Chapter 53: Chapter 53

◇ KEL ◇

12:35AM

In the quiet of my own room, the moment my brain just gave up and stopped processing the glossary terms in my new Pharmacology book, I heard my phone beep.

New message?  I glanced at my nightstand clock. Well past midnight.

Probably just Gaia, texting me goodnight. I had asked Gaia to come over again to keep me calm and semi-normal. Unfortunately, my best friend wanted me to deal with Miles on my own.

"Just play his game," was Gaia's poor advice for me.  "And tell him you don't need him, or his filthy rich family and shady connections."

Out of burning curiosity and anxiety, I  got up from my desk to check my phone. My heart jumped when I read his alias on the screen. Yep. I had to use aliases now—actually his request.

"Still up?" his text read.

"So now you feel like texting me?" For a long minute or two, I just stared at his message. The diminutive voices in my head were stupidly fighting over what to do. Downright annoying.

Why did he have to show up and be the man of the hour?

Well, him being so likable, all smiles and cracking jokes with my family all night wasn't what irritated me, though. It just pissed me off how much his praise-worthy niceness contradicted the upsetting things he'd told me earlier.

1) I shouldn't contact him ever again.

2) We can't stay close friends.

It was so unreasonable, and it upset me more than it should.  But seeing him holding and playing with my niece for the first time?

Darn it!  How perfect could he get?  So he was a natural with babies, too.  The fact just tugged at my stubborn, infatuated heartstrings.

Every. Single. One.

Ugh! Why did he have to show up?

For what felt like an entire minute of pointless monologue in my head, I hid under the heavy covers, mouthing off to no one but myself in my quiet bedroom.

Was he in bed? Still in the guest room? What did he wanna talk about?

The ambush?  Niccolo being dead?

Their family issues?  His new job?  His new girlfriends?

Merciful heavens...

Help.

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"How'd you feel after finding out?" Miles flumped next to me on the wooden bench below the only tree in my parents' yard.

The smell of grass and earth soothed my aching head somehow. Although I'd rather be alone in my room, I just couldn't ignore the need to talk to him again. Alone and in private.

"Unwanted," I muttered in reply.

"What'd you say to your mom?"

I shook my head and refused to recall my lengthy argument with Mom that day. I glanced past our seven-foot-high metal fence. His bodyguard could be right outside the fences, but, at this moment, I could hear nothing but Miles' steady breathing.

He sat too close to me that the cool, soapy scent of his skin filled my head and distracted my thoughts. "Were you upset?" he asked next.

"A little. More confused. And I just miss Dad more," I admitted. I tried to answer his questions with no pause or hesitation. It seemed he was now in the mood to talk about my problems lately. Out of guilt?  "Sure, we had money problems. But he took care of me. Not just Jill and Mommy."

My Daddy Jim really was the perfect father:  a provider, a patient husband, and a caring dad to his little girls. I could not imagine growing up knowing and having someone else as my dad.

"You wanna know if he's still alive?" asked the curious guy sitting beside me.  "Your biological father."

"I guess."  I shrugged.  "Just wanna ask him why he bailed."  I sat on my hands. The nippy midnight breeze left me shivering.  "I don't even remember his face." And the coward left because I wasn't worth staying for.

Although the issue shouldn't matter to me now, it still hurt. Maybe because lately, Miles barely made an effort to stay in touch, and the nagging feeling of being unwanted just gnawed at me.  It was worse than that first torturous month I'd sworn off antidepressants―good thing med school was a big distraction.

"You wanna meet him?" Miles asked after a stretch of silence.

"I dunno." A tear dropped on my cheek. I wiped it off in haste.  Honestly, right now, I'd rather seem cold and emotionless than cry in front of him.  I never cried in front of him.

Miles took off his jacket to cover me up and hug me close to him.  "Sorry."

"For?" I stared at the trimmed grass underneath my flip-flops.

"Things I shouldn't have done. And things I should have."

What did he mean? What was he trying to say now?  "Could you be more specific?"  My voice slightly wavered.  The feeling of being pitied just worsened the weight in my chest.

Yeah. I wanted to talk to him alone. But I didn't want this kind of talk.  Sad, nostalgic, discouraged―the words might as well be tattooed on my forehead.

"Why didn't you just give me a call?"

Miles pulled away and reclined on the stiff bench.  "You were fixated on finding Niccolo," he sighed.  "I know you." He smirked. "You'd do anything to figure it all out.  Just didn't wanna encourage you."

"Could've at least replied to my texts."  I scowled at him. It should be enough to convey my annoyance, but I eventually let his comment slide.

Enzo had been busy, leaving me with no choice but to wait for news, any developments on the case. But I got nil. And I was pretty sure the Falcos had a lot to say about the whole thing.

Even if Niccolo could already be a rotting corpse by now, part of me still wanted to help bring justice to help his poor family grieve with the sudden loss. In one way or another.

"Just don't want you to get any more involved." Miles stroked my hand before placing his arm on my shoulders.

"But..." I wiped my cheeks dry and frowned at his reason.  "He was your friend."

Miles scoffed at my response, the look on his face seeming far from convinced. "I really hope so."

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He hoped so?

What did he even mean by that?

Was he insinuating Niccolo's involvement with the mafia was Niccolo's choice?  Maybe Niccolo purposely tried to blackmail him and his family some months ago?

Which could only mean...Niccolo was either working for someone or some people who hated the Falcos. Or...he was working for the authorities.

But of course Miles wouldn't tell me anything. He'd rather I knew nothing about it or about what really happened. Drown in my own thoughts and anxiety.

"Stop. Just keep out of it," he said with another scowl.

"What?" I got up from the bench and muffled a sob.

"For your own good."

Was he still upset with me?  "I know, telling Paul was a mistake. I'm sorry. Okay? Won't happen again."

"I don't care about that, Mykaela."  Miles scoffed and turned his face away.

A moment of total silence prolonged, amplifying my need to vent pent-up emotions. We both didn't move an inch for what felt like a long minute.

He remained slouching and tight-lipped on the bench. Like he was giving me time to think.  "Remember New Year's eve?" he then said out of the blue.  "We spent all day at the shooting range."

It sparked a memory I thought I'd already forgotten. It happened a year ago.  Why bring it up?

I let the memory linger, though. I even recalled some details. It had been a fun afternoon with his best friend. Miles had taught me how to shoot. He'd even taught me how to assemble and dismantle a pistol.  Odd how someone who liked to paint for a living actually knew his way around guns, was my initial reaction then.

"Just sit down." He grabbed my hand and sat me down beside him.

"Why?"

Miles reached for something behind him and took out a black handgun the size of his palm.  "Yours." He carefully placed the small weapon next to my thigh.

Whoa. A gun.

An actual gun.

At the thought, a shaky breath escaped my mouth.

Whoa.   Alright.  Shit just got real.

"Take it," he said with a scowl that compressed his lips as I stood still.

"No."

"Just take it." He touched the bridge of his nose. "I'll sleep better."

"No. I don't need it."

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