I was meeting Miles again tonight and this time was going to be different, I could feel it. He’d been biding his time, saving himself up. Maybe even seeing if I was too delicate to hear it. So I’d decided to meet him in a public place where I felt comfortable and would have my friends for support if I needed them. Most evenings, the casino was noisy and crowded, so it may not have been the perfect location to have a serious conversation. But alone in a quiet restaurant over dinner felt too romantic, and I was already anxious enough.
Miles and I had gotten together by ourselves only one other time—at the FroYo place near Pure. Again, it had been quiet and ordinary. Almost humdrum. I’d begun to question what in the hell we’d ever had in common. He claimed he had stuff to say to me, but yet again, he never did.
Then his text came last night.
Miles: Meet up again? I really need to get some things off my chest.
Racheclass="underline" You’ve had plenty of opportunity, Miles.
Miles: I know I have. I was just . . . giving you time to get comfortable around me again.
Me: ???
Miles: I wanted to see what it would be like to hang with you. To spend time getting to know you again. See what there still was between us.
Me: WTF? Pretty sure we’re not on the same wavelength. I only met up with you so you could say what you needed to say. NOT to be in each other’s space again. You can’t make that decision for me. I swear to God, Miles, you need to get on with it. Spill it or be on your way. This is absolutely the last time I will be meeting with you. Got that?
Miles: Got it. And I agree.
I figured if he held back yet again, then I would be the one to say good-bye. Three times would be enough closure for me.
He was lucky I was even giving him this chance. But I had to admit, I was still curious about what he had to say.
Dakota and Kai were at work, so I got ready alone in the apartment. I kept dropping my mascara wand in the sink as I prayed that I wouldn’t make a fool of myself by dressing in the outfit Dakota had insisted I wear. Had I been at the university prepping for a frat party with the girls, I would have worn my sexiest shirt, my tightest jeans, and swiped on one more coat of mascara. I pleaded for that confident and carefree mind-set now.
I had wondered for hours on end what in the hell Miles could possibly have to confess. Even though I felt stronger each time I saw him, I was afraid continued contact with him might finally break the dam keeping my emotions at bay. Would wreck me all over again. I actually questioned if these past three years were only a precariously placed Band-Aid over my heart and whether I’d done any real healing after all.
What if I only thought that I’d become stronger, self-possessed, and secure in my own skin? Maybe my supposed healing was a ticking time bomb, like the carefully monitored pressure in my brain, threatening to boil over at any moment. Be my undoing. Take me to my final grave.
Everybody still tiptoed around the subjects of Miles and my accident. I knew Mom and Dad were terrified that I’d have long-term physical complications, like an infection or a random blood clot—it was a long shot, sure, but I saw the caution in their eyes.
Allowing me to go away to college had been a huge step for them—of letting me go. I could still feel the tethers from miles away.
The only person who seemed to treat me the same was Kai. He’d always had this quiet confidence that I would be okay, that everything would work out. And for that alone I admired him. Appreciated him. Would always consider him a best friend.
But best friends didn’t get that gnawing feeling in their stomaches when they saw each other, the one that gets you all knotted up inside, hoping that the too-perfect moments from another night could be repeated again and again.
A platonic friend didn’t stand in front of the mirror and wonder if the same outfit she was wearing to meet her ex would also appeal to that certain someone else working tonight.
If anything, I should have been thanking Kai for the distraction; otherwise I would have been a basket case at this point. Instead, my stomach twisted and sloshed with anxiety and dread.
I tugged the black mini dress from the hanger and slipped it over my head and down around my hips. Then I stepped into my killer black pumps. I rarely dressed like this, but Dakota had shoved her collection of gorgeous dresses at me, adamant that I wear this number because the neckline made my boobs look bigger. She told me to go big or go home. She said if this was the last meet-up with Miles, he needed to have one final hot memory of me.
I turned toward my closet and considered pulling out my best pair of jeans and my highest wedges instead. But I was already dressed, and it kind of felt nice to wear a dress for a change. Maybe I should do it more often. Maybe Dakota was rubbing off on me.
I looked in the mirror, and as a line of red washed across my cheeks, I imagined Kai kissing my neck. The way the ball of his tongue ring dragged across my flesh and how his fingertips felt rough and uneven from plucking at the strings of his bass.
Thinking about the sexiness that Kai exuded was definitely serving as a great diversion from my meet up with Miles.
I drove to the casino in a haze, prepping myself for the night ahead. I parked in the garage and took the elevator up to the casino level. As I neared the bar, I saw that Miles was already seated at a small table. My emotions flooded back. How it had felt to be with him. How I’d melded into his body, his interests and plans. How I’d lost who I was with him.
How I had just allowed him to talk me into meeting with him on three separate occasions.
And there had been something altogether comfortable about letting him have that control, because I didn’t have to think or prepare—I just had to be. A perfect role for a first-time girlfriend of a hugely popular jock. I had been virtually invisible.
Until suddenly I wasn’t—because of the crash and the recovery, the scars and the shaved head. It had been as if he’d stepped out of the limelight and allowed me to take center stage, which I’d never even asked for. Which I’d never even wanted. Especially not for that.
I wasn’t that girl anymore, and tonight, I needed for him to know it.
He stood as if in a daze when I approached the table and then pitched forward to pull out my chair. Ever the gentleman. Adults loved him. His own parents worshiped him, just like everybody else in this damn town. Even my parents had loved him. Until he’d walked away so callously.
“Thank you,” I said clumsily.
He returned to his seat as his eyes greedily took me in. “You look great, Rachel.”
I dipped my head, feeling uncomfortable about the compliment. Even though I had selfishly wanted it. “Thanks.”
“I ordered you a beer. Hope that’s okay.” And it all came crashing back. How he’d always done things like that—things that I’d thought I liked—under the pretense of his taking care of me.
I felt my rage welling up. “What if I wasn’t in the mood for a beer today?”
“Shoot, you’re right.” His eyes widened in discomfort. “Sorry. Order whatever the hell you want.”
“I will, thanks,” I said, my eyes meeting his in a challenge.
He studied me from across the table, and I had trouble holding his gaze. I looked down at the bar menu in front of me.
“God, you’re so different, Rachel.”
“Of course I am.” My eyes slid back up to meet his. And suddenly I had a moment of vulnerability. Something he often brought out in me. “Is . . . is that a bad thing?”
“Hell no,” he said. “Just wasn’t sure what to expect after so long.”
I ordered a margarita from the server, and we sat in awkward silence for a few moments.