“Why did I give you a key?” I groan to myself in my bedroom closet.
Miller pops his head into my closet from my bedroom. “I didn’t even need the key. The backdoor was unlocked again.”
“Jesus,” I gasp in surprise, flattening my hand to my chest. “You scared the crap out of me. How did you get up here so fast?”
“Better me than a serial killer.”
I roll my eyes and look over at him, taking in the tailored black tuxedo that fits his toned body like a glove. His ass particularly. We may be close friends, but I’m not dead. I know he’s hot. And a catcher’s ass is perfection.
“So dramatic. Is there one on the loose I don’t know about? You know I don’t watch the news.”
“I think you’re safe,” he says walking around my bedroom. “For now,” he turns and lifts his eyebrows.
“What are you doing here?”
“Did you forget that you’re my date tonight, Gabbadoo?” Miller and his ridiculous nicknames.
“No, I didn’t forget. You’re just early.” I still have at least forty minutes before I expected him to pick me up. Walking to the entrance of my closet so I can see him when we talk, I take in his sunken shoulders. He’s off. Not his usual happy-go-lucky self. It’s to be expected with the reminder of Mandy’s death front and center tonight
“I was bored,” he shrugs and turns to face me. His shaggy shoulder length hair is tied back in a man bun, and he fidgets with the cuffs of his black button-down peeking from the sleeves. His tie is loose around his neck and the top button of his shirt is undone. Black from head to toe.
“I’m not ready yet.” My hair is finished and swept into a chic updo, but I need to finish my makeup. I’m also still wearing my robe and was in the middle of picking out my jewelry for tonight when he walked in
“I can just hang out and talk to you while you finish.” He removes his jacket and sits on the bed like this is a normal occurrence. I can’t help but laugh as he makes himself comfortable. If he wants to sit here while I get ready to distract himself from the reason we’re dressed up tonight, I’ll give that to him.
I go back to looking over my jewelry in my closet. I wouldn’t call it a collection, but I have quite a few unique pieces. Even some name brand expensive pieces as well. My days of wearing discount costume jewelry are over. I love gold and diamonds. Modern. Timeless. Elegant. Sophisticated. All speak to my taste and selection.
“What color are your cufflinks?” I ask Miller as I survey my options. We don’t have to match, but I do love a simplistic complement between a woman’s jewelry and her date’s cufflinks.
“Gold. Figured it would be the easiest for you to match.” When I pop my head out and quirk an eyebrow, he chuckles. “You wear a lot of gold, Gab. Plus, I have sisters, remember. I know the drill.” My heart pangs at the mention of his sisters. Wetalk about Bailey, but Miller doesn’t talk about Mandy very much. He only shared more details about her cancer journey after my own health scare last year, which I can’t help but think about now.
“Gabrielle,” he never calls me by my full name. Miller’s superpower is to nickname everyone and never be serious. A sob chokes out of me. “What’s wrong? What happened?” He’s on alert now. I don’t often show my feelings and I’m sure he has no idea what to make of me right now, lying motionless in the fetal position on my bed as sobs wrack my body. In an instant, he’s on the bed with me, pulling me under his arm and onto his chest.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he coos while smoothing my hair.
“You’re okay,” Miller continues to chant, holding me tighter. My tears soak into his shirt. I cling to him and fall apart, pulling myself closer until I'm almost on top of him. He brings his other arm around my body, caging me in and giving me the comfort that I desperately need. Every so often he kisses the top of my head, or squeezes me tighter, but he doesn’t say anything other than that he’s got me, and it will be okay. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t make jokes. He does nothing except sit with me in the muck and absorb all my reckless emotion.
Somehow, over the last year since Miller and Preston were traded to Nashville and moved into my life, Miller’s become the brother I never had. He’s dependable, funny, caring, and he’s become one of my best friends. For some reason, I feel safer with him than I have with anyone else in a very long time. And it’s for that reason I let my armor fall and allow him to catch me.
Eventually my tears dry up and my grip on Miller’s shirt loosens. He runs his fingers through my hair, lightly scratching my head. I tip my chin up to look at him. His scruff is longer than normal, evidence that he hasn’t shaved in a few days. I reach up and touch it. Don’t ask me why. His worried eyes meet mine, but his lips tip into a tiny, lopsided smile. I scrunch my nose and shake my head. Soft laughter bounces out of his chest beneath me.
“Sorry,” I say nervously, sittingup.
“Don’t ever be sorry, darlin’.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead. “I’m going to grab you some water, since you cried it all out on my shirt.” He winks at me, and I push him out of the bed. “Be right back.” He holds my gaze for a beat to make sure I’m okay. When I nod, he turns and walks out of the room.
“Earth to Gabby,” Miller calls from his seated position on my bed, pulling me out of the memory. Giving him a sheepish smile, I say, “Sorry, lost in thought.”
“About what?”
“The day you found me here after the doctor.” I walk over to the bed, stopping beside his open thighs. “I’m glad it was you that showed up that day. I’m sorry for the trauma I’m sure it brought up for you, but I’m really glad it was you.”
He looks up at me, emotion swirling in his eyes. “Yeah, me too.” His gruff whisper breaks at the end. Reaching out, I rub a hand over his head. He leans into me at his side resting his forehead against my torso.
To anyone who may walk in, this would look like an intimate moment between lovers. But we aren’t lovers. Nowhere close. He’s my closest confidant. In many ways, I’ve let him in more than I have the girls. He may choose to hide his vulnerabilities with humor where I choose to bury myself in work, but beneath the surface we’re the same. Knowing his sister passed from cancer and him being there when I had my own cancer scare bonded us. He’s a good man. The greatest. I know he still grieves deeply for his sister. It’s part of why he dedicates all his spare effort and time to the charitable foundation his family started in her honor.
“She would be proud of you.”
Miller nods and I hear the sniffle muted against the fabric of my robe. He visits cancer patients at the hospital, offers funds and resources to those struggling financially from the burden of treatments, honors patients he’s met who have used the MillerFoundation’s services. He checks in on their families. He gives whatever he can to those left behind.
