‘What?’ Gregory asks, amusement mixed with pure exasperation clear in his tone.
Miller twitches, his eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t like repeating myself.’
‘For f**k’s sake,’ Gregory laughs. ‘Where the f**k did you find this twat?’
‘Greg!’ I gasp, spinning around and backing up into Miller’s chest to prevent the inevitable.
‘Well, give me a break, please!’
‘I’ll break your f**king neck!’ Miller scathes, punching holes through my beaten friend with raging eyes over my shoulder.
‘Enough!’ I shout, throwing my hands up violently. ‘Just . . . enough!’ There are a million words I want to throw into the mix, ones for Gregory and for Miller, but at the risk of escalating the situation further, I take some calming breaths and close my eyes to gather a bit of patience. ‘Gregory, wait in the kitchen.’ I chuck my arm out in gesture. ‘Miller, come with me.’ I grab his hand and start pulling him away. ‘I’ll be ten minutes,’ I call over my shoulder, not giving either man a chance to retaliate. I’m not leaving them alone. I’ll return to pools of blood and discarded bones.
‘I’ll wait in the hallway,’ Gregory spits, and I hear the door slam viciously, shaking the apartment walls.
Miller splutters, pulling me to a halt. ‘Did he just slam my f**king door?’ His eyes are wild and he makes to turn, his face screwed up in disgust. ‘He just slammed my f**king door!’
‘Miller!’ I yell, diving in front of him. ‘Bedroom! Now!’ I’ve lost it, madness churning in my gut, heat rising to my face. Now he’s being fastidious for the sake of it. ‘Don’t make me repeat myself!’ I’m shaking. I’ve reached the end of my worn tether with these two, each behaving like a bulldog, letting their egos cloud what matters. Me! ‘I’m going for coffee with Greg!’
‘Fine,’ he says, looking sulky, ‘but if a hair on your head is damaged when I get you back, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ What does he think will happen to me?
‘He better make certain of it,’ he scoffs.
What? ‘You sound like a conceited idiot!’
‘Olivia.’ He dips and gets nose to nose with me, his eyes burning bright with fervour, while mine are burning bright with frustration. ‘You know how I feel about people interfering, and you know how I feel about them upsetting you. Not only will I break his spine if you return to me physically harmed, but I’ll hold that promise if he upsets you.’
My whole body slumps dramatically. It’s intentional, just so he can physically see how much he frustrates me.
‘Overthinking,’ he whispers, sliding his palm onto my nape and pulling me forward, closing the minuscule gap that remained between our mouths and sealing our lips.
‘I won’t overthink,’ I promise, letting him suck my annoyance out of me. I’m past that now. ‘And after everything you’ve put me through in the last twenty-four hours, Miller? I’m having coffee with a friend.’
I feel his lips purse against mine. ‘As you wish.’ He can’t argue with that. He wraps me in his arms, disconnecting from my mouth so he can sink his face into my wild blond hair. It’s like he knows that a Miller thing can magic some strength into me. It never fails. ‘I count on your strength, my gorgeous girl.’
I embrace him and let him squeeze me strong. Or stronger. I might have been hugely annoyed with what’s happened since Gregory rocked up, but my strength didn’t waver. I’ll never run away from us. ‘I should take a shower.’
He releases me. My hair is pushed over my shoulders and arranged just so as he scans my face. ‘Don’t leave me without you for too long.’
I smile and gently break away from him, taking myself to the shower while mentally preparing for another onslaught of interference from my best friend.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gregory is leaning up against the wall in the hallway when I leave Miller’s apartment, scrolling through his phone. ‘Hey,’ I say, pulling the door closed behind me.
He looks up and pushes away from the wall on a strained smile. ‘Hey, baby girl.’
Those words alone make me want to sob. ‘What’s happened to us?’ I ask.
Gregory looks to Miller’s shiny black door and back to me. ‘The coffee-hater happened.’
‘He’s more than a coffee-hater,’ I argue quietly. ‘And it was only my first coffee that he hated, so we can’t technically call him that any more.’
‘Cocksucker.’
‘That one’s reserved for Ben. Seen him lately?’
His broad shoulders go rigid. It’s guilt. ‘We’re not here because of my f**ked-up love life.’
I nearly fall over as a result of his cheek. ‘My love life isn’t f**ked up!’
‘Get a grip!’ He’s up in my face with two easy strides. ‘That in there’ – he points to Miller’s front door – ‘is f**ked up and he’s rubbing off on you!’
My hackles rise, my face twisting with infuriation. ‘I’m not listening to this.’ I pivot on my Converse, set to abandon our ‘talk’ in favour of some solace from my f**ked-up, OCD-suffering, demon-holding, possessive, damaged, drug-using, ex-notorious-male-escort/part-time gentleman. Okay, so he is kind of f**ked up, but he’s my f**ked-up, finicky Miller. And I love him.
‘Olivia, wait!’ He grabs the top of my arm a little harshly, but quickly drops it when I yelp. ‘Shit!’ he curses.
I swing around, rubbing at my arm on a scowl. ‘Take it easy!’
He looks truly nervous. ‘I’m sorry, I just didn’t want you to go.’
‘Then tell me so.’
He casts his brown eyes to my arm. ‘I hope I haven’t marked you; I quite like my spine where it is and in one piece.’
I press my lips together to prevent my grin at his sardonic joke. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Thank f**king God.’ He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down sheepishly. ‘Can we start again?’
Relief floors me. ‘Please.’
‘Great.’ He looks up to me, remorse rife in his brown eyes. ‘Can we walk and talk? I’m not all that comfortable bad-mouthing your coffee-hater when he’s in such close proximity.’
On a roll of my eyes, I link arms with him and lead him to the stairwell. ‘C’mon.’
‘Is the lift broken?’
I skid to a halt, frowning to myself. I haven’t even realised that I’m picking up on Miller’s obsessive habits. ‘No.’
Gregory’s frown matches mine as we stroll over to the lift and board as soon as it arrives. His face looks dreadful, but I’m not sure it would be wise to acknowledge it or ask how he is, given that we’re both smiling now, so I plump for something entirely different. ‘How’s work?’
‘Same old,’ he mutters unenthusiastically, killing that line of conversation dead in its tracks.
I think hard again. ‘Mum and Dad okay?’
‘All right.’
‘How are things with Ben?’
‘Fragile.’
‘Has he come out?’
‘No.’
I roll my eyes. ‘What the hell did we talk about before I met Miller?’
He shrugs as the doors open, and I lead on, desperately searching my empty mind for anything to talk about, other than Miller and the inevitable interference that’s on the horizon. I come up with zilch.
Nodding politely at the doorman and ignoring the reflection of Gregory’s reluctant figure behind me, I push through the doors and emerge into the bright, fresh London air. I would have thought the vast open space engulfing me would instil a sense of freedom, but it doesn’t. Nowhere near. I feel suffocated under the impending interrogation from Gregory, desperate to run back to Miller and take my freedom from being smothered in his apartment. In his thing. In him.
I turn on a sigh, finding Gregory shifting awkwardly behind me, obviously stumped for what to say or do. He insisted on a talk. He must have things to say, and even though I don’t particularly want to hear them, I wish he’d just get it over and done with so I can tell him that he’s wasting his energy . . . again.
‘Are we going for coffee or not?’ I ask, indicating down the street.
‘Sure,’ he mumbles grumpily, like he’s aware that he’s about to waste his breath. He joins me and we begin to stroll down the street. There’s at least three feet separating us and unrest is filling that gap. It’s never been like this between us, and as there’s no conversation happening, it gives me too much silent reflecting time to wonder how it came to this. Our silly little fumble in my bedroom that time was a cause for concern, but with the animosity and battling between Miller and Gregory, that’s fallen by the wayside, which is undoubtedly a good thing.
We cross a road, quite easily, given the early hour, and continue at a leisurely pace, Gregory drawing continuous breaths of air to speak but never actually saying anything, and me looking eagerly for the sign that’ll tell me we’re nearing the coffee house. The discomfiture squeezing us is becoming unbearable.
‘Just tell me what it is about him.’ Gregory pulls me to a stop, and I open and close my mouth, trying to figure out how to word it. It’s all clear as daylight in my mind, but trying to voice it to an outsider stumps me. I don’t need to justify myself to anyone, yet the profound need to make Gregory understand why I’m still here is suddenly very important to me.
‘Everything.’ I shake my head, wishing I could come up with something better.
‘The fact that he’s an escort?’
‘No!’
‘Money?’
‘Don’t be stupid. You know I have a bank account full of cash.’
‘He’s intense.’
‘Very, but it has nothing to do with that. He wouldn’t be Miller if he didn’t have issues. Every part of that man is a result of his life so far. He was orphaned, Gregory. His grandparents dumped him in a questionable children’s home and forced his young mother back to Ireland, leaving him behind because of the shame he’d bring on the family.’
‘Doesn’t mean he can behave like a total twat,’ he mutters, scuffing his boots on the concrete beneath his feet. ‘Everyone has problems.’
‘Problems?’ I fume indignantly. ‘Being orphaned, becoming homeless, having OCD, and resorting to prostitution to survive isn’t a problem, Greg. It’s a f**king tragedy!’
My friend’s eyes widen, making me frown. ‘Homeless?’
‘Yes, he was homeless.’
‘He has OCD?’
‘Not confirmed, but it’s pretty obvious.’
‘Prostitution?’ he shouts in delayed reaction.
I realise my error immediately. Escort. Gregory didn’t need to know that Miller had been a regular prostitute. ‘Yes.’ I raise my chin, daring him to pass comment, thinking what he’d say should I add drug addict to the list.
My ploy fails on every level. ‘It gets better!’ he laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh. ‘And I’m pretty sure he’s psychotic, too, so you really do have your very own head case.’
‘He. Is. Not. A. Head. Case.’ I punctuate each word on a hiss, my blood beginning to boil. ‘You don’t see him when we’re alone. No one does, except me. Yes, he can be uptight, and so f**king what if he likes things a certain way? He isn’t killing anyone!’
‘He probably has.’
I recoil in disgust, words collecting and sticking to my tongue, my brain not quite sure which expletives to hurl at Gregory first. ‘Fuck off!’ It settles on a good all-rounder, and once I’ve lobbed it in his face, I turn back towards Miller’s apartment block, my angry feet pounding the pavement harshly.