Ugly Love Part 27

I shake my head. "You've been nothing but honest about what you want from me, Miles. I can't be mad at you for that."

He inhales a deep breath as he stands and begins pacing the living room. I remain on the couch and watch him as he works to gather his thoughts. He eventually pauses and locks his hands behind his head. "I had no right to question you about that guy, either. I don't allow you to question me or my life, so I have no right to question yours."

Not about to argue with that logic.

"I just don't know how to deal with this thing between us." He steps closer to me, and I stand up. He wraps his arms around my shoulders and holds me against his chest. "I don't know an easy or even polite way to say this, but what I said to Corbin is the truth. I'll never love anyone again. It's not worth it to me. But I'm being unfair to you. I know I'm messing with your head, and I know I've hurt you, and I'm sorry for that. I just like being with you, but every time I'm with you, I'm scared you're seeing it for more than it really is."

I know I should have some sort of reaction to everything he just said, but I'm still processing his words. Every single one of his admissions should be a red flag, since they were all also coupled with the hard truth that he doesn't plan on loving me or having a relations.h.i.+p with me, but the red flag doesn't rise.

The green one does.

"Is it me specifically you don't want to love, or is it love in general you don't want to experience?"

He pulls me away from his chest so he can look at me while he answers my question. "It's love in general I don't want, Tate. Ever. It's you specifically that I just . . . want."

I fall in and out and back in love with that answer.

I'm so screwed up. Everything he says should send me running, but instead, it makes me want to wrap my arms around him and give him whatever it is he's willing to take from me. I'm lying to him, and I'm lying to myself, and I'm not doing either of us any good, but I can't stop the words that come out of my mouth.

"I can handle this as long as it stays simple," I tell him. "When you pull the s.h.i.+t you pulled a few weeks ago by walking away and slamming your door? That's not keeping it simple, Miles. Things like that make it complicated."

He nods, contemplating what I've said. "Simple," he says, rolling the word around in his mouth. "If you can do simple, I can do simple."

"Good," I say. "And when it becomes too hard for either of us, we'll end it for good."

"I'm not worried about it becoming too hard for me," he says. "I'm worried about it becoming too hard for you."

I'm worried about me, too, Miles. But I want the here and now with you a whole lot more than I care about how it will affect me in the end.

With that thought, I suddenly figure out what my one rule is. He's had his boundaries this entire time, protecting himself from the vulnerability that I've been subjected to.

"I think I finally have my one rule," I say. He looks at me and raises a brow, waiting for me to talk. "Don't give me false hope for a future," I say. "Especially if you know in your heart we'll never have one."

His posture immediately stiffens. "Have I done that?" he asks, genuinely concerned. "Have I given you false hope before?"

Yes. About thirty minutes ago, when you looked me in the eyes the entire time you were inside me.

"No," I say quickly. "Just make sure you don't do or say things that would make me believe otherwise. As long as we both see this for what it is, I think we'll be fine."

He stares at me silently for a while, studying me. Evaluating my words. "I can't tell if you're really mature for your age or really delusional."

I shrug, guarding my delusions deep inside my chest. "An unhealthy mixture of both, I'm sure."

He presses his lips against the side of my head. "This feels really f.u.c.ked up to say out loud, but I promise I won't give you hope for us, Tate."

My heart frowns at his words, but my face forces a smile. "Good," I say. "You have serious issues that kind of freak me out, and I'd much rather fall in love with an emotionally stable man someday."

He laughs. Probably because he knows the odds of finding someone who can put up with this kind of relations.h.i.+p, if you can even call it that, are extremely low. Yet somehow, the one girl who might be fine with it just happened to move in across the hall from him. And he actually likes her.

You like me, Miles Archer.

"Corbin found out," I say as I take what has become my usual seat next to Cap.

"Uh-oh," he says. "Is the boy still alive?"

I nod. "For now. Not sure how long that'll last, though."

The doors to the lobby open, and I watch Dillon make his way inside. He pulls a hat off his head and shakes rain out of it as he walks toward the elevator.

"Sometimes I wish the flights I send up would crash," Cap says, eyeing Dillon.

I guess Cap doesn't like Dillon, either. I'm beginning to feel a little bad for Dillon.

He spots us just before he reaches the elevators. Cap is moving to press the up b.u.t.ton, but Dillon reaches it before him. "I'm pretty capable of fetching my own elevator, old man," he says.

I vaguely remember having a brief thought ten seconds ago about Dillon and how I felt sorry for him. I take that thought back now.

Dillon looks at me and winks. "What you doing, Tate?"

"Was.h.i.+ng elephants," I say with a straight face.

Dillon shoots me a confused look, not at all understanding my random response.

"If you don't want a sarcastic answer," Cap says to him, "don't ask a stupid question."

The elevator doors open, and Dillon rolls his eyes at both of us before walking onto the elevator.

Cap cuts his eyes to mine, and he grins. He holds a palm up in the air, and I high-five him.

chapter twenty-four.

MILES.

Six years earlier "Why is everything yellow?"

My dad is standing in the doorway to Rachel's bedroom, looking at the few items we've collected in the months since he's known about the pregnancy. "It looks like Big Bird threw up in here."

Rachel laughs. She's standing at the bathroom mirror, putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches on her makeup. I've been lying on her bed, watching her.

"We don't want to know if it's a boy or a girl, so we're buying gender-neutral colors."

Rachel answers my dad's question as if it were one of many, but we both know it's the first. He hasn't asked about the pregnancy. He doesn't ask about our plans. He usually leaves the room if Rachel and I are both in it.

Lisa isn't much different. She's not past the point of disappointment or sadness yet, so we don't push it. It'll take time, so Rachel and I are giving that to them.

Right now, Rachel only has me to talk to about the baby, and I only have her, and even though that seems like too little, it's more than enough for both of us.

"How long will the ceremony last?" my dad asks me.

"No more than two hours," I tell him.

He says we should go.

I tell him that as soon as Rachel is ready, we can go.

Rachel says she's ready.

We go.

"Congratulations," I tell Rachel.

"Congratulations," she tells me.

We both graduated three hours ago. Now we're lying on my bed, thinking about our next step. Or at least I am, anyway.

"Let's move in together," I tell her.

She laughs. "We kind of already live together, Miles," she points out.

I shake my head. "You know what I mean. I know we already have plans for after we start college in August, but I think we should do it now."

She rises up on her elbow and looks at me, probably trying to read my expression to see if I'm serious.

"How? Where would we go?"

I reach over to my nightstand and open the top drawer. I pull out the letter and hand it to her.

She begins reading it out loud.

Dear Mr. Archer, She looks up at me, and her eyes are wide.

Congratulations on your summer registration. We are pleased to inform you that your application for family housing has been processed and approved.

Rachel smiles.

Enclosed you will find a return envelope and the final paperwork which will need to be returned by the postmarked date.

Rachel looks at the envelope and quickly flips through the attached paperwork. She pulls the letter back to the top.

We look forward to receiving the completed forms. Our contact information is below should you have any questions.

Sincerely, Paige Donahue, Registrar Rachel covers her smile with her hand and tosses the letter aside, then leans forward and hugs me.

"We get to move now?" she says.

I love how evident the excitement is in her voice.

I tell her yes. Rachel is relieved. She knows as well as I do how awkward the next several weeks would have been in the same house as our parents.

"Have you asked your father yet?"

I tell her she forgets that we're adults now. We no longer have to ask for permission. We only have to inform.

Rachel says she wants to inform them right now.

I take Rachel's hand, and we walk together to the living room and inform our parents that we're moving out.

Together.

chapter twenty-five.

TATE.

It's been a few weeks since Corbin found out. He hasn't accepted it, and he still hasn't spoken to Miles, but he's beginning to adapt. He knows on the nights I leave without explanation, only to come back a few hours later, where I've been. He doesn't ask.

As far as things with Miles, I'm the one doing the adapting. I've had to adapt to his rules, because there's no way Miles is adapting to breaking them. I've learned to stop trying to figure him out and to stop allowing things to get so tense between us. We're doing exactly what we agreed to do in the beginning, which was to have s.e.x.

A lot of s.e.x.

Shower s.e.x. Bedroom s.e.x. Floor s.e.x. Kitchen-table s.e.x.

I've still never spent the night with him, and it still hurts sometimes how closed off he becomes right after it's over, but I still haven't figured out a way to say no to him.

I know I want so much more than what he's giving me and he wants so much less than what I want to give him, but we're both just taking what we can get for now. I try not to think about what will happen the day I can't handle it anymore. I try not to think about all the other things I'm sacrificing by still being involved with him.

I try not to think about it at all, but the thoughts still come. Every night, when I'm in bed, I think about it. Every time I'm in the shower, I think about it. When I'm in cla.s.s, in the living room, in the kitchen, at work . . . I think about what's going to happen when one of us finally comes to our senses.

"Is Tate a nickname for something else?" Miles asks me.

We're in his bed. He just got home from four days at work, and even though our arrangement is supposed to be all about s.e.x, we're still fully dressed. We're not making out. He's just lying with me, asking me personal questions about my name, and I love it so much more than any other day we've ever spent together.

It's the first time he's ever asked me a semi-personal question. I hate that his question fills me with all these feelings of hope, and all he did was ask me if Tate was a nickname.