-opening letter from Reid. The letter was more of a poem, which I must have re-read a thousand times over. The ending was succinct: Reid and I won’t be in each other’s lives moving forward.

As I stare down at the text that just came through, I finally understand the motives behind Reid’s letter.

Milo: I’m coming to Mexico. Meet me at Alexa’s engagement party.

Destiny

-----------

Our love story is a tale as old as time.

There was once a Boy and a Girl.

Boy loved Girl. Girl loved Boy.

It was that innocent sort of love. The type of love you experience during the tenderest moments of your childhood. You hold hands, peck each other on the cheeks, and promise to be together forever and ever and ever. Everyone laughed and said it was cute.

As they aged, the Girl dismissed the silly notions and grew out of them. The Boy did not.

As time went on, the Girl became enthralled with another, a Man who held the keys to their lives. So, when the Boy found out that his time on earth was limited, he had no other choice but to step away. What love could a dying man give to a girl like that?

So, he stayed away… until he found out the truth.

It wasn’t love. It was insanity. The only way a love like that could end is in death, with bloodshed and total destruction of one another.

The Boy panicked. He knew that he had to save them both.

The Boy tried to convince the Girl. She refused.

The Boy tried to convince the Man. He refused.

Their abusive relationship had reached a level he couldn’t surmise. So, he did the only thing that felt right to him. He intervened.

The Boy and the Girl had a journey of their own. They spent a whole year together, healing one another as they both saw fit.

Their story had it all. Laughter. Joy. Adventure. Love... but just a different version than the one the Boy had envisioned. There was nothing harmful about their love. The Boy loved the Girl even more than before. In return, the Girl gave the Boy the best year of his life.

He was fulfilled and grateful for those moments.

But as time dwindled, the Boy knew that she wasn’t happy. Her heart belonged to another, and no amount of pretense could change that fact. In the end, the Boy admitted that the insanity was the Girl and the Man’s form of love.

The Girl and the Boy had taught each other a mantra, live, heal, and laugh. With the Man’s help, the Boy healed the Girl just like the Girl healed the Boy.

The Boy had given her all the tools to make her stronger. He realized there was nothing more he could do except to step away. The Boy still didn’t agree with the love the Girl and the Man shared. But he knew this time the Girl could face the Man without destroying herself.

That reassurance finally allowed the Boy to let the Girl go.

I will love you until my very last breath. But I hope you understand why only one of us can remain in your life, because I finally understand why it had to be him.

-Reid

Chapter 14

The Present: Winter, 2021

A Year With You

-----------

Milo

She is nervous. She always wears more makeup whenever she is nervous. The formal dress Raven is sporting for a casual lunch with our parents further indicates her nerves. It’s the fashion designer in her. She believes appearance can change your mood.

When you look confident, you feel confident. It's one of Raven’s mottos.

As if that will appease the awkwardness of today’s luncheon.

Nervousness is not the exact feeling I am personally experiencing. I’d say I am more apprehensive than nervous.

After our return from Mexico, Raven and I have stayed nestled in my condo for the last few weeks. Our focus has remained on renovating the place, though Raven willfully ignores all redecoration projects.

With the holidays around the corner, Raven twisted my arm into rekindling my relationship with my parents at long last. I still don’t feel secure in my position with them, but apparently, healthy relationships are all about compromise.

Who knew?

We are walking up the street that leads to our family brownstone, where both sets of our parents still live together. Dad now works full-time at his clinic, so he can pay for his expenses without our help. Uncle John’s license is officially reinstated, so he now practices alongside Dad.

Mom oversees Raven’s shop as her on-site manager, while Theressa supervises the fifteen seamstresses who work for Raven. While Tessa’s issues are still on-going, her bond with Theressa and working at the shop has given her a new purpose.

As for Reid, he’s temporarily staying at my condo in California. Following his transplant, he never moved back, citing the weather as a major reason for his migration. My belief is his resignation about seeing Raven and me together.

Reid might never believe in what Raven and I have, but it’s up to us to prove his concerns incorrect. Over the last few months, we have made every effort to balance each other and pull the other person back whenever one of us tethers at the edge. We’ll always be a work in progress, but, at this point, working through our peculiar issues is second nature.

“You okay?” I squeeze the hand I am holding and look over at a quiet Raven.

“Yeah, I am fine,” Raven says in a soft, husky voice. “Are you?”

Raven’s trepidation remains. A lot rides on this lunch today, including every interaction with our parents moving forward. Undoubtedly, our parents will have some anger for my blatant disregard of their feelings over the last year and a half.

Since our return, Mia’s the only person we have seen. She remains cautiously supportive of us, despite the many talks we had during her visit to California and since my return.

Mia was in charge of breaking the news to the remaining family members about organizing this luncheon today, so we are unsure of the reception that awaits us.

As we come to a stop in front of the brownstone, Raven turns to face me and presses a kiss on my lips.

“What was that for?”

Raven simply shrugs. “A thank you for doing this.”

Unable to help myself, I ask, “If things don’t go well—”

“Then you don’t have to see them for another year and a half,” Raven responds without hesitation, though it would kill Raven to cut off all communication with the family. While I thrive in their absence, Raven doesn’t.

For months, Raven limited their involvement in her life until we landed on a decision about our parents. She did it for my sake, so we can be a united front. The verdict stands; we want them in our lives but will never again allow them to pull us into their mess. We are both determined to maintain a small distance from them at all times.

Raven’s forehead lands on my chest, then she gets on her tiptoes to kiss me again. “But I hope it doesn’t come to that. We can’t ignore them forever.”

“We can try,” I suggest.

“Well, anytime you want to leave, just squeeze my hand.”

“I’m holding you to it,” I say grumpily.

She wraps her arms around my neck, lighting up my entire fucking world. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the big, bad wolf.”

“I think I’m the only big bad wolf you have to worry about,” I growl in a low voice as I reach over to kiss her. A quick kiss turns messier when Raven clasps her hands behind my neck.

We are making out in the middle of the street, in front of our brownstone, when the door flings open. I turn to stare at whoever was brave enough to interrupt us so rudely.

Of course, it’s my brat of a little sister, even though she is not so little anymore, nor is she a brat. Watching her grow up feels like the fruits of our labor coming into fruition. Mia truly is the only Sinclair kid to get out of this house without scars. She’s perfect.

Well, except for one thing—Mia’s new blue hair.

It’s the only thing Mia’s ever done to make me cringe. Raven reminded me five times before we left that I’m not allowed to complain about the hair, although every instinct screams to drag Mia to the first salon I can find and have them change her hair back.

“Hi guys,” Mia squeals excitedly and pulls us inside for hugs. “I missed you so much,” she gushes at no one in particular, though I am guessing she is only referring to Raven.

“I missed you too, babe,” Raven squeals back.

“You two saw each other at breakfast… literally a few fucking hours ago.”

Raven ignores my comment. I shake my head. Mia is the only person who can make Raven sound like a valley girl. Half of me thinks that Raven does it to entertain Mia; the other half thinks Raven genuinely gets that excited talking to her.

“So, I heard blond hair is the ‘in’ look this season,” I chime in over their excitable conversation, looking over the mass of blue in disdain.

They both ignore my sardonic comment with a hand wave as I consider packing Mia into a shipping box and sending her to that boarding school I had once researched.

“It doesn’t even have to be blonde. There are other colors. Brown—"

“Everyone is waiting for you guys in the dining room,” Mia interjects.

“Red—”

“Interesting,” Mia says dryly while Raven glares at me with a pointed look.

“Black—”

“And blue,” Mia finishes. “Now, let’s go to the dining room.”

Raven tugs at my hand to lead us to the dining room, presumably to divert my attention from Mia’s appalling hair. I tilt my head toward the dining room. “How’s the mood in there?”

“The only way to find out is by walking in.”

Raven and I both take a deep breath as she squeezes my hand hard enough to break it.

“Easy, baby,” I murmur against her ear.

“Oh, sorry.” Raven lightly releases my hand and visibly swallows. We walk into the dining room hand in hand. And…

“Hi!” Tessa yells out first.

“Oh my God, my baby. How are you?” Theressa squeals.

“Son,” Dad grins ear to ear as he takes me in for a hug.

“I missed you, honey,” Raven’s dad gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

As they inspect us, we are passed off from parent to parent and engulfed in more hugs. By the end, Raven and I have been kissed more times than a newborn baby. I wipe off smears of Theressa’s lipstick from my cheek with the back of my hand, only to notice the giant banner that’s hanging on the dining room wall.

Welcome Home!

“Are you sure that banner is big enough?”

They turn around in unison to look at the banner and promptly start laughing.

It turns out that our absence provided the parents with a new perspective on life. Since our move to the villa in Mexico, Raven barely took their calls. Without either of the responsible members around, who generally picked up their slack, our parents received a lesson in independence. The more independent they became, the more they realized the fallout from their neglect and how long we had been coddling them.

They don’t even care that I have been ignoring this family for the last year and a half. Or that Raven ghosted them months ago. They are just happy to see us both.

Throughout lunch, it’s evident that our parents are also ecstatic about our union. After understanding the struggle they put both Raven and me through, they truly want us to be happy because it’s our turn.

Damn right!

-----------

We spent the day with our families yesterday and stayed the night at the brownstone. Our dads weren’t happy with us sleeping together in my old bedroom, but guess how many fucks I give? Zero. Not to mention, Raven painted it pink in my absence, so staying here last night was no cake-walk for me either.

I watch Raven from the bed. She is sitting at the desk, working on the paperwork scattered in front of her. Raven is reading up on a new research program for Tessa, who remains a train wreck.

This is so Raven. Always trying to save the people around her. Her cute little highlighter is her best friend. She thinks it will help her find the cure for all ailments.

Regardless of previously failed attempts, Raven will never give up on Tessa. She’ll always take care of Tessa the same way she takes care of me, never giving up even when I am at my worst. Something takes over as I watch her determined face, ready to do the impossible for the people she loves.

Although I proclaimed not to care, the assurance of having our families in our corner does change things. We are finally together without all the other bullshit. The fear of it being ripped away will always remain, but it will never again dictate our future.

“Rave,” I call for her attention.

“Yeah?” Raven says without looking up from the mass of paperwork.

“Will you marry me—”

“Yes,” Raven cuts me off to answer the question I didn’t even get to ask. Nor does she look up from her paperwork. It’s as if I just asked her if Chinese is okay for dinner tonight.

“Did you hear my question?” I ask cautiously.

“Did you hear my answer?”

I have been walking around with this question for far too long, which makes her answer… irritating. “How the hell is that any way to respond to the question I just asked?”

Raven still doesn’t look up. “And how the hell is that any way to ask such a question?”

For once, I wanted to create better memories in this house rather than the atrocious ones we have. In my haste to accomplish that, I got carried away. This is my second bad proposal.

Considering I had intended to drop to one knee and pop the question even before launching my career, and while the allegations of our improper relation were still fresh, one would think I had enough time to rehearse by now. Not to mention, I also planned a big old grand proposal for Raven a year and a half ago, on her twenty-second birthday.

We separated before that could happen.

But now, I realize it makes no difference. Raven doesn’t care about superficial gestures.

I stalk toward her. Grabbing the highlighter out of Raven’s hand, I take a knee.

“Raven Beckett, will you make me the happiest man on earth by marrying me?”

“Where is my ring?” she inquires instead of responding to my ‘proper’ proposal.

This has got to be a record for the number of worst proposals in a row. Instead of a grand gesture, I had a sentimental bit planned for the proposal, and I even bombed that. “This is going great,” I mutter under my breath.

Shaking the treats in my pocket, I signal for the ring, which I had previously forgotten to do. Mr. Whiskers runs into the room at the sound of treats. I had stationed his crate in the bathroom and hooked the ring to his collar so he can be a part of the proposal.

“Oh my God,” Raven jumps up and down on her chair, clapping her hands when Mr. Whiskers comes charging in. He has a small board hanging around his neck that says:

Say YES!

I spent hours training Mr. Whiskers to answer the call to treats because nothing else worked. That fat dog is a slave to his food.

The dog practically fishes in my pants for his treat as I attempt to pry the ring off of his collar. Meanwhile, Raven praises the dog, telling him how good he is for surprising her. I smile only because it makes her smile.

Raven holds both of her hands to her chest, eyes ramping up with tears. “I can’t believe you included him. This is the sweetest thing you have ever done.”

Taking her face between both hands, I quickly kiss her tears away. There’ll be no more tears in this house, happy or otherwise. We have too many bad memories here, so it’s time to make some better ones.

Suddenly, a previously oversight thought occurs to me.

“How did you know about the ring? For all you knew, I didn’t buy one.” I narrow my eyes at a guilty-looking Raven.

“Umm… we live together, and you keep the box in your nightstand.” Raven sheepishly smiles as I shake my head.

“Are there no more sacred places left for a man to hide his personal belongings?”

“Not if you are getting married,” Raven dismissively retorts, still poking her head around impatiently for my progress at attaining the ring. “Eek,” she squeals when I finally pull it off Mr. Whiskers’ collar. Raven tries to grab at it frantically while I hold it out of her reach.

Never have I seen anyone be this excited over something so… frugal.

To be frank, it taints my ego to give her an engagement ring that costs the same as one of Raven’s designer bags. But this old piece of scrap without significant monetary value means more to Raven than anything else I could give her.

My grandmother’s ring belongs to Tessa’s family. The ring can only ever be inherited by a blood relative or sold to someone else in the family because of its special history to our family.

My grandparents were two star-crossed lovers from opposite sides of the track. All of society was against their union, but in the end, their love prevailed.

Though my grandfather went on to become a very wealthy man, at that time, he was a lowly worker who slaved every day for a year to save for this ring; a one-carat solitaire diamond.

When Raven found out about the love story behind it, the look in her eyes was something I’d never forget. It’s that faint heart of hers, always a sucker for romance. Raven used to salivate after this ring, though she knew it wouldn’t pass down to her.

I was twenty-one when I procured the ring. At that time, the ring belonged to my Uncle, a sworn bachelor with no interest in settling down. I bought it from him after coming into my trust fund. The family estate lawyer had to oversee the transaction, so I couldn’t make the purchase without the entire family finding out. With a detached approach, I guaranteed that substantiating this ring was nothing more than preserving an heirloom for my siblings’ future spouses.

In reality, this ring was destined for Raven. The story behind it reminds me of our own. And to Raven, this ring represents true love. So, I can only ever give her this ring because that’s what I feel for her—True love.

I have owned this piece of jewelry for more than six years. It’s been weighing me down for so long that I need this moment to be a little better than the one we just had.

“I’m trying to be romantic,” I scold her. Raven likes romance, so it’s a feat I’m attempting to accomplish with each passing day. However, I don’t always succeed. “Now, be a lady and stick out your finger so we can get properly engaged.”

Raven gives me her middle finger. “Is that lady-like enough for you?”

Getting a high from Raven’s reactions will never subside for me. While Raven acts lady-like around others with her proper Upper West Side manners, I love prodding a non-lady-like reaction out of her. However, I shouldn’t push her by asking her to reform to set societal expectations during such a tender moment.

“Raven,” I warn.

“You said to stick out my finger,” she says easily.

“Stop being an asshole. Now, give me your hand and give me a fucking answer. My knee is starting to hurt.”

“You are not supposed to call me an asshole while asking my hand in marriage.”

“This is the worst proposal in history!”

“You are one to talk. You called me an asshole.”

“I meant to say gorgeous.”

Despite herself, Raven displays a full set of teeth, unable to hide her grin or the blush creeping up on her face.

“How about I start again?” I suggest gently.

Raven smiles and nods enthusiastically.

“Raven Beckett, I have loved you for so long that I can’t even remember a time before you. I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife. Make me the happiest man on earth. Marry me!” It’s supposed to be a question but comes out as a command, especially as I grab her hand before she responds. I barely manage to slide the ring onto her finger before Raven jumps on my lap.

In between kisses, she manages to say, “Yes,” while Mr. Whiskers distractedly walks back to the bathroom, presumably to find his crate and return to his slumber.

Raven abruptly stops kissing me. Tearing herself out of my grasp, she stands.

“Rave?”

Wordlessly, Raven stands to her full length as I do the same. With reverence and awe, I watch her slip out of her white dress, a premonition of what’s to come. My eyes follow the lines of her panties and bra. I don’t get to admire the visual for long before Raven undoes her bra and peels her underwear down, letting it pool around her ankles. An utterly naked Raven takes my hand to direct me to the office chair she was sitting on only a moment ago.

“Rave?” I inquire again while forcing my hands to remain on my side. Aphrodite herself has graced the earth with her presence. So, it’s best not to break this trance.

Raven signals me to sit on the chair while she hops on the desk, shoving the paperwork off to clear a space. Her feet firmly rest on either side of my thighs on the cushion of the chair. Raven grabs my face with both hands and slowly pulls me between her legs. As I lean forward, she leans back until she is lying flat back on my desk.

-----------

Raven

I clasp his face with both hands and hold him between my thighs. Milo appears to be my willing complicit. His hands slide up my thighs to cup my ass, reminding me of his complete possession when he squeezes my cheeks tight enough to leave fingerprints.

My hands stay firmly on his cheeks, his mouth parallel to my pussy. He moves his mouth lower, his eyes locked on me. It’s at such a glacial speed that I want to thrust up until his tongue is on me and I am writhing underneath it. But Milo only blows on my heated sex.

“Milo,” I plead with a look of pure desperation.

A deviation in our role has persisted over the weeks. We inadvertently find ourselves leading with each other’s love languages.

After our move back to New York, Milo initially led with superficial gestures to fill my life with romance—flowers, jewelry, designer purses. It’s that ‘bougieness’ in him. While those efforts still persist, he finally understood that it’s the simple gestures that make me fall in love with him more. On the days I go into my shop, Milo makes me lunch and even includes a lunch note, which I dutifully collect. Since the unfortunate kitchen ‘incident’ of 2020 burnt down all the notes Milo had ever given me, he got me a new box to fill with fresh mementos.

Then there are days when I tackle Milo before he even steps foot inside our home since I know he loves it when I take charge in the bedroom.

However, even as I attempt to be the aggressor, Milo refuses to let me set the pace.

Without making an effort to touch me, Milo continues blowing on my pussy from top to bottom. When I try to thrust my hip up to get him where I need him, he pinches my sides, holding me down on the table with a strong grasp on my hips.

Frustration ripples through me. “You are driving me crazy.” I wiggle for contact, agonizing over my need for friction. My need for him.

Milo continues to deny me, teasing me with only his hot breath on my pussy. No matter what demands I make, he plays with me and uses my body as he sees fit. But the pure carnal look in his eyes promises to make this so good that I’ll forget this small act of cruelty. I am dripping, and all he has done to answer the call is blowing on my pussy as if trying to soothe it.

My hands are now in his hair, desperately tugging at them. He finally places a small kiss on my lips. I immediately moan from the contact, hoping it will never end.

I hiss when he nips with his teeth in between the gentle kisses. It's a mixture of fire and ice. His teeth are setting me on fire; his lips are cooling me down.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, placing more small kisses.

Breathlessly, I raise my read to look at him. “I want your tongue on my clit.”

I have barely said the words when Milo latches onto my thighs, and his tongue draws a path from my clit to my opening.

“Oh God,” I blow out a long breath of relief at the overpowering contact. I grind my pussy on his tongue, holding onto his hair for support.

With shaky breaths and trembling legs, my body writhes wildly under him.

“What else?” he mumbles, the breath of air only driving me more insane.

“Lick me harder, Milo. Please. I’m so close.”

My desperate plea sets him off. His growl is low but no less threatening. Milo sets in, his teeth grazing as he sucks my whole pussy, before pressing his tongue to grind against my clit.

My peak is achingly close, and I claw his arms to get me to the finish line.

“Fuuuck…”

Two unexpected fingers invade, curling to hit my G-spot at the same time as his tongue swipes with excruciating force, lapping at me so menacingly that it’s almost painful. I barely manage to muffle the earth-shattering scream. My body convulses, vision hazing, and tears streaming down my cheeks.

Droplets of wet sensation run down my ass cheeks, his cocky look confirming that the wet pool gathering under me is my own doing. Milo licks up every bit of it, dragging his tongue down to my ass cheeks to keep at it while his fingers stay locked inside and his thumb keeps rubbing my clit. His predatory noises only elongate my high.

I am still softly moaning under my breath when Milo’s fingers disappear and his cock slams into me. Once more, my screams are muted, this time by Milo’s lips—the salty taste reminding me of where his mouth was only moments ago. He smacks inside my throbbing pussy over and over again, making me spasm every time he hits my swollen clit.

“Fuck… oh fuck. Baby, your pussy feels amazing.” Milo groans like a wild animal.

A silent cry falls out of my parted lips. Milo’s arm slides underneath my waist as he leans in, his other arm hooking under my right knee to lift it up and shoving deep enough inside to make me cramp.

My body trembles under him while my head knocks back. A pair of lips latch onto my neck as Milo growls against my skin, his cock pulsing inside me. Milo keeps pumping his hips until he is spent and worn-out and until my eyes are rolling to the back of my head.

We both crumple together on the table, feeling disheveled.

Neither of us could move even if we wanted to, which is alright because there is nowhere in this world I’d rather be other than in his secure embrace.

Chapter 15

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Raven

I peek my head out of the bridal room window.

Nothing to report. No one to report.

“Expecting someone else?”

I jump at the unexpected voice of my maid of honor.

“No, babe,” I give Mia a big smile. “I am not expecting anyone else. But I am worried your brother might charge in here to see the dress.”

Mia shrugs. “Probably.”

Turning back, I make my way to the center of the room and the big three-way mirror.

“Pay attention, Raven. Step on the riser,” Mom demands.

Mom is my bridal gown designer. She has designed dresses for other brides before, but I am the worst she has ever dealt with. I am twitchy. Impatient. Restless. I keep moving, and it pisses her off. I stand on the step in front of the mirror as she fusses with my over-the-top dress.

Shockingly, it wasn’t Milo’s bougie ass who wanted a big wedding. This was equally my idea. The lavish dress. The pricey flowers. The venue. We have waited so long for this day; it felt silly to elope after all we have been through.

“Here,” Mia hands me an iced coffee, and Mom shrieks at the top of her lungs.

“You!” she points an accusing finger at Mia. She doesn’t usually yell at Mia, but her stress level is at an all-time high. “Who gives the bride dark-colored drinks before the wedding?”

Mia and I look at each other, then burst out laughing. Mom doesn’t find our laughter amusing, and Mia doesn’t dare test Mom’s patience again, retracting the iced coffee. Bummer.

Instead of focusing on my lost coffee, I stand there and try to calm my nerves.

“Do you want to practice your vows?” Mia asks while finishing my makeup.

“No, it’s okay. I practiced saying it last night.”

Mia turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what my brother said.”

My mouth drops open. “Milo spied on me?”

Mia only smiles mysteriously and shrugs.

“Ugh! You Sinclairs are always so infuriating. Even today.”

“Careful now, sis,” Mia sings. “You are about to become one in thirty minutes.”

Jon takes a few candid shots of me rolling my eyes at Mia while Theressa fusses with my dress some more. Jon is our photographer. He’s dutifully taking shots of Janeen, my other bridesmaid, putting on my veil while Mia puts on the finishing touches of my makeup. I have felt like a doll all day long, with everyone prodding and poking at me.

“You look so beautiful,” Mia says with wide, teary eyes.

“You do,” Mom joins in with the tears too.

“Okay, people, showtime!” our wedding planner, Alex, announces as he enters the room. He snaps his fingers at everyone, indicating that they need to go downstairs and line up.

Alex is by far my favorite vendor for our wedding. He made an inappropriate joke at our first meeting about how he acts like the stereotypical gay planner to add credibility in front of the high society women of New York. I hired him on the spot. His flair and inappropriate humor were a needed distraction during the high stress of planning.

Alex’s gaze lands on me. “Look at you! You are a vision. If I weren’t gay, I’d ask you to come around back for a quickie before you walk down the aisle.”

Yup. Besides my groom, Alex is definitely my favorite thing about this wedding. “There is still time,” I suggest though I’m pretty sure Milo would kill Alex, gay or otherwise.

Alex waves his hand. “I’ll pencil in a quickie with the bride after the first course,” he offers as I burst out laughing. “So, you ready, bride?”

I give him a quick nod. As we walk downstairs together, I see Janeen and Mia lined up, ready to walk out. Peeking out, I find my parents walking hand in hand and taking their seats. Given our past, it felt phony to have my dad walk me down the aisle. Honestly, there’s only one person I would have bestowed that role. But in his absence, I’m walking down the aisle alone.

At a distance, I note my groom and the officiant are already standing at the altar. All other guests are seated as well. I hear the ceremony music start and the clicks of the camera. Once the bridesmaids and groomsmen take their positions, everyone turns to look where I am supposed to pop out of. Alex cues the music change for the bride’s entrance song. My legs move me forward when the double doors open to lead me outside, only to have a surprise guest waiting for me on the other side.

“Reid!”

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Milo

Where is she?

I peek at the double doors for Raven’s entrance.

It probably hasn’t even been thirty seconds since the wedding party walked in. I am just that eager to marry the woman.

The planning process for this wedding took a few months. In typical Raven fashion, she created spreadsheets for each vendor category related to this wedding: cake, catering, decor, florals, lighting, DJ, photographer, videographer, officiant, ceremony music, favors, along with so many other details. Everything about our wedding excited her, and it filled my ego.

Raven would wake up in the middle of the night to sneak into our guest room, where she was hiding the wedding dress. In the beginning, I was unsure of her actions. I followed her to find her trying on her wedding dress, twirling around giddily in front of the mirror.

I didn’t even know Raven could twirl.

So, instead of forcing her to marry me the next day after proposing (my original plan), I got on board. It’s not about the wedding, it’s about us. Raven wanted to celebrate us, all the progress we have made, and all the hard work we put in daily to make our relationship work. We both deserve every meticulously picked-out floral arrangement, the stupid six-tower cake, the string quartet, and even the stuffy venue.

Now that we are at the home stretch, bouts of impatience are sporadically trickling through every moment closer to marrying her.

My eyes remain glued to the double doors of the mansion. Raven’s bridal suite is in that giant villa of this private beach. She is supposed to make the three-minute walk from the villa to the oceanfront altar, with the sunset backdrop.

My parents and Theressa are in the front row and are already in tears. Behind them are rows of chairs containing New York’s finest.

Once upon a time, this very society would have looked down on our union. The gossip hasn’t entirely eradicated. Through the grapevines, Raven and I still hear small snickering of our past relation to one another.

It’s a good thing we stopped caring about external factors.

At least everyone else here is our well-wishers. My groomsmen are lined up on my side. Janet and Mia are standing on Raven’s side and already blubbering.

There’s one other surprise guest in attendance; My wedding gift to Raven.

My relationship with Reid remains somewhat strained. However, I check in with Reid frequently. The post-op is going well, but the everlasting fear of relapse or his body rejecting the liver will always remain in the back of my mind.

Out of respect for my feelings, Raven distanced herself from Reid, even forgoing a simple discussion of Reid’s attendance at our wedding. Given his feelings and my out-of-control jealousy of their bond, perhaps she assumed it’d be inappropriate.

But I know Raven. She always hoped that Reid would walk her down the aisle one day. I wanted today to be perfect for her. So, I bit down on my jealousy and asked Reid, who was equally hesitant at the idea of attending our wedding.

While Reid gave us his blessing, it’s still impossible to watch the woman you love marry another man. I couldn’t have done it. Luckily for all of us, Reid’s a better man.

In the end, Reid came through, mumbling that he’s leaving right after the ceremony.

It’s more than I expected.

Finally, the music changes, and I see Raven and Reid’s heads poking out in the distance. As the wedding guests stand for the bride, I almost want to punch them in the face for blocking my view of Raven.

Unable to see the progress of their walk, but determining that enough time has lapsed, I tap my foot restlessly. Did they make a goddamn pit stop for fast food? Or did I make a mistake inviting Reid to this wedding?

Right as I am about to charge down the aisle, Raven comes into view. As usual, I see her dark hair flying around everywhere, nestled under her long veil.

My breath gets caught in my lungs, and I have to remind myself to exhale.

Raven looks like a goddess with her veil dragging behind her in that lacey dress. My wildest fantasy is so close that I can almost taste it.

Raven, my Xanax, manages to slightly bypass my jealousy of Reid. While my ever-consuming jealousy never descended, Raven once provided me with the necessary assurance to withstand this very moment.

Raven and I remain a paradox, even as we stand here today. For years, our families were a hindrance in our story. But if it weren’t for Reid or Mia, we would have never successfully solved our most integral issues. In the end, the same family who acted as an obstacle is the very reason for our union. Our circumstances continue to astonish me.

In every way, it was meant to be Raven and Reid at the end. They were made for one another. Fated to be together. Best friends with everything in common.

On the other hand, every obstacle stood in the way of Raven and me. Societal issues. Differences. Our demons. The stars were aligned against us.

We fought all of it to change our destiny. We moved mountains until finding ourselves at this very moment.

Our love prevailed, defying all odds, fate, prophecies, and even the stars themselves.

The only impediment in sealing our destiny now lies in the current distance between us. Just a few more steps remaining, I remind myself.

I watch the two people walking down the aisle. I mentally will Raven and Reid to walk faster, but they continue at a snail-like pace. Unable to wait any longer, I take long strides and meet them one-third way down the altar to grab my bride.

“It literally would have taken ten more seconds, asshole,” Reid mutters.

“Good to see you too, bro.” I wave him off, unable to tear my eyes away from Raven. Raven flushes as the guests simultaneously snicker at my display.

Reid rolls his eyes at me, then turns toward Raven.

Reid and Raven share a knowing look. Even now, I can’t read their exchanges, but I know they are telepathically speaking to one another.

I let it happen because though I can’t understand their nonverbal conversation, I know this much— they are saying goodbye.

With a final nod, Reid pecks Raven on the cheek, whose eyes are now downcast. Placing Raven’s hand in mine, Reid shakes my other hand firmly.

Before Reid can retract his hand or move toward one of the guest chairs, I blurt out, “Stand on my side.” Reid pauses, so I add, “Please.”

With a curt nod, Reid walks to my side to stand closest to me. I left the position of my Best Man open for this very reason.

“Did you do this?” Raven leans over to ask as I lead her to the alter.

“I didn’t do anything,” I reply, refusing to acknowledge any sanctioning of their bond.

Raven hands her bouquet to Mia and turns to me with a knowing smile on her face. “Well, thank you for doing nothing,” she whispers.

Dad is our officiant. He starts off with a long story about the meaning of marriage. Neither of us wanted religion incorporated into the wedding, but Dad insisted until we caved. I still glare at him to move it along.

Raven gives me the eye when she notices my glare directed at our officiant. She is mentally reprimanding me even though I am barely holding on by a thread.

When Dad asks us to exchange our vows, Raven goes first. Mia hands her some index cards, which presumably have her vows written on them.

“Milo,” Raven starts. “It took me a little longer—”

That’s as far as Raven gets before she chokes. A couple of lone tears fall down her cheeks, and I already know that she feels everything I am feeling. We have both waited so long for this moment. For a while, we never thought we’d be standing here.

I reach over to kiss her. “It’s okay, baby.”

“It’s not time to kiss yet,” Dad interrupts, earning him another glare from me. I kiss her again. When Dad protests, I shove him back lightly with a hand on his stomach.

She tries again. “Milo, it took—” Raven doesn’t make it as far as the last time before the emotions creep back up.

“I can go first,” I gently offer.

Raven sighs in relief and mouths, “Thank you.”

I barely start reading my vows before I’m hit with the same wave. “Rave…”

Nope. Can’t do it either. My voice is caught in my throat.

I never thought of myself as an emotional man, but no one will understand the process we had to go through to get to each other or what it means for us to share this moment. More than ten years of loving the same woman, and it took me this long to marry her.

It’s heartbreaking yet the victory of an epic love story.

“Are you guys okay?” Dad asks, looking between us.

Raven and I exchange a look, simultaneously coming to the same conclusion.

I turn to our guests. “Sorry guys, we are a bit emotional today. We are just going to privately exchange our vows.”

Everyone looks around in surprise. I ignore the hushed murmurs from our guests and hand my index cards over to Raven as she gives me hers in return.

We read each other’s vows to ourselves. As I read Raven’s vows, I realize she never had any intention of publicly exchanging them.

Milo,

It took me a little longer to get there, but the moment I did, I got pulled into the darkest corner of the ocean with the force of your love. And that’s exactly where I plan to stay for the rest of my life because I rather drown with you than be alive without you.

With that thought in mind, I want to promise a few things today.

First, I promise never to touch a stove without your supervision.

Second, I promise to always keep my singing to a minimum.

And last, I promise to love you until my dying breath no matter what.

Having said that, I need you to know that this is a one-way street. You are never allowed to change your mind either. And if you ever try to leave me again, I’ll chop off your balls.

If my love is too crazy for you, I’ll give you this one and only pass to make a run for it.

Otherwise, we’re in it for infinity.

I gape at Raven for a full shell-shocked second.

She said the only thing someone could say for our kind of love. Crazy as it may be, she told me exactly what I needed to hear from her today.

I have no idea what happens next. I can’t concentrate. I am lost to the words Raven wrote, the promises she made, and the beautiful girl who stumps me time and time again.

“We have now come to the words that will take the Bride and Groom across the threshold from being engaged to married,” I barely hear Dad’s booming voice. “A marriage, as most of us understand it, is a voluntary and full commitment. It is made in the deepest sense to the exclusion of all others, and it is entered into with the desire and hope that it will last for life.”

Dad signals for the rings. “Please take out your wedding rings and hold them to each other’s fingers. When asked, please respond by saying, I do, and place the rings.”

Robotically, I do as I am told and slide the wedding ring onto her finger.

“Do you take Raven as your lawfully wedded wife from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; forsaking all others till death do you part?”

“I do. With this ring, I take you as my wife for as long as I shall live.”

Dad turns his head to Raven next. “And do you take Milo as your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others till death do you part?”

“I do. With this ring, I take you as my husband for as long as I shall live.”

“With those words, and by the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

I am still oblivious to the world. I don’t blink, not wanting to look away from Raven in this surreal moment. What if I blink and she fades away?

Suddenly, Raven lunges at me, slamming her lips onto mine. Dad must have finally sanctioned kissing the bride, but I was too mesmerized. Raven saw that I missed the memo, and like my forever partner, she picked up the slack where I missed the mark.

I grab her at lightning speed, not caring about mauling her in front of a live audience. Dad’s the first to poke me, which means that we are becoming semi-inappropriate in public.

We finally pull back, feeling breathless. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch Reid slip away casually, not wanting any more display of this show. I’m already aware that he’ll make himself more and more scarce in our lives as time goes on. But I can’t focus on what’s to come.

For now, I can only focus on this girl in front of me. Resting my forehead against hers, we just stare at each other without another word.

It’s perfect in every way.

Epilogue

The Future: Winter, 2026

An Infinity with You

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Raven

I AM GOING TO MURDER MY HUSBAND!

The archive of women in crime shows who kill their spouses will have a new addition. They’ll call it ‘A crime of passion’ because I’m passionately pissed off.

My elbow is leaning against the arm of the chair. With two of my fingers on my temple, I close my eyes while dying of mortification.

Milo and I are at the principal’s office. Again!

My three-year-old son shouted out a variety of colorful words during preschool. Were it the first time this happened, it would have been a saving grace. I have a potty mouth kid, and the vibrant words were taught by—drumroll—my darling husband.

Milo thinks it’s hilarious when Damien curses. He modified his approach to parenthood. Whereas Milo was disciplinary with Mia and Reid, he is a free spirit with our two children.

“I have a system,” Milo likes to reassure me. The system consists of spoiling our children rotten before eventually redirecting their attention once they are old enough.

While I’m happy with Milo’s insistence on bonding with them over a fun childhood, our son’s filthy mouth might cause his suspension from this prestigious school. We had to pull so many strings to enroll him in this hoity-toity preschool. Milo made a huge donation. They interviewed us and even did a home inspection.

My preschool research efforts commenced the moment I found out I was pregnant with Damien. Milo mercilessly mocked my spreadsheets and prayed for our future kids’ unborn souls for having a crazy mother. Sue me for wanting only the best opportunities for our children.

Initially, we hoped for a boy and girl back-to-back to minimize their age gap, so they can grow up together. However, Milo refused to try for a second kid after complications during my pregnancy with Damien.

So instead, we adopted a baby girl from Mexico. We loved the idea of giving a home to a child who needed one, and we had strong ties to that country. It’s where our love story flourished.

Now, we have a three-year-old hellraiser, Damien, who loves to curse. And a two-year-old baby girl, Layla, who Milo’s attempting to turn into a brat.

Damien started preschool a few months ago, and Layla is due to start next year, which is quite expensive.

Luckily, we are a two-income household. We are not mega-millionaires, nor do we chase arbitrary monetary goals. We are simply successful in our respective careers and are blessed to live a comfortable lifestyle well within our means. We saved and budgeted to migrate to our building’s penthouse, along with hiring a car service with a chauffeur. Milo was also insistent on setting up trust funds so our kids can pursue anything their hearts desire without worrying about finances. Every day, we do enough to give our children their best chances in life.

No more. No less.

I still own my shop and travel for fashion shows. While Milo doesn’t freak out anymore when we are out of one another’s sight, he does get grumpy about it. In fact, I only returned home last night after five days away for a fashion show in upstate New York.

As for Milo, he barely travels, preferring to work from home whenever possible. He jokes about officially becoming my trophy husband. The times he does travel, I take off from work to step in and vice versa. We have never once stifled one another’s growth, and we are partners in every way, sharing each other’s burdens.

While we are predominantly in one another’s corners, there’s one matter we fail to see eye to eye on. I’m stumped over Milo’s contention for Damien acting like a brat or cursing. I have fought with him enough times over this topic. It drives me bonkers. Even the teachers sympathize with my exasperation in my ridiculous husband.

“This is the third time, Mrs. Sinclair. Your husband has ignored all of our prior disciplinary warnings. Children are often taught these things at home, and we don’t want to expose this behavior to the other children in the classroom,” says Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass.

Damien’s preschool has an adjacent kindergarten and grade school. My goal is to get him admitted to that kindergarten. But Damien can only attend if he doesn’t get kicked out of preschool, which is difficult to accomplish considering that the principal hates us. We are the youngest parents at this school. As far as she is concerned, we are the stereotypical young, party couple unqualified to raise kids.

Currently, we are doing nothing to disprove her theory.

“I’m so sorry,” I plead. “We are both taking this matter very seriously. We don’t know where Damien’s picking up this behavior, but I assure you he’s not learning it at home.” I lie because what the hell else am I supposed to say? My husband is insane and thinks it’s funny that our three-year-old child curses like a trucker?

Milo is sitting next to me. His attempt to hide his amusement is minuscule at best.

I swear. I will dig the sharp end of my Louboutin heel into his biceps after throwing this heavy-ass purse over his head. Hell, I can even just swat him, and my wedding ring will leave a nice dent on his pretty face. No man on earth can ever make me lose my shit the way Milo does. He taught our son to drop F-bombs. I heard Milo with my own ears during the Giants game.

“Damien, say fuck you, Patriots!”

Yup. Milo fed that line to our three-year-old word by word.

Milo entwines our hands, squeezing them tightly. “What my wife is trying to say is,” he chimes in, “Damien’s picking up this behavior at school.”

With the phoniest smile I can muster, I turn to face the principal. My jaw barely remains shut over Milo’s bold-faced lie.

Nonetheless, I follow Milo’s cue because Damien was banished to the thinking pod, which I refer to as their holding cell. Students are confined to a sitting lounge to reflect on their actions. Damien absolutely hates it. My poor man’s been sitting there for thirty minutes.

Moreover, it’s not Damien’s fault. Milo is the one to teach Damien bad words. You can’t blame a three-year-old for imitating the man he idolizes.

“Mr. Sinclair!” Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass gasps. “Damien did not learn that word here.”

“You told us that Damien started using foul language during finger painting after accidentally spilling paint,” Milo conveys. “Yet, none of the other parents know of this incident. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct. We wanted to deal with this matter swiftly,” she huffs. “We pulled Damien out of class, so we could speak to you privately without embarrassing him.”

“And did the other children in his vicinity hear Damien?”

“Technically—” she starts indignantly, but Milo cuts her off.

“Yet, other parents haven’t been made aware of this incident. You dragged my wife and me out of our busy workday to deal with this matter privately. From where I am standing, this is likely a repeat offense at your school. Children curse under your supervision, and instead of making the parents aware of the incidents, you cover it up. My son is learning curse words from his fellow students. We never find out about it because you sweep it under the rug.”

“Now, wait a minute, Mr. Sinclair. Before you go around throwing accusations—”

Milo calmly stands from his chair. There is a silent dominance masking his expressions, eyes glowering with menace. I’m unsure of the principal’s state of mind as he towers over her with his tall frame.

“You have no problem dipping into my wallet for a new art wing,” he speaks in a self-assured, tranquil voice, which is no less intimidating. “Yet, you don’t make me aware that children are swearing at your school. My son is bringing home that stuff. We try to live with good Christian values, and this is what you are instilling in my kid?”

Milo is un-fucking-believable.

“Mr. Sinclair, I assure you that Damien brought this behavior from outside.”

Milo places both hands on her office desk to lean in. “What exactly are you insinuating? Because Damien’s not learning this from us. Just look at my wife’s face. Does she look like she has cursed a day in her life?”

Without missing a beat, I perk up using my best suburban wife picture-perfect smile. Milo’s preposterous for staging the scene like we are the victims here. But if he has the means for Damien’s triumphant prison break, I’ll happily play along. I’m minutes away from starting a #freeDamien campaign and passing out T-shirts to secure his safe release from jail.

Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass’ eyes dart in my direction. Milo’s mega protective nature is common knowledge on school grounds. One of the single dads hit on me at the first social we attended with the other parents. Since that incident, let’s just say my possessive husband’s reputation precedes him. Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass is wise enough not to contradict Milo or bash me, irrespective of her personal feelings on the matter.

“Of course n-not,” she stammers. “We think the world of Mrs. Sinclair. She is the epitome of class. We know she would never—”

“Then are you saying that I don’t have any class? I might have to rethink my upcoming donation for someone who doesn’t think I have class.” Milo folds his arms across his chest.

“Of course, we don’t think that.” She jumps up from her chair, ready to make her case. “Mr. Sinclair, I want to apologize. Obviously, there was a huge oversight on our end. We are so sorry to have dragged you out of your busy workday.” Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass tirade goes on to explain away Damien’s behavior, apologizing to us now instead of reprimanding.

“Just make sure that it doesn’t happen again,” Milo directs in an even and cool tone.

I inwardly grimace at the immorality of blaming her for the byproduct of our actions, all the while counting my blessings that Damien won’t be further punished.

Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass counsels us on delaying our leave as we are on the verge of Damien’s pick-up time. She takes her leave to fetch Damien from the thinking pod to return him to class, even notifying us of her intention to remain with him and personally ‘delivering’ him to us afterward. Her private office is kindly offered up so we can pass the time.

It’s the total Milo Sinclair treatment package.

As soon as the door shuts behind Mrs. Stick-Up-Her-Ass’ retreating body, I jump out of my chair. Milo’s cleverly standing a safe distance away from me.

“Really?” I seethe.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Milo tilts his face with faux perplexity.

“Don’t play dumb. I hate when you do that. Our son’s been waiting in the thinking pod for thirty minutes. Do you know how much Damien hates that? What’s wrong with you? Why do you keep teaching Damien to curse?”

“Oh, that!” Milo burrows his eyebrows. “Like I said, Damien picked it up from other kids. We should have a meeting with all the parents. Cursing in children is a big problem in our society. Maybe we can start a cursing anonymous program.”

Oh… he thinks this is sooo funny. Milo thinks he is a goddamn standup comedian.

Rage-filled steam is evaporating out of every pore in my body. My eyes dart to the closed door. When I’m certain of our privacy, I remove one of my heels.

“Baby,” Milo coos, raising his index finger in warning, “No.”

I throw one shoe at him, but Milo’s well-versed on this scene. The asshole is quick to duck before smirking.

Oh my God. I knew it. Milo gets off on this shit.

I have a theory that Milo thrives on my out-of-control reactions, especially when he feels neglected of my attention. Every time I go out of town, Milo pulls something like this because the surefire way to push me is through my mama bear mode.

Taking the second shoe in my hand, I prepare to pummel him with it. Milo’s wearing a half sleeve t-shirt with navy jeans, and my target’s locked on his bicep.

There are only two other times in our marriage I was pissed off enough to do this.

Incident #1 was the day of Damien’s first word.

What is a child’s typical first word? Mama? Dada?

My kid’s first word was shit.

Yup. That was my darling son’s first word after months of endeavors to teach him Mama or Dada. Every time I was at work, Milo encouraged Damien in an alternate direction.

“Damien, say shit.”

Milo repeated the word so frequently that our son conceded and said it... in front of our whole family and on camera. I took off my heel and chucked it at Milo.

Incident #2 was Milo’s gift on the day of Damien’s baptism.

Initially, we had forgone his baptism. However, both of our dads were obstinate on saving their grandchild’s eternal soul from hellfire. At long last, we gave in to appease them.

Damien’s baptism did not go as planned.

In the middle of the church and in front of the entire congregation and our conservative dads, Damien yelled out, “Fucker.”

If Damien had said it only once, perhaps we would’ve been exonerated. And it would’ve helped our case if that was the only colorful thing Damien had said.

Our families were horrified. Dad wouldn’t speak to me for weeks after the incident. Even mild-mannered Uncle Reese was ticked off, calling us disrespectful. I didn’t say a single word to Milo on the car ride home, waiting until reaching our condo to hit him with my purse.

Perhaps today will mark the day for Incident#3.

Milo shakes his head at me again as I charge forward with the shoe in hand. Milo grabs my wrist when I near, circling his other arm around my waist.

“Let go. I’m furious with you.” I thrash against him.

“Baby,” he murmurs in my ear. “I missed you.”

“Get off me!”

“You are just cranky because you missed me too.”

Ugh!

Of course, he recognizes my irritability and the reasons behind it. My husband is familiar with every one of my traits. He knows me.

Today marks day five of our dry spell. It’s fair to highlight that one factor always plays a role in Milo’s provocations and the consecutive shoe lodged at him: sex deprivation.

I left for a week-long trip but returned late last night, cutting my trip short because I missed my family so damn much. Despite Milo tucking them into bed, both of my munchkins woke up when I stepped foot inside, and our home was loud within minutes. Their proclamations of missing Mommy twisted my heart. I let them sleep with us last night, a habit Milo loathes because our children have no concept of personal space. They prefer to sprawl out on the bed and on top of us while we sleep. It’s super cute but an uncomfortable sleeping arrangement for the parents.

Not to mention, it doesn’t allow quality husband-wife time, if you know what I mean.

Milo was still bold enough to try. Once the kiddos fell asleep, he poked my arm and made the usual head nudge, our signal to sneak off to the guest room for a quickie. But the moment we made an attempt to move, both of the kids were up. And this morning, I had to dash out to drop Damien off before work.

Before I rebuff his presumption, Milo adds, “Plus, you think it’s funny when kids curse.”

“I do not!” I don’t get it. What’s so funny about this?

“Yes, you do,” Milo playfully jabs. “Remember when we went to that pretentious restaurant for dinner, and Damien yelled out, ‘Penis.’ You were the one who couldn’t stop laughing when that stuffy lady at the next table almost fainted.”

Despite myself, I let out a giggle.

Okay, that was funny.

The lady gasped so loud you’d think she never heard that word or seen a penis in real life.

I swat at him again. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m mad at you.”

Milo swiftly moves me to the office’s corner wall and hefts me up, his fingers digging into my ass. He starts kissing my throat, making his intentions very clear. “I know something that will make you less mad.”

“Are you crazy?” I hiss, shoving his shoulder. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?” Milo asks nonchalantly. “I basically paid for her to redecorate this office. It’s only fair I break it in.”

“Milo! That principal will definitely expel Damien if she catches us.”

“No, she won’t,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue across my neck.

“What if she walks in?” I ask breathlessly, even as my legs wrap around his waist. Milo’s fingers travel up my pencil skirt to tug it up, bypassing my underwear to slide inside.

When he clamps his teeth down on my neck, my eyes close. And that’s it.

That’s all it takes to break the dam and for a pool of moisture to gather between my thighs. I was already aching for him throughout the meeting. Angry and aching, all mixed in one. Angry at my peculiar hubby, whose mission in life is to piss me off. And aching while lusting after my husband, who I haven’t properly touched in five days.

“Then I’ll pay for her to build another art wing.” Milo unbuckles his belt in between kissing and licking my neck.

“It’ll be a lot cheaper if we wait until getting home,” I suggest.

“I can’t wait that long,” he murmurs before slamming his lips to mine.

My hands reach inside to pull out his cock and stroke. As soon as it hardens in my grasp, Milo shoves my hand away, and within seconds he is entering me. We both moan instantly.

Milo holds me firmly against the wall with hands on my hips and starts fucking me by bending his knees slightly. He picks up the pace, and all worries about kids, their education, or what they’ll eat for dinner disappears. Suddenly, it’s only about the two of us, and all I want to do is melt into him so we can become one.

We are both sweating and panting from the increase in pace. My walls clamp down while Milo vibrates against me, holding off until I get there. As my screams gain steady volume, Milo’s lips come crashing down to swallow my cries. He curses inside my mouth while finding his own release.

For a moment, we stay locked into one another. Milo holds me with my arms hanging limply around his neck. Having the fix we both needed, he finally lowers me down. My legs are still shaking from the orgasm. So, I hang onto him, unsure if I can stand on my own.

“I missed you, wifey,” he murmurs, kissing my bottom lip.

“I missed you too, hubby.” Milo plops me down on the chair and kneels on the floor to put my shoes back on. The act makes me laugh. “I feel like Cinderella.”

“Prince Charming at your service.”

We both burst out laughing while fixing our clothes.

“Should we grab our troublemaker and go home?” Milo asks once we are decent.

I nod sluggishly. With a final check, Milo opens the door.

“Why are you so insistent on teaching our son to curse?” I ask plainly, stepping out of the principal’s office.

“I told you, it’s funny. And also because it drives you crazy.”

I knew it. “Why do you try to drive me crazy?”

Milo grins ear to ear, appearing satisfied at himself. “Because I like being the only person who can drive you crazy.”

I roll my eyes. Yes, Milo can turn me into a fanatic. He’s also the only person to successfully inhibit the trait.

Milo tugs me to his side and kisses my hair. My head falls against his chest, resting for a moment of uninterrupted peace. Sighing in contentment, we patiently wait until finding our hellraiser running toward us.

“Mommy!”

It’s customary for Damien to be obsessed with Milo while Layla is drawn to me. But in a rare occurrence, Damien’s gravitating toward me due to my recent absence. And I’m soaking up every minute before my appeal wears off.

Kneeling to take him into a hug, I cover his face with kisses. “Hi, baby.”

“Stopppp!” Damien squeals with an accusatorial tone, wiping his face. “You embarrass me.” He frowns with disdain.

“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow and start kissing his face while he continues to wipe away my efforts. Screw the day I can’t kiss my boy because he is embarrassed by his mother.

On the other hand, Milo and Damien have an understanding. After they exchange one of their top-secret looks, Milo pulls Damien out of my kissing range. It’s a telepathic connection they happen to share, mostly to complain about me.

Dad, Mom is trying to make us lunch.

I’ll stop her, buddy.

Dad, Mom is singing again.

I got it, buddy.

Milo holds my right hand while he grabs Damien by the other to lead us to our car. Fighting the traffic, we make it home in time to release the nanny from Layla's duty.

Within minutes, we are prepping for our usual schedule. Soon, I’m changing Layla while Milo proceeds to the kitchen to get started on dinner.

When I trail him, Milo hands me the dog’s leash, indicating that Mr. Whiskers needs to go on a walk. Milo still treats me like a hazard whenever the stove’s on and often redirects me to various alternate activities. It’s ridiculous. You burn down the kitchen ONCE, and a lifelong rap as an arsonist follows you around without parole in sight.

Grudgingly, I take Mr. Whiskers out for a walk while Milo makes dinner. I inwardly pout at Milo for using the same method in these instances that we use to distract our kids when they misbehave. However, I can’t chide him for it. We have both learned to deal with each other’s shortcomings. I use similar tactics whenever there’s a flare-up in Milo’s jealousy, which is far from extinct but much more manageable.

The prevalent topic of Milo’s jealousy over Reid never dwindled. I realized it wasn’t a phase. Milo will forever view our kismet connection as competition. While Reid and I remain on good terms, we established an unspoken understanding about maintaining our distance.

Shortly after our wedding, Reid moved to the West Coast permanently. Milo and Reid jointly make an effort to keep in touch. They do a once-a-month phone call to play catch up. Reid video chats with my children as well, who occasionally make drawings for their Uncle.

As for myself, I do nothing more than following Reid on Instagram. He’s living an all-around healthy lifestyle. There isn’t evidence of excess in his routine, but as always, I tap my phone open to check on him and ensure he remains on that wholesome path.

Sure, I’m sad to have lost my twin. However, Reid and I were mutually cognizant of the hindrances brought on by our friendship. I’ll be there if he ever needs me, but it’s impossible to steer my marriage in the right direction with a codependent friendship in tow. Plus, I don’t think Reid cares to have our relationship shoved in his face. So, I stay away.

I’m content to be on the sidelines. Unbeknownst to him, I proudly cheer Reid on in all of his accomplishments. It’s bittersweet, but ultimately for the best.

Returning from my walk, I find dinner already set on the table with the kids running toward it. Dinner is another excuse for anarchy in my household. At some point, Damien starts a food fight while his father dearest eggs him on. Milo chases Damien around the table while Layla and I watch the boys with aghast bewilderment.

Luckily, my daughter has my temperament. I’m truly fortunate in that account as I have realized that to maintain harmony, a family can house a maximum of two hot-tempered Sinclairs.

Layla eats her Mac n Cheese in peace, paying no mind to the brute boys at the dinner table. Leaning over, I give my darling girl the biggest chaste kiss, already ruing the day when mommy’s affections will embarrass her as well.

Following dinner, we commence the most daunting part of our routine: the night routine. Bath time. Changing time. Storytime. Tucking in.

Even my mild-mannered daughter hates it. Layla has FOMO, fear of missing out. She’s certain that mommy and daddy like to party after she hits the hay. Little does my princess know that our rocking Friday night plans are to sleep, which is a luxury when you have two little kids.

Fortunately, we do receive the occasional respite.

While Milo and I continue to maintain a slight distance from our parents for the sake of our sanity, we spend one night a month at the brownstone. We don’t feel comfortable leaving our kids under their care without supervision, but we love the fact that our parents make an effort with their grandchildren. In return, our kids bask in the love they receive from their grandparents.

Mia is our biggest help when it comes to the kids. She’s doing her Ph.D. to be a therapist and lives close by. While living the ultimate New York City life with a beautiful apartment and a successful career on the horizon, Mia’s still a fantastic aunt to our little ones. She often takes them for the whole weekend—a gesture I presently appreciate while listening to poor Milo struggle with Damien. He’s extra crabby tonight at the prospect of sleeping.

By the time we crawl into bed, Milo and I are both exhausted.

When Damien was first born, we constantly felt like horrible parents. Almost daily, I wept alongside a fussy Damien while Milo was tearing his hair out, convinced we were doing everything wrong. Our irrational fear of our children resenting us, the way we resent our parents, ruled our every instinct.

It was all put to rest once we mingled with other parents. They laughed off our dread, informing us about the commonality of the emotion. Apparently, feeling like you’re screwing up your kids comes with the territory of being a good parent.

It’s true. Our parents never considered the repercussions of their actions, nor did they experience guilt. The reason why Milo and I often wonder if we are inadequate parents is because we care so damn much. Ironically, that’s what it takes.

With experience, the fear of turning into our parents subsided enough to give ourselves a break. While the bitterness over our upbringing hasn’t vanished, we are glad the experience navigated us into parents who are present for their kids’ childhood.

The most awestruck significance is the transformation in Milo’s parenting style. He wanted to start new instead of repeating the cycle of turning into an authoritarian who’s begrudged by the kids. While I don’t approve of teaching Damien curse words, my heart soars that Milo can now goof off and enjoy being part of the family instead of playing the role of an isolated leader figure. Knowing that he has a backup in me to pick up the pieces, Milo passes the torch to me anytime he needs the break.

We simply try to be good parents. If we ever fail, we dust it off with a laugh.

“Why did we ever have kids?” Milo groans the question that’s phrased once a week.

I laugh over his tuckered attempt at humor. “Shut up. Our children are a gift. Is that any way to talk about a blessing?”

“Well, our oldest blessing is turning into a real jackass.”

“Milo!” I reprimand. “He’s not a jackass.”

“Yeah? You wanna see the bite marks?”

I wince. Damien’s picked up a new biting habit. When he’s particularly grouchy, it’s best to avoid the facial region.

“Poor baby,” I whisper, rubbing his biceps, brushing small kisses against his temple. “How about you join me for a shower, and I’ll make it up to you? By shower, I mean sex.”

We both laugh because we typically bang in the shower. Our kids have the Sinclair gene of walking into a room without knocking. Not to mention, they frequently insist on sleeping with us, forcing us to sneak off to the guest room or the shower for our ‘adult time.’

“Hmm. How about we try something kinky and have sex on our marital bed?”

“Mr. Sinclair, you are so naughty tonight.” My arms wrap around his neck as my legs do the same to his waist. Milo buries his nose in my hair, fumbling with my shorts.

“Baby, how do you always manage to smell so good?”

“I haven’t smelled of anything but spit-up in the last three years.”

“Not true. I have never smelled anything this good.” He pulls back to grace the room with his signature megawatt smile. “And I have never seen anything so beautiful.”

My heart flutters and warms simultaneously. This man... oh my God. Is it unhealthy to be this obsessed with your own husband? My smoldering, Mr. Perfect-Washboard-Abs husband. Despite all the years together, he gives me butterflies whenever he smiles. I’ll shamelessly admit that my daydreams about him have more than once caused mishaps in my designs.

As addicted as we physically and emotionally are to one another, having kids changed us. Being a parent means choosing them over our own needs. Between the shuffle of career and kids, we sometimes take the backseat.

However, when the kids aren’t around… Milo’s hand trails up my tank top as I grab the hem of his shirt to lift it over his head. Milo is kissing my neck when we hear our bedroom door creak open and find our kids walking inside hand in hand.

Milo curses under his breath. “Hey buddy, what are you doing out of bed?”

“Mommy, there is a monster in my room,” Damien whines.

Swiftly fixing my clothes, I jump out of bed to pick up my boy. “Baby, we talked about this. There is no monster. Do you want Mommy to go check?”

Damien throws his arms around my neck. “No. I want to sleep with you.”

Throughout the day, Damien’s much too attached to Milo. However, he is a total mama’s boy at night. Milo might disapprove, but it’s tough to say no when I’m starved for his affections.

It’s just as arduous for Milo to say no to Layla. Milo craves her regards, but Layla’s generally attached to me at the hips. However, when she is sleep-deprived, she turns into daddy’s little princess, and the only person who can comfort her is Milo.

He loves their special bond as much as I love mine with Damien.

“Daddy, up,” Layla runs to Milo’s side of the bed and holds up her tiny arms.

Milo sighs, fully conscious that our children are manipulating us. He picks Layla up as I carry Damien over. Mr. Whiskers charges inside on cue and jumps on the bed.

Instead of being grumpy, Milo laughs. “Why not, Mr. Whiskers? Come join us too.”

My hysterical laugher ensues at the ludicrous scene on our king-size marital bed comprising of very little marital activities. Layla is sprawled out on Milo’s chest, hanging on to his neck. Damien is on my side with a tiny leg flung over my waist. Our Frenchie made a space between the both of us. There is no way for us to move, and I… I. Fucking. Love. It.

I love every single moment of this hot mess and chaos. It’s exhausting. It’s disarray. It’s… perfect. As I lie on our cramped bed with my drained husband, I find myself more fulfilled than ever before in life.

Don’t get me wrong. All the issues where Milo and I are concerned haven’t magically vanished. There is no overnight cure for relationship issues. As evident by today’s events, our volatile relationship continues to be tumultuous at times. We’ve simply adapted, so it doesn’t dominate our lives. If one of us spirals, we count on the other to pull us back.

Today isn’t an unusual day; this is our habitual routine. Yet, I am addicted to this chaos. We fight. We love. We are loud. And it’s perfect.

It’s perfect simply because it’s not. My perfect is when someone holds my hand when things aren’t perfect, and I finally have that.

My favorite part of our day? That’s yet to come.

I look over to Milo, who is smirking. Our home is finally quiet. The kids are asleep. Our Frenchie is nuzzling by our side, snoring softly.

Milo tries to move his hand lodged under the dog’s fat butt. I try to move my arm lodged under my son’s head. We move at a snail-like pace so as not to wake up the tiny humans on this bed. I wiggle my fingers, itching to reach him. He mimics my gesture until his fingers are close enough to grasp mine.

Every night, there are exactly fifteen noiseless minutes in this home before we fall asleep. Those fifteen minutes are just ours. We stare at one another and look at the life we have built. Taking it in with gratitude, we give each other this private high-five. After our long journey to reach this point, we are careful never to take it for granted.

Some days, our hearts are full of love. Other days, we are frustrated with our busy lives, and that’s okay too. Whichever emotion we are experiencing, we get through it with our partner in crime. And the emotion I am currently experiencing is...

“Happy,” I whisper. “I am so damn happy to be back.”

“I am happier,” he whispers back. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.” He always gives me the same response.

Milo’s in a bolder mood tonight. He raises my hand to transport my knuckles to his lips. I shake my head, signaling against it. These kids are light sleepers, and the shuffling might jolt them. Inadvertently, his hand bumps into Mr. Whiskers’ head. With a jerk, the dog barks at the non-existent intruder who rudely disturbed his sleep.

The yapping wakes up Damien, who instantaneously demands to be picked up.

“Here, give him to me,” Milo moves Layla to reach for Damien.

“No,” Damien says grouchily, “I want Mommy.”

“It’s okay,” I tell Milo. “I got it. Don’t move, or Layla will wake up too.”

“Baby, you barely slept last night. Stay in bed. Come here, buddy,” Milo calls for him.

“NO!” Damien shrieks, holding onto me tighter.

The commotion wakes up a sleepy Layla, who starts crying on cue.

Damnit. Now both of my kids are up.

I wearily pick up Damien to comfort him while Milo does the same with Layla. Damien glowers at Layla as her earth-shattering screams fill the room. Before I can pacify Damien, my potty mouth hellcat scathes my daughter with a glare and yells his new favorite obscenity.

“FUCK YOU!”

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Want a bonus sex scene?

Turn the page to the Afterword to learn how.

Afterword

Words can’t express how humbled I feel by those who have read this series. I’m truly shocked by all the supportive messages. There is one topic I received numerous messages about. So, I wanted to take this moment to address it in case I never had the pleasure of responding.

According to the series’ progression, Book 1 explored Milo’s version of love, Book 2 explored Raven’s, and Book 3 intertwined the two. However, many readers communicated their frustration about why it took Raven that long to fall in love.

I joked with a reader that I used the following love-o-meter test for Raven: Can love blossom past superficial reasons such as Electra complex, orgasms, looks, and money?

I couldn’t explore Milo and Raven’s immense potential to fall in love until Raven was in equal stance or ‘till Milo gave her what she needed emotionally. As Mia repeated Raven’s mistakes, the predominant issues in Raven’s past with Milo resurfaced to indicate that their tumultuous relationship was only worth fighting if the foundation were real. It wouldn’t have been real if Raven fell in love with Milo under duress or while viewing him as a figure head.

Until I was satisfied that the characters explored their feelings sufficiently as adults, I couldn’t sell an idea to you when I didn’t believe in it myself. Simply put, I wrote what I wanted to read—a slow-burn love story that makes me wait for romance rather than physical intimacy.

I hope that answers the question for those who asked. Thank you again for giving me a chance. Don’t forget to sign up for my Newsletter to receive a deleted sex scene. Also, find me on Facebook for signed paperbacks, giveaways, and more.

A review for an author is like leaving a tip for your server for a job well done. If you enjoyed Milo & Raven’s story, please leave me a review on Goodreads or Amazon.

Five fun facts

1)     Milo was a compilation of my imagination and two real-life people, one of whom was also on the Forbes 30 under 30 list.

2)     Raven was initially written as an asexual character.

3)     Mia was originally named Mila after Milo, who named her.

4)     Reid was supposed to die in Book 2 and then again in Book 3.

5)     Milo and Raven’s journey was my own therapy following a difficult time at the start of the pandemic. These two characters were the culprits for the worst thing to ever happen to one another. As they reignited their friendship, Raven managed to find the positive in between the negative to fall in love. They realized that while nothing will ever be perfect, life is what they choose to make of it. On that note, I wanted to share some of my own good news. The hard times have long subsided, and I’m happy to announce that life is now back to normal. Through the course of one year, I got to write three books and met so many friends in the community. I definitely found something positive, so thank you for that, and thank you for reading.

About The Author

DRETHI ANIS

Drethi Anis is a dark, contemporary author and prefers to write anti-heroes. Drethi’s stories will always have angst, obsession, and a dark twist. Though toxic love and darkness is a major player in her books, romance is still her first priority.

This is Drethi Anis’ first series. Stay tuned for future releases by signing up for her Newsletter: drethianis.com

Connect with the author directly.

Facebook Group: http://bit.ly/3j7Ejw7

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Linktree: https://linktr.ee/drethi

Books In This Series

The Quarantine Series

A self-destructive couple's journey over the span of a decade. They fight the odds against society and family, yet the only fight they can't win is the one against themselves.

Quarantined: Book 1

A gripping, friends-to-lovers-to-enemies, dark romance.

New York City—not for the faint-hearted or the sweetest of souls. The last thing I expected was to be back in this city, after all these years. And I definitely did not expect to be back in this house, where it all started. I have spent years avoiding this place, and the cold hard reality of what happened here.

But I have no choice. We are all quarantined together in this house. It took the end of the world, for me to come back here and face him.

Milo Sinclair.

Once my legal guardian and savior in life. The person who saved me from drowning in loneliness. Who gave me everything I ever wanted. But then he took everything away from me. Plus interest. He broke me. He will not break me again.

Isolation: Book 2

Milo:

“There is nothing worse in this life than being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. This is what I am when I am around her. Her hero when she accepts me. Her biggest nightmare when she rejects me. I have come to that conclusion. I can’t fight it. I can’t explain it to her because I could never explain it to myself either.”

Raven:

“The truth is, I have always been slow to react. I don’t lash out because I need time to analyze things at my own speed. People perceive that as me being mature; wise beyond my age. I am not. I am indecisive and emotional. I just don’t show it. I am flawed. I don’t want to cover up my flaws as anything else.”

Essential: Book 3

Milo:

Our lives have changed.

Our worst moments and biggest secrets are used as leverage against us.

People want to force us apart in the name of the greater good.

Maybe they’re right; maybe we are each other’s villains and not heroes.

But that doesn’t change anything because it’s her or no one!

Raven:

Our past is catching up to us.

Our secrets are out, and our family is falling apart.

Seeing my sister follow into my footsteps turns out to be the wakeup call I needed, and definitely don’t want. For better or worse, family sticks together.

But at the end of the day I’ve made my choice because it’s him or no one!