Joey looks only a little surprised. “Uh, yeah. I’m glad we talked.”
“I keep thinking, especially, about how you have to be alone.” I lean forward, my heart rate jumping as the words keep spilling out. “You’ve left your family, and you’re not letting yourself find a new one. I hate that.”
Joey’s jaw clicks, and I realize I’m choosing my words poorly. “I mean, I hate that you’re going through that,” I try to clarify. “I hate that you’re going through stuff like that all alone when you should have someone there supporting you. When I found my friends, it changed my whole world. You deserve to have people too, Joey, and I don’t know why one of those people shouldn’t be me.”
His eyes get a little wider. My heart is pounding against my ribs so hard, I can feel it. I didn’t expect to blurt that all out at him the second he walked in, but I can’t take it back.
I reach across the table and grab his beer, then take a swig. “If you don’t say something, I’m going to say a lot more,” I tell him.
Joey’s face softens. I think his expression might break, like how his stony features quivered the night he told me about his family. But after a second, his brow tightens, and he reaches across the table to grab my hand.
“Milo,” he says, his voice rasping. “You think you understand, but you don’t.”
There’s a buzzing energy, like this constant thrill, humming through my torso. But when I see the sadness on Joey’s face, it quiets, and a coldness settles on my skin.
“What don’t I understand?” I ask, scared of the answer.
Joey shakes his head. “It’s not a fake risk,” he says. “It’s not something I can just hide from.”
The frustration I felt the other day comes rushing back. We’re so close, and then we hit this same wall all over again. “What are you talking about?” I ask, then stand, my hands flat on the table. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about, Joey.”
“Milo.” Joey stands, too. His whole body is tense and his eyes squinted. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”
“You’re still hiding from me!” I say, louder than I expected. All that frustration chokes me and almost blocks my words. “You act like you’re telling me who you are, but you aren’t.”
I storm past him into the living room, struggling to think clearly. Adrenaline spikes my veins, and I’m telling myself to chill out. I’m blowing this whole thing up for no reason. But then Joey steps through, meeting me in the middle of the room, and waves of frustration and sadness and painful need hit me, one after another.
All I want is to touch him and pull him downstairs and tell him that I love him, but I can’t.
“Milo, this is my fault. This wasn’t fair of me to do to you. I shouldn’t have let you get this close.”
His fault? Not fair? Now I’ve told him what I need, and he’s going to leave me.
“You regret ever hanging out with me,” I say flatly.
It’s like with my ex, Hilton, all over again. I’ve figured out how to make myself available, sure, but no one actually wants me.
Fuck, this sucks. I don’t want Joey to see me cry.
“Milo, don’t say that.” Joey steps forward and drags his fingers along the side of my head. He almost cups my cheek, and thank god he doesn’t because I’d probably start sobbing. “I’ll never regret the time we spent together.”
Spent, as in past tense. As in it’s going to be over if I keep pushing this.
“Then what’s your secret?” I demand. “What’s so horrible that you can’t be with me? Because I got you flowers, Joey, and I was going to tell you that I want to be in a relationship, no matter what, because I luh—”
I snap my mouth shut. Shit, shit, shit. Now is not the time to say that.
Joey stares at me, his mouth hanging slightly open. “You got me flowers?”
“Because I want to be with you,” I repeat. “Because you and I are supposed to be together.”
Joey’s hand closes over mine. “Milo…”
He goes silent again.
“What!” I say. I have to stop myself from pushing him, I’m that mad. “Why do you have to run away now, Joey? What secret reason?”
“They came for me.”
