Dearest Milton James by N.R. Walker

Chapter Nine

“Talking is a good idea,”I said. “So is climbing you like a tree and asking you to take me to bed, but yes, talking probably is better. I seem to do a lot of that, so perhaps you should go first?”

Christ, Malachi, just stop talking.

Julian chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. We were still sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. “I think the work-boundary conversation is a good place to start,” he said.

I nodded, stupidly. Pretty sure he could have said that purple flying aliens were coming to take over the world and I would have nodded and agreed.

“I like you, Malachi,” he said, his cheeks a lovely warm pink. “I tried not to like you as anything more than a colleague but . . .” He smiled with a shrug. “That didn’t work out. I’m going to be straight-up with you, no pretences or anything, and just tell you that I would like to see you outside of work. I haven’t been interested in seeing anyone, let alone dating, for a long time. But then you walked into my office and it was like a lightbulb went on.”

Holy shit.

He was just putting all this out there, no hedging, no dancing around, just straight-up saying what he wanted.

And what he wanted was me.

Christ, he could just voice his feelings, his wants and whatever like a freaking grown-up, and all I could do was nod.

So I nodded.

He smiled and I eventually found my voice. “I would like that. To see you outside of work, that is. Like we are right now.”

His smile grew wider, relieved, happy.

Until I added, “But work . . .”

And his smile stumbled. “It complicates matters, I know.”

“I really like my job. And I’ve never liked a job before. I’ve never had a job I actually look forward to going to, and I want to keep it.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t not want to see you either. I . . .” I could only shrug. “I don’t know what it means. That was a lot of negatives. Did one cancel the other out? I’m not sure but you know what I mean.”

Julian gave me a sad smile. “I’m glad you like your job. When you first started, you weren’t sure you’d stay.”

“I was certain I wouldn’t. You just kinda smiled like you knew I’d fit in.”

“I was sure you would. Your father didn’t think you’d last.”

“My father . . .  Actually, I’ve probably never given my father reason to think I would last in any job.” I smiled at that. “He was more surprised than me when I told him I wanted to stay. And honestly, it was very embarrassing to have my father take me to see you. I felt like I was back in my high school principal’s office after another detention.”

“You got detention? I can’t imagine that.”

Oooh, sarcasm. I liked it. He was allowing me to see more of his real self. “Teachers loved me. Sometimes. As long as I didn’t have to speak up for any wrongs or social injustices or defend victims of bullying. Then we got along just fine.”

He met my eyes. “Have you always stuck up for the little guy? After all, you did wear a skirt to prove a point about unfair dress codes.”

“Always. And I think as crazy as I drove my parents with my ability to change jobs like I changed my hair, they’ve always been proud of what I stand up for. If someone was in trouble or if they needed help or were too afraid to speak up, I’d do it for them. My dad can’t be too mad when I’m exercising the principles he drilled into me.”

“Even if it bites him in the arse.”

“Especially then.”

He sipped his drink. “It’s an admirable quality.”

I smirked. “My mouth has gotten me into a lot of trouble.”

His eyes went to my lips and he stared. “I can see why.”

Well, holy shit.

That was very blatant, and the static between us kicked up a notch. It was clear there was something between us, but what could we do about it? This whole conversation with him was going around in circles. “So how do we . . . do we even try to see each other? I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

Julian licked his lips and his attention went to his hands resting on his lap. “There’s no corporate policy for our office that prohibits any such relationships,” he said. “So that’s one thing, I guess.”

“But then there’s the power exchange,” I added. “You know, if we did start something and then you realised that I’m a whole lot more sunshine than you bargained for, then you could fire me.”

He put his hand to his chest. “I wouldn’t . . .” Then he made a face. “But I could. I see your point, sorry.”

“And it’s not just that,” I said. “What if the others think you’re more lenient on me or more unfair to them, or I don’t know . . . anything to make them think I have an advantage because you and I have the best sex life ever and they’re all jealous.”

He chuckled at that, but then he sighed. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“It is.”

“I don’t know what the answer is.”

Fuck.

“I don’t either. But I’m glad we talked.”

“Same, Malachi. I . . .”

“You what?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I don’t know what I was going to say. I . . . wish I knew. The more we talk, the more I wish. But you’re right. We need to be professional, and you don’t want to lose your job, I don’t want to lose mine. I really love our little group of . . .”

“Misfits?”

Julian chuckled and nodded. “Yeah. I’m glad you’re enjoying your work and I don’t want to jeopardise that.”

“It doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out,” I said, quelling my disappointment that whatever was budding between us would end right here before it even had a chance to bloom. “We can still do dinner and watch movies or go to art museums with charcoal drawings of naked men.”

He smiled and gave a nod, though he seemed as disappointed as I felt. “Sounds good.”

“So these letters,” I said, changing subjects and trying to lift the mood. “I don’t have many to go.”

Julian nodded. “Just one thing first.”

I held my breath. “Sure.”

“Can we sit on the couch? My arse is numb.”

I burst out laughing. “Yes, of course.”

“How about you keep reading, and I’ll clean all this up.” He’d already picked up our takeout containers and took them to the kitchen, so there wasn’t any real point in arguing that he was a guest and shouldn’t be cleaning up.

The next letter was mostly mentions of family and what was going on in town and, of course, the looming departure for the army. There was a definite sense of their ending and a goodbye that was getting closer every day.

I made a few notes from details I wasn’t sure meant anything. “Uh, there’s a cat at your balcony door,” Julian said.

“Oh, that’s Buster Jones. Can you let him in, please?”

He opened the door and Buster Jones walked in, circled around and in between Julian’s feet, meowing his discontent rather loudly. Julian looked at me, panicked. “He’s very vocal. Is he mad at me?”

“There’s some diced ham in the fridge. Or chicken. Whatever’s in there. If you could just give him a little bit, that’d be great. There’s an old olive container. I use that to feed him in.”

“I can’t believe you feed your neighbour’s cat,” he said, but he served up some diced deli ham. He put the container down on the ground, Buster pounced on it, and Julian grinned at me. “He likes it.”

“He loves it. He usually thanks me with a cuddle.”

And sure enough, as soon as Buster finished his little snack, he trotted over to me on the couch, jumped up, and gave me a purry head bump. He sat with me for a while before sprawling himself out on the carpet in front of the TV. I smiled and took out the next letter.

It was a little more interesting than the last.

Dearest Milton James,

You’re leaving in three days and my heart isn’t ready to break. Your family barbeque was nice for you, seeing your cousins before you leave made you happy. Even though I selfishly wanted every minute with you alone.

I know you need time with them too, so I take comfort in seeing you smile.

I finally plucked up the courage to ask you to be with me, to have me the way a man might have a woman. I was so scared. I thought you’d be horrified, that you’d say no and turn me away.

But you said you wanted nothing in the world more.

I could feel the honesty in your touch, the sincerity in your kiss.

“Oh god, this is too much,” I breathed. “‘I could feel the honesty in your touch.’ Christ, who says that?”

Julian had come back to the sofa and was sitting beside me. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

I held up the letter. “This is romance. Not like Rose who let Jack drown when there was room on the door. That’s not romance. That’s second-degree homicide. This is romance.”

Julian smiled. “Negligent homicide, even.”

I nodded. He got it. He understood the outrage. “Right?” I sighed. “Now I’m mad.”

I attempted to stuff the letter back in its envelope but he took it off me. “Let me do that for you.”

Probably a good idea. I was likely to damage it with my stabby hands. “Next letter better not piss me off. I feel like writing a letter to James Cameron. Fucking Jack and Rose. Ugh. Like Romeo and Juliet. Honestly. They all end up dead.”

I shot a look to Julian, holding the next letter to my chest. “Oh my god, these two better not end up dead. Julian, I’ll never forgive you if you make me read this and they die. You said he didn’t die.”

“He doesn’t.” Then he made a face. “In these letters he doesn’t. But I can’t guarantee they’re both still alive now.”

I stared at him. “Oh god. Why did you say that?”

Julian reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “Just keep reading.”

I sighed, feeling all kinds of turmoil and dread, and opened the next letter.

Dearest Milton James,

I want to share this with you, these words I can’t seem to find how to say, today of all days.

What we did last night was magical. Heaven was in my bed, in your arms, in your eyes. What you did to me . . . made me yours forever.

I had you inside my body, my dearest Milton James. I wish you were still there now.

You told me you loved me, and I told you the same.

But time always wins in the end. You left my bed before dawn, on this your last day here.

I joined your parents on the platform, not wanting to say goodbye. You, beautiful you, your train, your suitcase, your ticket in your inside coat pocket. You waved your farewell as the train pulled away, taking my heart with you.

I can still taste your goodbye kiss on my lips.

The gift you gave me last night fresh in my mind.

What we shared I will hold forever close. The way you held me, the way you touched me, the warmth of your hands on my skin. The way you moved inside me.

Nothing has ever felt so right.

I love you, Milton James. Now and forever.

I looked up from the letter, tears threatening to spill, and whacked Julian on the arm. “He left him! He actually went to freaking war. You said—”

“I said he didn’t die,” he replied, smiling sadly. He plucked a tissue from the box and handed it to me. “Read the next letter.”

The next letter? I was still trying to process this letter. “They had sex.” I held up the letter like it was proof. “They made love and he left him. My heart can’t take this kind of thing. I’d prefer to watch insurance ads on TV with puppies and cry over that. Actually, I’d prefer to watch Silence of the Lambs with the freaky human skin suit or a horror movie with mannequin body parts.”

I shuddered violently at the thought and Julian put his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze.

“Read the next one.”

I tried to hate his gorgeous smiling face, but I just couldn’t.

I took the next letter out while Julian re-read the one I’d just handed him. I grumbled as I opened it but reluctantly, I began to read.

Dearest Milton James,

It’s been four days, four long and awful days since you left. I didn’t know a human heart could feel like this. How does it continue to beat when it’s so broken? How does everyone keep living when it all feels so lost to me?

I’m trying to keep my chin up like you said. To make my own life like you said.

I applied for university, against my father’s better judgement. He wanted me to stay but this town is not for me. First semester starts in February, and I’ll be moving to Sydney then. I’m trying to save as much money as I can before I go, and I took the temporary job at the council.

I didn’t know what else I could do. It all seems kind of pointless to me, but I think of how brave you are and it gives me the strength to plan ahead.

I think of you every waking moment, of what we did. I can still feel your touch, and when I’m alone in my bed at night, I relive every detail.

Every day I get through without you is a day closer to seeing you again.

All my love,

Raymond

I looked up at Julian, stunned. “We have a first name.”

He smiled. “We do.”

And then because I’m me, I began to cry. “We have a first name.” Julian handed me a clean tissue and I dabbed at my eyes. And then I realised what letter was next. “There’s only one more letter.”

Julian nodded and carefully took it out of the envelope and handed it to me. I was too excited to ask him any questions. It was addressed as they all were.

Dearest Milton James,

I spoke to your mum in the street and asked her, probably far too excitedly, for any news. It’s been over a week since you’ve been gone and I miss you so damn much, words can simply not convey.

She said you were at Duntroon and were keeping well, that you’d been assigned an administration role.

I asked what that meant.

She said you’d be an accounting clerk. Too good with numbers for boots in the mud, the accountant general had said. It wasn’t likely you’d be deployed at all, your mum explained. Stationed in Duntroon for now. She was still proud and ever so relieved her boy wouldn’t be sent off to war.

I almost cried in the street. I almost wept in front of your mother.

And I knew then, as if a light shined through the clouds, it didn’t matter if you didn’t write like you said you would. You would be safe and that was all that mattered.

I love you, Milton James. And I somehow love you more in your absence. I will wait for as long as it takes.

Yours, always.

I read the last part again and closed the letter with a sigh. “Is that it?”

“That’s the last letter, yes.”

I turned the letter over, as if there would be some magic ink on the back. Of course there wasn’t. “It just feels . . . unfinished.”

“Because it is,” Julian said quietly. “We don’t know what happened.”

“It’s like reading a book with the final chapter ripped out. This is like my worst nightmare.”

“I thought fake body parts and human skin suits were your worst nightmare.”

“They are. And books that don’t end makes three.”

He smiled at me, soft and lovely. “Hopefully we can find out what happened.”

“I’ll need to add to my notes,” I said quietly. “I’m kinda bummed now. There’s no closure. I hate that.”

“But it reads as though he didn’t go to war. He was stationed here in Australia, and Raymond, the man who wrote the letter, said he’d wait.”

“Do you think they saw each other again?”

Please say yes. Please say yes.

“I’d like to think so, yeah.” Julian rubbed my arm. “Maybe Raymond went off to uni in Sydney like he said he was going to and Milton, or whatever his real name is, took his leave in Sydney so they could be together away from their small, nosey town.”

“Sounds nice.” And totally unbelievable, but I didn’t say that. I settled on a sigh instead. “I wanted . . . an ending. I wanted them to be happy.”

“We don’t know what the ending will be like. If we can even find them.” Julian studied my face for a moment. “Do you still want to try and find them?”

“Yes. Now more than ever. I need to know what happened.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that creased the corners of his eyes. Christ, he was handsome.

“Well, we can start looking tomorrow. Now we’re all read up, we can begin searching.”

I nodded. “In between running cages of parcels, boxes, and letters.”

“Yes, and on that note, I should go home.”

He looked like he didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want him to leave, but we’d decided that probably wasn’t a good idea.

Hadn’t we?

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said. “Probably.”

He packed up the letters and I walked him to the door and opened it, though neither of us took another step. It was awkward and exciting; my heart was thumping, and my belly was all swoopy.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said. “I really enjoyed spending the evening with you.”

Was he being formal because he was nervous? I wasn’t really sure what a gentleman would say, given most guys I’d had back to my flat usually left without so much as a goodbye.

“I really enjoyed you being here,” I replied.

“I meant what I said. If we shouldn’t date, like we talked about, then maybe you might want to hang out or grab dinner sometime . . . We don’t have to talk about it at work if you’d rather no one else know.”

“I’d like that,” I said, my blood buzzing. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for this kind of evening and figured a polite goodbye kiss couldn’t hurt. I leaned up on my toes and softly kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Julian smiled and took a few steps out the door into the hall, but then he stopped and turned. His cheeks were pink, his bottom lip was between his teeth, but he was still smiling. “You know,” he said, his voice pure sex. “I’d really like to kiss you properly, just once.”

Holy fuck.

I grinned, almost laughed, and had barely nodded once before he strode back to me, pushed me against the door frame, and kissed me.

And when I say he kissed me, I mean kissed.

He pinned me with his body against the door jamb, one hand held my jaw, his other hand went to my lower back. His mouth, his tongue, his passion, the grunt he made.

My knees gave out but he held me there, pressed hard in all the right places. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, I wanted him to do every good and terrible thing to me he could imagine . . .

But then he pulled his mouth from mine. He pressed his forehead to mine for a second while we caught our breath. He wore a wicked grin with swollen lips and lust in his eyes. He thumbed my bottom lip and when I thought my heart was going to actually explode, he took a step back and let me find my feet.

He grinned and nodded. “Thought so.”

He thought so what?

I couldn’t think. I could barely stand. And he walked down the stairs, smug as fuck. “See you tomorrow, Malachi.”

I was so dazed, I must have stood there for five minutes trying to get my scrambled brain back online and my lungs to take in oxygen. I managed to get inside where I promptly slid to the floor against the door, grinning like a fool, my head still spinning.

I took out my phone and called my emergency contact. She picked up on the second ring. “Better be important, bitch. I’m watching episode forty-three—”

“He kissed me,” I blurted out. “Julian kissed me. And when I say kissed, I mean the man knows how to fucking kiss. Moni, he . . . fucking hell. Can he kiss.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a shriek. “What the fuck, Malachi? Tell me everything.”