“There’s nowhere else I’d be,” Miles says, then starts the car and takes me home with him.
31
Miles
I’m a stormtonight, for sure.
No, not even that—a damn hurricane.
Dax’s dad must be some kind of psychopath to have said those heartless, callous words to someone he raised as a son for all these years. Okay, maybe a psychopath is being dramatic, but either way, it doesn’t say anything good about him. The only good news is that I managed to restrain myself long enough for us to get the hell out of that house before I went apeshit and tore it to the fucking ground.
Regardless of how I feel about Dax’s asshole father—if I can even call him his father anymore—my main concern is my boyfriend. On the drive back to my place, he doesn’t speak, his gaze far off. I’m sure it’s a lot, having to process a lifetime of never being told the truth about why his dad felt the way he did. And I don’t press, let him have his space because I can’t even imagine what it’s like to have something like that dumped on you.
When we arrive at my apartment, I open the passenger door, and if he’d let me, I’d help him out—I don’t know where the fuck that’s coming from, it’s not like he’s some helpless thing. He’s just in such a fog, his sunshine dimmed. But somehow he manages to come inside with me. He only makes it as far as the kitchen island before sitting on a stool, like he’s too exhausted to go any farther.
My brain’s all over the place, trying to figure out how to help Dax. Cedric’s words keep returning to me.“Take care of my brother.”And I’m determined to be here for Dax in a way that shit excuse for a dad couldn’t be. But what the hell can you even do about something like this?
An idea finally springs to mind. I head to the pantry and inspect the contents before going to the fridge. I remember him sharing about how his mom baked for him. Fuck if I have the ingredients for orange-cranberry muffins, so I’ll have to make do. I’m not even sure this is the best idea, but when there aren’t any others, I feel like, what the hell?
“You said you liked your mom’s cookies?”
“Huh?”
“Well, I can’t really make orange-cranberry muffins with what I got, so I’m gonna make some cookies. Chocolate chip. Think we need some cookies right about now.”
His eyes widen. “Um…”
“You like chocolate-chip cookies. You’ve ordered them when we’ve gotten food before, so that’s what I’ll make.”
He opens his mouth like he’s struggling to process this new information on top of everything else.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s happening, and you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. They can just be here for when you want them.”
It’s been a while since I’ve made cookies, but it’s not like it’s hard. I pull up a recipe on my phone, and fortunately, I have everything I need, so I get right to work. I can’t really tell whom I’m doing this for—Dax because he needs something right now, or me because I need to do something, anything, to make this better. Although, there’s not really anything I can do to make what he’s just found out better.
When I measure out the chocolate chips, it doesn’t look like enough—he’ll need a lot more than that to cheer up—so I dumpthe rest of the bag in the bowl and mix it in. Maybe that’s overkill, but I’ll make it work.
As I’m getting everything ready, I keep glancing over my shoulder to check on him, taking seriously the duty his brother entrusted me with. When I get the first batch in the oven and turn to check on him again, he’s right behind me. I see more of that brightness when I look into his eyes, but it’s still dulled. He leans toward me, and I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close for a hug. He keeps his arms around me tight, the way he’s clinging bringing me back to life.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers.
I hadn’t noticed, but it makes sense. “A part of me is trying to keep from driving back to your dad’s place and showing him how I feel.”
He chuckles, but I hear the pain behind it. “Yeah, maybe baking cookies is a better idea than kicking his ass.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
He chuckles again. He’s coming back to me, but I sense how vulnerable he still is, and I hate it.
He stirs against me before pulling back and looking me in the eyes.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “That’s a stupid question. You can’t be feeling good, and I don’t expect you to. Don’t answer that. You should get in bed. I’ll finish these and bring you a cookie, if you’re still awake. I’ll take care of you.”
“I know you will,” he assures me, and my chest swells with pride. Not that I’m happy he’s in this state, but I’m pleased he knows I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. He rests his hand against my face, caressing his thumb across my flesh. “As painful as it was to learn the truth, it put a lot of things into perspective. Helped me understand why things have always been this way with him. That it wasn’t just in my head that there was something wrong with our relationship.”
“I can’t imagine how he could feel that way, not just about his kid, but you specifically. How could someone know you and treat you like that? Or not understand why you were so emotional from hearing that.” My rage flares again, my trembling intensifying, and I try to steady myself because what’s important now is to be here for Dax, which for some reason, involves making cookies.
Dax is quiet for a few moments, just looking at me. He’s more present than he was on the drive back, and my thoughts scramble again.
