Wide Open (29 page)

She kept calling Milo "hotshot" over and over and over. It was pretty funny because it irked him so bad, even though I knew she was only doing it to keep the tension from being tight. A couple other people from work stopped by and brought food, but most of the people I knew would wait until the funeral to pay their respects.

I could tell Mason and Emma had no idea where I'd gone yesterday. I should have known Milo would protect me in that way, too. I almost wanted to tell them, just because being open felt like the theme of the day.

And I would tell them, I knew I would, but first Will's funeral had to be arranged. Mason and Milo took me to the funeral home in town, the only one our little town had, and when the funeral director asked me when I wanted to do it, I said as soon as possible. When the details were too much or I didn't understand something, Milo would let me rest in the refuge of his neck and Mason would work out the rest of the details.

When it came down to choices and colors and cost, I froze.

All the money was gone. We used it all on Will's treatments and the apartment, and keeping some back for his funeral just seemed too morbid, but now would probably have been a good idea. He had said it several times, but eventually let it go, and I never brought it up again.

I looked up at the funeral director, the fresh tears for a completely different reason clinging to my lashes, as I fiddled my fingers around my bracelet embarrassingly. "Um…Mr. Price, how much is all that going to cost?"

I had no idea how much a funeral cost. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Maybe they worked with a payment plan or something. No, that was stupid.

"What you have chosen as of now is roughly seven thousand five hundred."

I gasped painfully, my eyes no longer brimmed, but spilling over. "Well…um, there's a little problem. Um, is there anything that's not as expensive as that?"

He looked at me curiously. "Well, that includes the burial plot at the church cemetery beside your parents, of course." I sighed. Oh, God help me. What was I going to do? I leaned forward and put my head in my hands.

"Maya," I heard Mason say as Milo's hand rubbed my back, his side pressed against mine. "We can help if you'll let us."

I lifted my head and looked at him like he was crazy. "Mason, I
can't
let you."

Mr. Price cleared his throat. "The funeral arrangements have been paid in full already, up to the amount of ten thousand dollars. Anything that's left over after that is to be refunded back to you, Maya."

We all stared at him silently before my squeak broke it. "What did you say?" When he went to answer, I cut him off. "Who? Who paid it? How? When!"

He smiled, amused by my outburst. "I can't believe you didn't know and I'm the one who has to tell you." His smile was one of sadness and a tinge of happiness. "Will came and paid it, Maya." My heart hurt, my vision blurred. He
didn't
just say Will paid it. "He came months ago. He said his diagnosis was…not good, but you weren't giving up. He wanted to let you have that. He wanted to spend every minute with you with hope that it could be okay, but he knew it wouldn’t. So before the money was gone with all the treatments and bills, he came and paid it. He said he was going to tell you eventually."

"He didn't," I heard myself say, but it didn't sound like me. "Will," I scolded him in a whisper, "how could you not tell me?"

"He was your big brother," Mr. Price reasoned. "It's his job to protect you."

"No matter how much I tried to take care of him, he always still managed to be the one doing it, even if he let me think it was me. I was awful at it, and he was so good." I laughed and sniffed. "So typical."

"He loved you." He smiled. "That boy loved his sister."

"I love him." I looked at Milo and remembered what Milo said Will told him. "And Will's still making sure I'm okay."

"Maya, I've known you and Will since you were little. Your father and I actually had a scuffle over your mother when we were in the eighth grade once." I laughed as a tear slid down my cheek. "This doesn't help you feel better, I know, but I hope you know that just because your family is gone doesn't mean you don't have people here who care about you. Think about that."

"I will. Thank you."

"So, do you want to wait a day or two or a few before the funeral? Or do you want to go ahead and get it done?"

So the next day at eleven in the morning, I sat in the front row left side with Milo and we said goodbye to my brother. The church pews were full to the brim, and I was shocked by it. Honestly, most of those people knew our parents, but we pushed those people away by our actions after our parents died. They had been there waiting for us that whole time, and we just thought they abandoned us.

I thought it was going to be torture to listen to the stories of the couple of people who told stories of my brother, but it wasn't. It actually felt like a really big, albeit bulky and uncooperative, band-aid, but a band-aid nonetheless.

That night at the apartment, people came and went, they ate and looked at the photos strung all over the place. I felt I should put them out, let people see them.

Milo had been my silent rock all day. He hadn't tried to coddle me or coax answers out of me with "
Are you okay?"
s every five minutes, for which I was grateful. He stood by me, was polite when I introduced him, cleaned dishes and did whatever needed to be done, and I never felt like I needed to do anything to make him comfortable. That was a relief all by itself.

But I could tell something was up. He was letting me get through the day and then I knew he was going to tell me. He wouldn’t lie; I knew it. We were beyond that now. I had no idea what was going on, but I hoped it was something I could survive. Maybe he wanted to move back home to be with his mom and Mason. I didn't know, but as the last few guests were politely shooed away, I knew the time to find out had come.

When our eyes met across the room, he knew it, too. And then I knew he wasn't leaving me. How could he leave? It was obvious he belonged here with me. We practically finished each other's thoughts without even having to say anything.

Mason had taken Emma and the baby back to their hotel a while ago, but was coming back later. He seemed to be in on whatever was going on since he looked really uneasy all day.

"Milo, I know you've had something to tell me. Everyone's gone. Will's in the ground. No more excuses. Please. What the hell's going on?"

He came swiftly and put his hands on my hips, pushing me gently to sit in the chair as he knelt down in front of me. "If I could go back and change it, know that I would do that. I would do anything, pay anything to change it." His eyes were red. He actually looked as if he could cry.

"Baby, you're scaring me."

He leaned up and put his face right up to mine, his palms on my cheeks. "I love you. I love you so much. I don't know how much time we have, but I want to get you out of here. You have to go with Mason when he gets here. Tomorrow morning, you're going to leave with them, get out of town for a while."

"What? Why?"

"Remember when I told you about the night I left home? The night I got beat up and left the hospital? They wanted me to roll over and give up Roz? I ran and changed my name." I nodded. "When I called 911 for Will and the cops came, I accidentally…gave them my old name. They found me." I gasped. "Roz was at my apartment the other night when I went out looking for you."

"No, Milo. No."

"I told you I wouldn't leave you—"

I got it. I got exactly what he meant. "Let's run. Let's just go."

One side of his mouth rose. "I love that you would do that for me, but he'll use Mason and Mamma against me," he explained softly. "Before, he knew I didn't care, but he knows that I do now."

"Why does he want you so badly?"

"Because I used to work for him. I know all his drop-off spots, all his big buyers, the businesses he uses to run his business through. He made a killin'. And I was a loose end."

"So what are you saying?" I asked him, my throat scratching and aching to hold it together. "You're what? Just going to go home and wait for him to come find you?"

"I don't know what to do, Maya. Anything I do, you get hurt and I break my promise." His jaw hardened and twitched. I smoothed it with my finger.

"So, what? That's it? I go with Mason, and you just go home and wait for Roz to come find you? We can't go to the police because they might kill you, too? Nothing? We don't even try?"

He stared. "I won't risk you. Not for a second. You're going with Mason." He stood. "And I'm going to try to talk to Roz. I won't get your hopes up. I know it won't help, but…it's all I can do. I need to face him alone and take this on by myself."

"Milo, no," I groaned and stood.

He made the most pained face I'd ever seen on him. He cupped my face and kissed me so softly. "Do this for me," he said harder and kissed me again. "I love you, Maya. I love you and I want you to know that what you said about not dwelling on the time that we didn't get to spend with someone, but being thankful for the time we did get with them? I'm so thankful I met you and you got to change me so completely." His lips opened my mouth with his and I knew something was coming, but I just couldn't make myself put things together. I hung on to him and sighed against his lips. "I love you, sweetheart. Thank you for the privilege of letting me catch you."

"I love you."

"Promise me you'll do this for me." I hesitated and he asked again. Harder. "Promise."

"Okay," I answered, but I didn't really even know what I was promising.

A sob broke free of my chest just as clapping resounded in my ears. Milo stood, yanking me behind him as I peeked just barely around his shoulder to see two men in my living room. One was tall with a gun pointed at us, one shorter one was clapping and smiling as if something pleased him very much.

"Aw, Milo, don't look so surprised to see me."

"You said you'd wait until after her brother's funeral."

He looked at his watch and raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "It's after."

"Come on," Milo coaxed me forward. He handed me his cell. "Mason's number's in there. Get out of here."

My breath skidded painfully. "Milo."

"You promised," he begged me, his eyes on mine. "Go." He pushed me toward the kitchen, his hand on the small of my back, but I didn't get far.

"The girl doesn't want to go," the short one said with a high-pitched chuckle. "Sounds to me like someone's having a lover's spat."

"Let her go," Milo growled.

"I think it's better this way," he plopped down into the plush club chair and smiled, "seeing as how she's seen my face and all."

Milo tugged me back behind him and tried to soothe me, his thumb running over my pulse point. His voice, however, was anything but calm as he spat his words to the man sitting down. I could only assume that was Roz. "You bastard. You never had any intention of letting her go."

"I guess you'll never know."

Milo jumped right into it, just like he told me he was going to. "I don't care about your business, Roz. I never did. I was a stupid kid you used to do your bidding. I don't care what you do. I have no interest in you. I'm not going to the cops or anybody else with this. All I'd be doing was incriminating myself anyway. You can trust that—"

He laughed. "No loose ends, Milo. That was the number one rule when I hired you, remember?"

Milo's grip tightened. "You hired
me
, not her. I was the screw-up who ruined his life, not her. She didn't screw you over, I did. I stole from you and used your goods, not her. Don't punish her because of what I did." He was shaking. "You want me to beg, I will. Please don't do this to her. Take me, do whatever you want to me, but let her go.''

"No," Roz answered immediately. The gunman at the kitchen counter snickered at that. Milo glared at him, and I knew if he a gun hadn't been pointed at me, this whole situation would be very different. I tried not to cry, not to shake. I tried to be brave for Milo since he was being so brave for me.

"Sweetheart," Roz drawled and I knew he was mocking the way Milo said it to me. "Why don't you scoot to the kitchen and make us some tea?"

"Don't you—" Milo barked, but I gripped his arm to stop him. I shook my head, just barely. I leaned up and kissed his bottom lip, not knowing what I could do, but knowing that Roz obviously thought little ol' me wasn't a threat or he wouldn't have sent me into the knife-filled kitchen to get his tea. I glanced at Roz and didn't see a gun on him, but that didn't mean he didn't have one.

I turned up the shakes and tremors to give him an even bigger reason to doubt I was a threat as I made my way to the kitchen. I shook so badly that I dropped the spoon to the floor loudly and left it there, grabbing another one as I rattled it against the cup and started the kettle on the stove.

When I neared the knives, I heard a grunt. The gunman slung the knife block across the room, throwing knives and splinters of wood and wall chunks everywhere as I screamed and crouched down.

"Wouldn't want you to get any ideas," he drawled. I looked up to see his gun pointed right at Milo's chest. Milo's face was so red, his fist so tight. When I filled the kettle with water from the tap, it rattled against the metal from my exaggerated shaking, but I had to admit some of it was real.