Ugly Love(79)

He’s quiet.

We watch the city in silence for what seems like forever. Every now and then, he’ll cup his hands and bring water up to my shoulders to warm my chills away.

“Have you always lived in San Francisco?” I ask him. I turn so that my back is against the ledge now and I’m facing him. He keeps his arms on either side of me and nods.

“Close to it,” he says, still looking at the city over my ­shoulder.

I want to ask him where, but I don’t. I can tell by his body language that he doesn’t want to talk about himself. He never wants to talk about himself.

“Are you an only child?” I ask, trying to see what I can get away with. “Any brothers or sisters?”

He looks me in the eyes now. His lips are pressed into a firm, agitated line. “What are you doing, Tate?” He doesn’t ask it in a rude way, but there’s no other way his question can come across.

“Just making conversation,” I say. My voice is soft and sounds offended.

“I can think of a lot more things I’d rather talk about than myself.”

But that’s all I want to know about, Miles.

I nod, understanding that although I’m technically not breaking his rules, I’m bending them. He doesn’t feel comfortable with that.

I turn around and face the ledge again. He’s still in the same position, pressed against me, but it’s different now. He’s stiff. Guarded. Defensive.

I don’t know anything about him. I don’t know a single thing about his family, and he’s already met mine. I don’t know a single thing about his past, but he’s slept in my childhood bed. I don’t know what subjects I bring up or what actions I take that will cause him to close off, but I’ve got nothing to hide from him.

He sees me for exactly who I am.

I don’t see him at all.

I quickly bring a hand up and wipe away a tear that somehow just escaped down my cheek. The absolute last thing I want is for him to see me cry. As much as I know I’m too far gone to continue treating this as casual sex, I’m also too far gone to stop it. I’m terrified to lose him for good, so I sell myself short and take what I can from him, even though I know I deserve better.

Miles places a hand on my shoulder and turns me around to face him. When I choose to stare down at the water instead, he hooks a finger under my chin and makes me look up at him. I allow him to tilt my face up to his, but I don’t make eye contact. I look up and to the right, attempting to blink back the tears.

“I’m sorry.”

I don’t even know what he’s apologizing for. I don’t even know if he knows what he’s apologizing for. But we both know my tears have everything to do with him, so he’s more than likely just apologizing for that simple reason alone. Because he knows he’s incapable of giving me what I want.

He stops making me look at him and instead pulls me to his chest. I rest my ear against his heart, and he rests his chin on top of my head.

“Do you think we should stop?” he asks quietly. His voice is fearful, like he’s hoping my answer is no, yet he feels compelled to ask me anyway.

“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.