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I shake my head. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but my brain feels fuzzy. “I’m sorry, Milo.”
“Jesus, Cal, what are you so afraid of?” He makes a frustrated noise. “I’m not Ethan. I won’t leave you in the dust—”
“Drop it. Please. Let’s just go back to how things were. I can’t…”
I can’t lose you.
The look he gives me, like I’ve torn out his heart and stamped on it, stings more than it should. This is why this wouldn’t work out. We're good as friends. We need each other just like this. I won’t deny we were a little codependent in high school, but college has forced us to grow apart.
This trip gave me my best friend back. And I don’t want to let go. Not again.
Milo rubs a hand over his face, silent for a moment. Then, before I can react, he crosses the room in a few steps and grips my chin firmly. His kiss is chaste and longing, full of something I can’t define.
It feels like a goodbye.
I blink when we separate, willing myself not to cry. God, as if I haven’t embarrassed myself enough.
“Okay,” Milo says against my lips. “Just friends it is.”
He pulls away, taking his warmth with him, and the loss leaves me bereft. A dull ache blooms in my chest like spilled ink.
That night, Milo books an overnight room down the hall and takes his stuff with him.
6
I spend the next morning in a daze like somebody’s reached in and hollowed out my chest.
Milo’s absence is a black hole and I alternate between thinking about him too much and pretending he doesn’t exist. The only thing that manages to draw me out of it is the steaming hot shower. Water cascades down my back until it turns lukewarm and the skin on my fingers prunes like a date.
Memories unfurl in my mind. Us on his childhood bed after high school, my leg hooked over his as we argued about shit that doesn’t matter now but meant the world then. Nights spent lounging in my truck behind the Wendy’s, watching dumb YouTube videos on my phone.
The image flickers, replaced with memories of the past few days. The guttural sounds he made on that muggy day we spent in bed. Milo wading through the lake naked. Him dancing at the bar, a bright smile lighting up his face.
That smile haunts me when I close my eyes. Arousal settles in my belly, and I slam a hand on the pink shower tiles, the other curling around my cock.
I bring myself off like that. Standing in a motel bathroom, my imagination supplying image after image of Milo.
All of it is too much, too soon. Like picking off a scab and digging my fingers into the wound. Fuck, I’m pathetic.
Breakfast is quiet. The motel guests have thinned out, on their way to various places. I slip into my usual seat by the window, staring at the space in front of me. It feels wrong. I half expect Milo to stroll in, that confident swagger in his hips, mouth sharpened with some funny quip.
The seat stays empty. He’s probably skipping breakfast to avoid me.
Greta takes my order and lets me know the truck will be ready in a few hours. Finally, some good news. I thank her and turn back to the window, squinting at the overcast sky.
This is what I wanted, isn’t it? For us to be friends, to push aside whatever this little detour was and go back to normal. But then why does it feel like a part of me is missing?
Something rustles in my shorts pocket, and I fish out a gift-wrapped square. The magpie necklace. I’ll give it to Elsie when I get home, or sell it at a pawn shop, or throw it in the fucking river. It was a stupid idea, anyway.
Staring at the necklace, I pull out my phone and type a quick text to Milo, telling him we can head home soon. He replies with a thumbs-up emoji and hesitates, the three little dots hovering at the bottom like he’s going to send something else. Licking my lips, I watch the screen until the dots disappear.
I tuck the necklace back into my pocket.
*
Dale puts the finishing touches on the truck in the next few hours, hands me the keys, and after saying goodbye to Greta we take to the open road.
We drive home in near-silence, only broken by one of us asking to use the aux, or when I stop at the gas station and offer to grab something for him. He tries to move past it, carry on like everything’s normal between us but I can tell he’s wary. Each minute without his familiar comfort or the smile that I’ve gotten so used to feels like nails raking my skin.
