Chapter 3 Three

"You're seriously doing it, Evan?"

I heard one of our classmates, Ryan, ask Evan.

"Yeah," came Evan's voice, rough and bitter. "He broke my goddamn face, Ryan."

My breath caught.

I was cutting through the back stairwell, trying to avoid other students when I heard them talking. Two boys. Familiar ones.

I paused near the landing, careful not to make a sound.

"I told you," Evan continued, "he hit me outside after I ran into him again later at the party. Imagine, he said I'd 'humiliated Gal enough.' He just... swung. Out of nowhere and pounced on me."

"I understand," Ryan encouraged him. "That boy needs to be taught a lesson. He's just too forward, I hate him too."

My stomach twisted.

Milo.

Milo had punched Evan...for me; me his arch enemy, it was unbelievable. But then with the way he treated me overnight, I doubt if we are still enemies.

That means he went back to the party after he took me back to their house. I thought to myself.

"And now he thinks he's a hero or something," Evan spat. "So yeah. I've got a couple guys waiting by the field for him. He's not leaving school with that face untouched today."

My hand curled around the stair railing, knuckles white.

This was spiraling. Faster than imagined.

I slipped away quietly and headed straight back to the geography classroom where Milo and I were supposed to be for the last period, mind racing. But Milo was not in class.

I didn't know what I felt. Fury? Guilt? Panic?

When I got to class and asked his best friend about his whereabouts, the boy shrugged and said Milo had already left early.

No explanation. No warning. No reason. It was like he'd vanished.

So I couldn't stay for geography class. I ran the whole way home.

My lungs burned and my fingers were frozen around my phone, refreshing Milo's contact again and again.

Still no reply.

Straight to voicemail.

I had texted him seven times already to warn him. But he hadn't read any of the messages.

And that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

I didn't see any gang waiting by the gate. No group of boys lurking in school jackets behind the gym. No fight breaking out in the quad like I expected. But still, dread coiled tight in my gut.

I reasoned that if Evan really meant what he said...and if Milo was anywhere near that stairwell after I overheard him...something must've happened.

My legs carried me across the familiar stretch of sidewalk to the Landry's apartment, my heartbeat louder than my footsteps. The front door was cracked when I reached it, which was the first red flag.

The second?

A dark smear on the tile floor. Not just dirt.

Blood.

My stomach lurched. "No," I whispered. "No no no..."

The smear trailed inside like something out of a horror movie. I followed it...barely breathing...across the living room, until it ended at his closed bedroom door.

I hesitated, hand raised.

What if he's...?

I knocked once. "Milo?"

Silence.

Then I pushed the door open and gasped.

He was lying on his bed, a damp cloth hanging off his shoulder. Blood smeared across his collarbone. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against pale skin, hair a messy halo on his pillow. For a terrifying second, I thought he wasn't breathing.

I was beside the bed before I even realized I'd moved, kneeling by his side, shaking his arm. "Milo? Milo, wake up-come on, don't do this, please..."

His eyes snapped open, and he moved like a switchblade.

"What the hell are you doing?" he growled.

Before I could react, he grabbed me by the waist and hauled me onto the bed in one smooth motion. My back hit the mattress, and his body pressed over mine, one knee shoved firmly between my legs. He pinned my wrists above my head with one strong hand, his other braced beside my ear. His face hovered inches from mine, lips parted, breath hot and fast.

My brain short-circuited.

I could feel everything...the heat of him, the tension in his arms, the way his chest heaved against mine. His grip wasn't painful, just firm.

"Milo!" I breathed, stunned. "What is wrong with you?!"

"I thought you were someone else," he said tightly, eyes burning into mine. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Well, you scared the hell out of me too!" I kicked my knee upward instinctively, but he shifted easily, avoiding it. The motion dragged his body lower, closer.

Bad move.

We were too close now.

"Get off me," I muttered.

But he didn't move.

Instead, he gave me a smile...the kind of crooked, half-sane grin that made me want to slap him and maybe kiss him in the same breath.

"You're ridiculous," I snapped.

"And you're dramatic," he countered.

"I saw blood, Milo! You weren't answering your phone, and then I found you like...like this..."

His eyes searched mine. "You were worried about me."

"Of course I was, you idiot!"

He blinked.

His weight suddenly shifted. The pressure on my wrists eased. His hand slid down gently, brushing my skin.

I used the opening to roll out from under him and bolt to my feet.

He sat up lazily, dragging a hand through his hair. The cloth from his shoulder tumbled down, revealing a shallow gash on his upper chest...already clotted, already healing.

"I'm fine," he said, voice quieter now. "No bruises. No broken bones."

I folded my arms. "Then whose blood is that?"

He looked at me for a beat too long.

"Not mine."

"Wow. So helpful." I made eye contact with him. "Ever thought of being straightforward with me for once?"

He rolled his eyes and flopped backward onto the bed like everything normal.

"It's nothing," he said offhandedly. "Don't worry yourself about the blood.

"Nothing...? Beating people and bleeding and acting like it's no big deal is nothing? Were you trying to impress me or something?"