Page 15

Mila

T he house is too quiet and it’s fraying my nerves. I tried to listen to music, but that was too loud, and it grated my nerves as well.

I’ve been pacing the length of the kitchen for the last twenty minutes, my coffee long cold, my phone a permanent fixture in my hand. Every few seconds, I refresh the news sites to see who else has picked up the story.

It’s been live for hours and is spreading like wildfire.

The reactions are coming in fast. My phone buzzes constantly, lighting up with texts, DMs and email alerts like it’s being electrocuted. I scroll, thumbing through them with a mix of dread and detachment, like watching a car crash in slow motion.

Most are reporters from other news outlets wanting an interview. Major network news shows wanting to get me on air and even some willing to pay for an exclusive. It’s revolting and I’ve deleted every single one of them.

I talked to Jillian late last night after I got home from the game, rushing upstairs after declining Penn’s odd request to join him for a beer.

In any other circumstance, I would have accepted, eager to forge a stronger connection with an old friend turned ally, but I was too fearful of the shitstorm that would be hitting today.

Jillian wasn’t apologetic about running the story nor did I expect her to be.

She did exactly what I asked her to do… and that was rush it to press.

She was sympathetic even though she didn’t understand that I was now trying to protect Penn from the harsh spotlight.

I never gave her my co-witness’s name and she never pressed.

The conversation ended and left me feeling more miserable than I already did.

Some messages are kind, but they are few and far between. One is from Aunt Dorene, short but heartfelt. Proud of you, Mila-bug. That couldn’t have been easy to do. Call me when you can. Love you.

The warmth of her words hits me harder than I expect, and I have to press my lips together to keep from crying. I clutch the phone to my chest for a second, relishing the only piece of comfort I’ve felt all morning.

But the kindness is drowned out by the rest.

A message from an unknown number rolled in seconds after Dorene’s. You think this makes you safe? It won’t stop what’s coming. We haven’t forgotten what you did. You’ll pay for it.

My fingers tremble as I reread the threat, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. I’m scared witless and can’t help but read the second one that came in, from the same number. Slut. Liar. Bitch. Hope it was worth ruining your brother’s life.

The news article was supposed to make me safe. With this all out in the open, no one would dare come after me. These text messages from my tormentor are nothing more than words. There’s no way he can act upon them, not without getting labeled as a prime suspect. They have to know that, right?

My phone dings and it startles me so badly, I almost drop it. I bobble, turn it over and my heart leaps with joy when I see the word Mom . After all these years, I still have her programmed in my contacts and if there’s ever someone who needs their mom on their side in this moment, it’s me.

But then my eyes really focus on the message and a feeling of dark emptiness courses through me. Her message is short and damning. Just a single sentence in a gray bubble, and somehow, it lands the hardest. You’re a disgrace to this family.

I stare at it, the words blurring before my eyes. There’s no “How are you.” No concern. No attempt to understand. Just condemnation. Rejection.

Like always.

My thumb hovers over the screen, tempted to delete it, but I don’t. Not because I want to see it again—but because I need the reminder. I have no one to count on other than Penn and Dorene, and I’m sure that will only be Dorene once Penn finds out about the article.

I remind myself I did the right thing all those years ago. And I’ve done what’s best for me now. My choices have been solid, both before and today. But even as I try to convince myself of that, I have to acknowledge that I’m standing here alone because of those choices.

My phone dings again, but I’m numb at this point. I dispassionately read the next text. You won’t see it coming. You’ll suffer before you die.

The numbness dissipates, replaced by full-blown terror because throughout all the threats I’ve received, whoever this is has never come right out and said they’ll kill me.

The implication has certainly been there, but I think without the actual words, it’s been easier to believe that it’s only ever been digital harassment.

By promising to kill me, it’s clear that I have to watch my back at all times now. I press my hand to my mouth and close my eyes, willing the nausea down. A cold sweat breaks out along my spine and I have the sudden urge to bolt.

Cash in my savings, sell my little house in Boca Raton and flee to another country where I’ll get plastic surgery to change my appearance and assume a new identity. Then I’ll be safe.

For a moment, things are crystal clear. I need to go and I need to do it fast. I turn for the stairs, mentally calculating how quickly I can pack and get on the road, but I don’t even make it a step when I hear the mudroom door opening from the garage and I know Penn is home.

I didn’t expect him for a while as I knew he had a team meeting and then practice. There’s no way they’re finished already.

There’s only one reason he’d be here right now. He’s seen the article.

It’s with so much fear that I turn around to face him. Please, Penn. Please don’t be angry.

But I know better. I know exactly what’s coming through that door.

My hands won’t stop shaking and I hate myself for the weakness because I’d convinced myself I was ready for this.

That exposing the truth was the only way to protect myself.

To protect us , even if Penn never asked me to. Even if he would never admit it.

Even if he hated me for it.

Penn storms into the kitchen like a freight train, face thunderous as his eyes lock on me, holding up his phone for me to see the article that ran this morning. It’s exactly as I expected and I take an involuntary step backward.

“You went to the press?” he snarls. “ Without telling me? ”

My voice wobbles. “Because you refused to talk to me when I first came to you. You shut me out. You left me with no other choice.”

“You had a choice,” he growls, tossing the phone onto the kitchen island. “You chose to betray me.”

I flinch. “Betray you? I didn’t even mention your name!”

He steps closer. “You didn’t have to. Any asshole with internet access is going to figure it out.”

I change my tone to match his. “I was scared, Penn! You think I did this to hurt you? I did it to stay alive .”

His jaw flexes, hands braced on the counter like he needs the marble to anchor him. His voice sounds like broken gravel. “You’re an idiot if you think this is going to change a thing with whoever is stalking you. It’s only going to make my life hell.”

Something inside of me snaps. Or rather, maybe it’s my own indignation locking into place, replacing the fear with anger.

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Penn. You’ve spent your entire adult life hiding in plain sight and now your carefully constructed, lonely little existence is threatened to be exposed.

” The asshole rolls his eyes at me and heat flares in my chest. “You know what you are? You’re a coward. ”

He shoves away from the counter, anger blazing in his eyes as he comes toward me. I hold my ground, refusing to be scared by this man. We meet in the middle of the kitchen, toe to toe, the air between us charged like a live wire.

His glare is menacing. “What did you call me?”

I ignore the question and attack. “You don’t get to stand there and act like I’m the bad guy,” I hiss.

“You pushed me away when I sought out your help and you’re not going to blame me for doing what I needed to do to ensure my safety.

You’ve always done that… pushed me away.

You did it here in Pittsburgh and you did it all those years ago when I tried to back up your story. ”

“I pushed you away because I didn’t want to drag you down with me!” he yells. “But you thought you knew best.”

“You think I wanted to do this?” I shout back. “You think I wanted the world to know what happened to my brother? That my parents disowned me? That I’ve been sleeping with a can of Mace under my pillow for years?”

I’m practically panting, every word ripping out of me like a blade. But I’m not done. Not even close.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes burn into mine, and I see the storm of emotions churning behind them—anger, frustration… something darker I can’t name.

“And you,” I seethe, the venom dripping in my response. “You stand there like some fucking martyr. But you’re not, Penn. You’re just… hollow.”

He flinches, but I don’t stop.

“Do you even feel anything anymore? Or did you bury that part of yourself so deep that nothing can touch you? I bet even this”—I gesture wildly between us, between me and him and everything unraveling—“doesn’t make you feel a damn thing, does it? Because you’re too fucking numb to care.”

Something snaps.

The air between us, already charged, ignites.

“Fuck you,” Penn growls, low and dangerous, and then suddenly, he’s there .

Grabbing me.

His hands are rough and sure, one curling around the back of my neck, the other cupping my jaw.

And then his mouth crashes down on mine and I think I might have just died and gone to heaven. Nothing else exists. There is no fear, no hatred, no irritation. Just his mouth on mine, and a bolt of pleasure rips through me so forcefully I moan against his tongue.

Penn jerks back, his hands falling away as his eyes dart wildly, roaming my face for perhaps some explanation of what the hell that just was. It’s over as fast as it started.

We’re breathless, faces inches apart. Neither of us blinks.