"No," I whisper.
He sighs heavily. It sounds like it could be a sigh of relief, but I'm not sure. "If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?"
I shrug, because there's no way I'm answering that with a yes until I hear his question first.
"Are you still doing this with me because you think I'll change my mind? Because you think there's a chance I'll fall in love with you?"
That's the only reason I'm still doing this, Miles.
I don't say that out loud, though. I don't say anything.
"Because I can't, Tate. I just . . ." His voice fades away, and he grows quiet. I analyze his words and the fact that he said I can't rather than I won't. I want to ask him why he can't. Is he scared? Is it because I'm not right for him? Is he afraid he'll break my heart? I don't ask him, because none of his answers to these questions would reassure me. None of these scenarios is reason enough to absolutely deny a heart happiness.
Which is why I don't question him, because I feel like maybe I'm not prepared for the truth. Maybe I'm underestimating whatever it was that happened in his past to make him this way. Because something happened. Something I more than likely couldn't relate to, even if I found out what it was. Something that stole the spirit right out of him, just like Cap said.
His arms pull me in tighter, and the hold he has on me speaks volumes. It's more than an embrace. More than a hug. He's holding me like he's terrified I'd drown if he were to release me.
"Tate," he whispers. "I know I'll regret saying this, but I want you to hear it." He pulls back just enough for his lips to meet my hair, then grips me tightly again. "If I were capable of loving someone . . . it would be you." My heart cracks with his words, and I feel the hope seep in and leak right back out again. "But I'm not capable. So if it's too hard--"
"It's not," I interrupt, doing whatever I can to stop him from ending this. I somehow find it in me to look him in the eyes and tell the best lie I've ever told in my whole life. "I like things exactly how they are."
He knows I'm lying. I can see the doubt in his concerned eyes, but he nods anyway. I try to get his mind off of it before he sees right through me. I wrap my arms loosely around his neck, but his attention is pulled to the door, which is now opening. I turn, too, and see Cap slowly shuffling his way onto the rooftop deck. He walks toward the switch on the wall that turns off the jets to the hot tub. He flips it off and slowly turns back toward the door but not before noticing us out of the corner of his eye. He turns and faces us full on, standing no more than five feet away.
"That you, Tate?" he says, squinting.
"It's me," I say, still in the same position with Miles.
"Hmm," Cap says, taking us both in. "Anyone ever told the two of you that you make a pretty darn good-looking couple?"
I wince, because I know this isn't the best moment for Miles to hear that, especially after the awkward conversation we just had. I also know what Cap is up to with that comment.
"We'll shut the lights off when we leave, Cap," Miles says, ignoring Cap's question and redirecting the conversation.
Cap narrows his eyes at him, shakes his head as though he's disappointed, and begins to turn back to the door. "It was a rhetorical question anyway," he mumbles. I see his hand go up to his forehead, and he salutes the air in front of him. "Good night, Tate," he says loudly.
"Good night, Cap."
Miles and I both watch until the door closes behind Cap. I pull my hands away from his neck and gently push against his chest until he steps back in order for me to make my way around him. I swim backward toward the other side of the pool.
"Why are you always so rude to him?" I ask.
Miles lowers himself in the water, parting his arms in front of him and kicking off the wall behind him. He swims toward me, and I watch as his eyes remain focused on mine. I swim backward until my back is against the opposite wall of the pool. He continues toward me, almost crashing into me, but he stops himself by gripping the ledge on both sides of my head, sending waves of water against my chest.
"I'm not rude to him." His lips meet my neck, and he kisses it softly, trailing slowly upward until his mouth is close to my ear. "I just don't like answering questions."
I think we've established that already.
I pull my neck away a few inches in order to see his face. I try to focus on his eyes, but there are drops of water on his lips, and it's hard not to stare. "He's an old man, though. You're not supposed to be rude to old people. And he's pretty damn funny, if you'd just get to know him."
Miles laughs a little. "You like him, huh?" He seems amused.
I nod. "Yeah. I like him a lot. Sometimes I like him more than I like you."
He laughs loudly this time and leans in again, planting a kiss on my cheek. His hand conforms to the nape of my neck, and his eyes drop to my mouth. "I like that you like him," he says, bringing his eyes up to mine. "I won't be rude to him again. Promise."
I bite my lip so that he doesn't see how much I want to smile at the fact that he just made me a promise. It was a simple promise. But it still feels good.
He slides his hand around to my jaw, and his thumb meets my lip. He pulls it away from my teeth. "What did I tell you about hiding that smile?" He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and bites it gently, then releases it.
It feels as if the temperature in the pool just shot up twenty degrees.
His mouth meets my throat, and he breathes out a heavy sigh against my skin. I tilt my head back and let it rest against the ledge of the pool as he kisses his way down my neck.
"I don't want to swim any more," he says, sliding his lips from the base of my throat all the way up to my mouth again.
"Well, then, what do you want to do?" I whisper weakly.
"You," he says without hesitation. "In my shower. From behind."
I swallow a huge gulp of air and feel it fall all the way to the pit of my stomach. "Wow. That's very specific."
"And also in my bed," he whispers. "With you on top, still soaking wet from the shower."
I inhale sharply, and we can both hear the tremble of my breath as I exhale. "Okay," I try to say, but his mouth is on mine before the word is even all the way out.
And once again, what should have been an eye-opening conversation for me is shoved aside to make room for the only thing he's willing to give me.
chapter thirty
MILES
Six years earlier
We quietly walk to an empty waiting area. My father sits first, and I reluctantly sit across from him.
I wait for his confession, but he doesn't know I don't need it. I know about his relationship with Lisa.
I know how long it's been going on.
"Your mother and I . . ." He's looking at the floor.
He can't even make eye contact with me.
"We decided to separate when you were sixteen. However, with as much as I traveled, it made financial sense for us to wait until you graduated before filing for divorce, so that's what we decided to do."
Sixteen?
She got sick when I was sixteen.
"We had been split up for almost a year when I met Lisa."
He's looking at me now. He's being honest.
"When she found out she was sick, it was the right thing to do, Miles. She was your mother, and I wasn't going to leave her when she needed me the most."
My chest hurts.
"I know you've put two and two together," he says. "I know you've done the math. I know you've been hating me, thinking I was having an affair while she was sick, and I hated allowing you to think that."
"Then why did you?" I ask him. "Why did you let me think that?"
He looks at the floor again. "I don't know," he says. "I thought maybe there was a chance that you didn't realize I'd been dating Lisa for longer than I let on, so I thought bringing it up would do more harm than good. I didn't like the thought of you knowing my marriage with your mother had failed. I didn't want you to think she died unhap
py."
"She didn't," I reassure him. "You were there for her, Dad. We both were."
He appreciates that I say this, because he knows it's true.
My mother was happy with her life.
Happy with me.
It makes me wonder if she'd be disappointed now, seeing how things have turned out.
"She would be proud of you, Miles," he says to me. "With how you've handled yourself."
I hug him.
I needed to hear that more than I knew.
chapter thirty-one
TATE
I'm trying to listen to Corbin go on about his conversation with Mom, but all I can think about is the fact that Miles is due home any minute now. It's been ten days since he's been home, and that's the longest we've gone without seeing each other since the weeks we spent not speaking.
"Have you told Miles yet?" Corbin asks.
"Told him what?"
Corbin faces me. "That you're moving out." He points at the potholder on the counter next to me.
I toss him the potholder and shake my head. "I haven't talked to him since last week. I'll probably tell him tonight."
Honestly, I've wanted to tell him I found my own apartment all week, but that would involve either calling or texting him, two things we don't do. The only times we text each other are when we're both home. I think we do this because it helps us maintain our boundaries.
It's not like the move is a big deal anyway. I'm only moving a few blocks away. I found an apartment that's closer to both work and school. It's definitely no downtown high-rise, but I love it.
I do wonder, though, how it will affect things between Miles and me. I think that's one of the reasons I haven't mentioned that I was even looking for my own place. There's a fear in the back of my mind that not being right across the hall from him will become too inconvenient, and he'll just call off whatever is going on between us.
Corbin and I both look up as soon as the apartment door opens and there's a quick knock on it. I glance at Corbin, and he rolls his eyes.
He's still adapting.
Miles walks into the kitchen, and I see the smile that wants to spread across his face when he sees me, but he keeps it in check when he sees Corbin.
"What are you cooking?" Miles asks him. He leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest, but his eyes are scrolling up my legs. They pause when he sees I'm wearing a skirt, and then he smiles in my direction. Luckily, Corbin is still facing the stove.
"Dinner," Corbin says with a clipped voice.
He takes a while to adapt.
Miles looks at me again and stares for a few silent seconds. "Hey, Tate," he says.
I grin. "Hey."
"How were midterms?" His eyes are everywhere on me but my face.
"Good," I say.
He mouths, You look pretty.
I smile and wish more than anything that Corbin wasn't standing here right now, because it's taking all I have not to throw my arms around Miles and kiss the hell out of him.
Corbin knows why Miles is here. Miles and I just try to respect the fact that Corbin still doesn't like what's going on between us, so we keep it behind closed doors.
Miles is chewing on the inside of his cheek, fidgeting with his shirtsleeve, watching me. It's quiet in the kitchen, and Corbin still hasn't turned around to acknowledge him. Miles looks like he's about to burst at the seams.
"Fuck it," he says, gliding across the kitchen toward me. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, hard, in front of Corbin.
He's kissing me.
In front of Corbin.
Don't analyze this, Tate.
He's pulling my hands, dragging me out of the kitchen. As far as I know, Corbin is still facing the stove, trying his best to ignore us.
Still adapting.
We get to the living room, and Miles separates his mouth from mine. "I haven't been able to think about anything else today," he says. "At all."
"Me, neither."
He pulls me by the hand toward the front door. I follow. He opens it, walks to his apartment, and pulls his keys out of his pocket. His luggage is still outside in the hallway.
"Why is your luggage out here?"
Miles pushes open his apartment door. "I haven't been home yet," he says. He turns around and grabs his things from the hallway, then holds the door open for me.
"You came to my apartment first?"
He nods, then tosses his duffel bag onto the couch and pushes his suitcase against the wall. "Yep," he says. He grabs my hand and pulls me to him. "I told you, Tate. Haven't thought about anything else." He smiles and lowers his head to kiss me.
I laugh. "Aw, you missed me," I say teasingly.
He pulls back. You would think I'd just told him I loved him with the way his body tenses up.
"Relax," I say. "You're allowed to miss me, Miles. It doesn't break your rules."
He backs up a few steps. "You thirsty?" he asks, changing the subject like he always does. He turns and heads toward the kitchen, but everything about him just changed. His demeanor, his smile, his excitement over finally seeing me after ten days.
I stand in the living room and watch it all crumble.
I'm hit by a reality check, but it feels more like a meteor.
This man can't even admit that he misses me.
I've been holding out hope that if I take it slowly enough with him, he'll eventually break through whatever it is that's holding him back. The entire past few months, I've been under the assumption that maybe he just can't handle the way things have developed between us and he needs time, but it's clear now. It's not him.
It's me.
I'm the one who can't handle this thing between us.
"You okay?" Miles says from the kitchen. He walks out from behind the obstructed view of the cabinets so he can see me. He waits for me to answer him, but I can't.
"Did you miss me, Miles?"
And up comes the armor again, shielding him. He looks away and walks back into the kitchen. "We don't say things like that, Tate," he says. The hardness is back in his voice.
Is he serious?
"We don't?" I take a few steps toward the kitchen. "Miles. It's a common phrase. It doesn't mean commitment. It doesn't even mean love. Friends say it to friends."
He leans against the bar in the kitchen and calmly looks up at me. "But we were never friends. And I don't want to break your one and only rule by giving you false hope, so I'm not saying it."
I can't explain what happens to me, because I don't know. But it's as if every single thing he's ever said and done that's hurt me impales me all at once. I want to scream at him. I want to hate him. I want to know what the hell happened that made him capable of saying things that can hurt me more than any other words have ever come close to doing.
I'm tired of treading water.
I'm tired of pretending it's not killing me to want to know everything about him.
I'm tired of pretending he's not everywhere. Everything. My only thing.
"What did she do to you?" I whisper.
"Don't," he says. The word is a warning. A threat.
I'm so tired of seeing the pain in his eyes and not knowing the reason for it. I'm tired of not knowing what words are off-limits with him.
"Tell me."
He looks away from me. "Go home, Tate." He turns around and grips the edge of the counter, dropping his head between his shoulders.
"Fuck you." I turn and exit the kitchen. When I reach the living room, I hear him coming after me, so I speed up. I make it to the front door and open it, but his palm meets the door above my head, and he slams it shut.
I squeeze my eyes tightly, bracing for whatever words are about to completely slay me, because I know they will.
His face is right next to my ear, and his chest is pressed against my back. "That's what we've been doing, Tate. Fucking. I've made that clear from day one."
I laugh, because I don't know what else to do. I turn around and look up a
t him. He doesn't back away, and he's so much more intimidating in this moment than I've ever seen him be before.
"You think you've made that clear?" I ask him. "You are so full of shit, Miles."
He still doesn't move, but his jaw tenses. "How have I not been clear? Two rules. Can't get any simpler than that."
I laugh incredulously, then get everything off my chest at once. "There's a huge difference between fucking someone and making love to them. You haven't fucked me in more than a month. Every time you're inside me, you're making love to me. I can see it in the way you look at me. You miss me when we aren't together. You think about me all the time. You can't even wait ten seconds to walk in your own front door before coming to see me. So don't you dare try to tell me you've been clear from day one, because you are the murkiest goddamn man I've ever met."
I breathe.
I breathe for the first time in what feels like a month.
He can do what he wants with all that. I'm done trying.
He blows out a steady, controlled breath while he backs several steps away from me. He winces and turns around as if he doesn't want me to read the emotions that are obviously present somewhere deep within him. His hands grip the back of his neck tightly, and he remains in this position for a solid minute without moving. He begins to blow out steady breath after steady breath, as if he's doing everything in his power to pull himself together and not cry. My heart begins to ache when I realize what's happening.
He's breaking.
"Oh, God," he whispers. His voice is completely pain-ridden. "What am I doing to you, Tate?"
He walks to the wall and falls against it, then slides to the floor. His knees come up, and he rests his elbows on them, covering his face with his hands to stop his emotions. His shoulders begin to shake, but he's not making a sound.
He's crying.
Miles Archer is crying.
It's the same heart-wrenching cry that came from him the night I met him.
This grown man, this wall of intimidation, this solid veil of armor, he's completely crumbling right in front of my eyes.
"Miles?" I whisper. My voice is weak compared with his massive silence. I walk to him and lower myself to my knees in front of him. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and lower my head to his.
I don't ask him what's wrong again, because now I'm terrified to know.
chapter thirty-two