Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

Josh’s hand squeezes mine, and then he brings our hands to his lap. "Angel, you could never, ever ruin my Christmas. Ever. As long as you're okay, and we're together. Even in the same town. If you want to go to a hotel, I'll take you to one. And I'll sneak away from Mom and Carl every second that I can to see you. Or I'll sneak you in my room at night, to avoid seeing them and talking to them. Anything you want. It's our first Christmas together. Fuck everybody else. I'm mostly pushing you—or trying not to push, but mostly wanting this shit—for you. Because I want you to have Carl. That's all. I'll stop talking about it now."

I bring our hands up to my mouth and kiss his. "I love you, Mills."

"Forever?" he whispers.

"Yep. Like the little tat on my chest."

"You're not gonna leave again. Right?"

"Never." Part of me is sad he asked that question. But part of me loves it. I guess it's...something I can do. One of the only things, it feels like. "I'm not gonna leave you ever, Miller. Not for any fucking reason. My mom can fuck herself.” I’ll go to fucking jail for what I did to Paul before I’ll up and leave Mills again.

We ride in silence past the city limit sign, past a gas station with a run-down Subway attached. Past some side streets and little intersections off this main road with street signs worn and crooked, all the trees covered with kudzu. This whole place looks like it's been neglected for a few years.

"What do you think about Fairplay?" he asks as we roll over another lake bridge. "Dare I ask you?"

The bridge ends and the asphalt is fresh. There are no lines on it. The road curves, and big trees tunnel over the road.

"This part's cool."

"We’re driving into the historic district," he says. "Mom and Carl live a few streets to our left."

My throat cinches. "Don't go there now."

"I won't, Ez. I've gotchu. I even checked hotels in case this happened."

"Fuck, Mills. Did you really?"

He smiles, looking slightly smug. "Of course. I know you pretty well. And you seemed clammed up."

"Clammed up."

"Pensive. Nervous. It's okay. You wanna go to a hotel for a bit? There's one right near the lake. Beside the causeway. There's a gas station across the street and the outdoor area for the farmer's market. Sorta run down little area around it, but it's not dangerous or anything. Just shabby."

"I can roll with shabby."

Miller gives me a smile, and with the smile he tells me it's okay.

The hotel turns out to be more of a motel—an old Comfort Inn. We go inside, and it's not so bad. Smells like cinnamon and fabric softener.

I lie on the bed and shut my eyes. "Why don't you go see them,” I say. "Tell them your new boy will be here in a few days. I'll try to work up more of my nerve."

"No you won't, Ez. Don’t worry about that right now. Just get a nap or watch something on your computer. Hell, read a book." He opens his backpack and pulls out a slim paperback. "I got you this the other day. It looked like something you might like."

My heart is pounding so hard as I read the title: Crush by Richard Siken. "This is on my list. How did you know?"

"I didn't," he says, looking embarrassed. "It just made me think of you. Or us…or something."

I rub my thumb over the book’s cover. I sit on the bed’s edge, spreading my knees so Mills stands in between them.

“Love you,” he says, kissing my hair. “Read some poems and go to the gas station if you get bored. I’ll be back soon.”

He goes a few minutes later, leaving me alone in the room. I do what he said, and read some poems and close my eyes, and I sleep. I've got the phone set so his texts wake me. One comes through, and I jolt up, my heart pounding.

'Hey angel. I love you. Just chilling with them for a bit. I'll come back in maybe two hours, and then when they're going to bed, you can sneak in my window? Can u sleep in my room? That seem ok? If not, I'll stay with you. It's all good, Ez. Missing u. so glad ur here'

I don't know what to say back. My chest feels tight and sore, but I’m not sure it’s a bad thing. Fucking feelings. I smirk, wondering what Greeley would say.

I grab my wallet and the room key and head outside. The sky is winter white. The air is cool and damp, but not cold.

I eye the gas station across the street. For some reason, this whole landscape—the kudzu and the beat up, pot-holed roads, the damp cold and the lake smell—makes me really want a fucking Icee.