Page 94 of Seein’ Red

She holds out a hand, grabs on to the one that Milo offers, and stands. Blowing me a kiss, she slips out of my apartment, Sylvie and Bronwyn on her heels, the door closing softly behind them.

“The floor? Really?” Milo questions. “You were fucking Miss Georgia and you can’t even make it to the couch?”

I shake my head. “That requires my limbs to work, and I don’t think they do right now.”

Heaving out an exasperated sigh, Milo kneels down, scooping me up, just like he used to when I was little. All my brothers played a role in my life growing up, but Milo was my first protector. Gus might be the oldest, but by the time I was moving about, he was waist-deep in Hayes business, already determined to take over the world. Milo, on the other hand, was much more focused on playing around. To this day I’m pretty sure a baby sister eight years his junior was the perfect excuse to goof off.

Depositing me on the couch, he joins me, kicking his feet up on my coffee table. His boots are dirty, pieces of dried red Georgia clay falling onto the table.

“If it’s bad enough that you’re not screamin’ at me to take off my boots, then we’re in trouble,” he comments. “And that blank expression of yours isn’t helping either.”

“Remember when you and Hux built that catapult thingy and Anton dared you to try and spear the pumpkin with it and you somehow ended up with the nail jutting through your arm?”

“Sure do!” Milo holds up his left arm, showing off the battle wound he’s way too proud of decades later. “Thirteen stitches and a pint of blood. Oh, and that call to Miss Belle from the one seasonal worker whose English wasn’t very strong that resulted in her thinking someone got shanked at the house.”

“You said then that after a while the pain sorta just melded into numbness and you no longer felt anything.” Milo nods, confirming my memory. “Well, that’s where I am.”

“You need thirteen stitches and a pint of blood?”

“Numb, you dumbass.”

“Hey, name-calling! There’s still hope!”

I roll my eyes. Fucking older brothers.

“What hurts the most?” he asks.

I don’t have an answer for that. In order to be able to answer, I have to be able to know what hurts. And right now that’s everything. Because this is a pain that I don’t understand. One that makes no sense. So, even if I wanted to articulate my feelings—which I don’t—I can’t. Because I’d have to know what about this made it hurt so much.

“I told you, I’m numb.”

“Numb? All because the guy you love told you he loves you? Yeah, real tough going there, Wills.”

“I don’t love him.”

“Errrrr….”

“I don’t fucking love him, Milo.”

I shoot my brother a look, wishing he would listen. I might as well ask a penguin to fly.

“Well, it’s gotta be more than just that you love fucking him.”

“I hate you.”

Milo shrugs. “So, me and Nash then. At least I’m in good company.”

Ugggghh….

I close my eyes and lean back against the arm of the sofa. I need the girls back. Even Kenzie calling me an idiot and Sylvie telling me she doesn’t believe me would be better than my sass-hole of a brother trying to force therapy on me.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine, then I’ll do the talking. I’ll say what Kenzie wouldn’t. You’re an idiot.”

“As my brother, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be on my side here.”

“You don’t even know what your side is, Willa.”