My legs stop working.
I can feel the thumping of a heart somewhere in my chest again for the first time in two weeks.
“Miles?”
He doesn’t move. He’s sitting on the floor in front of my apartment, propped up against the door. I walk slowly toward him, not sure what to make of his appearance. He’s not in uniform. He’s casually dressed, and the stubble on his face proves he hasn’t worked in a few days. There’s also what looks like a fresh bruise under his right eye. I’m scared to wake him up, because if he’s as belligerent as he was the first time I met him, I don’t want to deal with it. But once again, there’s no way I can get around him and inside my apartment without waking him up.
I look up and inhale a deep breath, wondering what to do. I’m afraid if I wake him up, I’ll cave. I’ll let him inside, and I’ll give him what he’s here for, which definitely isn’t the part of me I want to give him.
“Tate,” he says. I look down at him, and he’s awake now, pulling himself up, watching me nervously. I take a step back once he’s standing, because I forgot how tall he is. How much he becomes everything when he’s standing right in front of me.
“How long have you been here?” I ask him.
He glances down to the cell phone in his hand. “Six hours.” He looks back up at me. “I need to use your restroom pretty bad.”
I want to laugh, but I can’t remember how.
I turn to my door, and he steps out of the way for me to unlock it.
My trembling hand pushes open the door to my apartment, and I walk inside, then point to the hallway. “On the right.”
I don’t look back at him while he walks in that direction. I wait until the bathroom door closes, and I fall onto the couch and bury my face in my hands.
I hate that he’s here. I hate that I let him in without question. I hate that as soon as he walks out of the bathroom, I’m going to have to make him leave. But I just can’t do this to myself anymore.
I’m still trying to gather myself when the bathroom door opens and he walks back into the living room. I look up at him and can’t look away.
Something is different.
He’s different.
The smile on his face . . . the peacefulness in his eyes . . . the way he carries himself like he’s floating.
It’s only been two weeks, but he looks so different.
He takes a seat on the couch and doesn’t even bother putting space between us. He sits right next to me and leans into me, so I close my eyes and wait for whatever words he’s about to say that will hurt me again. That’s all he knows how to do.
“Tate,” he whispers. “I miss you.”
Whoa.
I was absolutely not expecting to hear those three words, but they just became my new favorite words.
I and miss and you.
“Say it again, Miles.”
“I miss you, Tate,” he says immediately. “So much. And it’s not the first time. I’ve missed you every single day we weren’t together since the moment I met you.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him.
I go.
I fall to his chest and grab hold of his shirt, squeezing my eyes shut when I feel his lips press against the top of my head.
“Look at me,” he says softly, pulling me onto his lap to face him.
I do. I look at him. I actually see him this time. There’s no guard up. There’s no invisible wall blocking me from learning and exploring everything about him. He’s allowing me to see him this time, and he’s beautiful.
So much more beautiful than before. Whatever changed in him, it was huge.
“I want to tell you something,” he says. “This is so hard for me to say, because you’re the first person I’ve ever wanted to say it to.”
I’m scared to move. His words are terrifying me, but I nod.
“I had a son,” he says quietly, looking down at our hands now laced together. Those three words are delivered with more pain than any three words I’ve ever heard.
I inhale. He looks up at me with tears in his eyes, but I remain quiet for him, even though his words just knocked the breath out of me.
“He died six years ago.” His voice is soft and distant, but it’s still his voice.
I can tell those words are some of the hardest he’s ever had to say. It hurts him so much to admit this. I want to tell him to stop. I want to tell him I don’t need to hear it if it hurts. I want to wrap my arms around him and rip the sadness from his soul with my bare hands, but instead, I let him finish.
Miles looks back down at our interlocked fingers. “I’m not ready to tell you about him yet. I need to do it at my own pace.”
I nod and squeeze his hands reassuringly.
“I will tell you about him, though. I promise. I also want to tell you about Rachel. I want you to know everything about my past.”
I don’t even know if he’s finished, but I lean forward and press my lips to his. He pulls me against him so tightly and pushes back against my mouth so hard it’s as if he’s telling me he’s sorry without using words.
“Tate,” he whispers against my mouth. I can feel him smiling. “I’m not finished.”
He lifts me and adjusts me next to him on the couch. His thumb circles my shoulder as he looks down at his lap, forming whatever words he’s needing to say to me.
“I was born and raised in a small suburb just outside of San Francisco,” he says, bringing his eyes back up to meet mine. “I’m an only child. I don’t really have any favorite foods, because I like almost everything. I’ve wanted to be a pilot for as long as I can remember. My mother passed away from cancer when I was seventeen. My father has been married for about a year to a woman who works for him. She’s nice, and they’re happy together. I’ve always kind of wanted a dog, but I’ve never had one . . .”
I watch him, mesmerized. I watch his eyes as they roam around my face while he talks. While he tells me all about his childhood and his past and how he met my brother and his relationship with Ian.
His hand finds mine, and he covers it as though he’s becoming my shield. My armor. “The night I met you,” he finally says. “The night you found me in the hallway?” His eyes dart toward his lap, unable to hold contact with mine. “My son would have been six that day.”
I know he said he wants me to listen to him, but right now, I just need to hug him. I lean forward and wrap my arms around him, and he lies back on the couch, pulling me on top of him.
“It took everything I had to try to convince myself that I wasn’t falling for you, Tate. Every single time I was around you, the things I would feel terrified me. I had gone six years thinking I had control of my life and my heart and that nothing could ever hurt me again. But when we were together, there were moments I didn’t care if I ever hurt again, because being with you almost felt worth the potential pain. Every time I began to feel that way, I would just push you farther away out of guilt and fear. I felt like I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t deserve happiness at all, because I’d taken it away from the only two people I had ever loved.”
His arms tighten around me when he feels my shoulders shaking from the tears making their way out of my eyes. His lips meet the top of my head, and he inhales a steady breath as he kisses me, long and hard.