“What do you mean, ‘you think?’ Is she or not?” He looks at me with kind eyes. His features seem boyish and friendly, a lot like Carters.
“Do you want to hear a story?”
CHAPTER 33
WREN
Iam able to see the future. All the goddamn time. I know things are going to happen – bad things – but I still do them anyway. It’s like an irritating feeling in my brain that I can’t ignore and have no choice but to follow through with. I’ve seemed to have got used to making bad decisions. I knew sleeping with Miles would be wild and exhilarating but I didn’t expect the very low low I would experience afterwards.
This was a good distraction; spending our days going on small adventures and our nights cooped up in the hotel, believing we were untouchable. Believing that we could ignore every red flag but if we tried hard enough, we could make them green. It was fun. And that isn’t something I get to feel often. That free liberating feeling of not having to worry about tomorrow, my diet or my training.
But when we slept together, something shifted. Sure, if we made out it would be fine, we could go back to Salt Lake and pretend it didn’t happen like we’ve done before. But this? This is something different. Something substantial. He’s seen me naked for God’s sake. He has seen and touched nearly every part of my body. This is something that we can’t ignore. Well, something we can’t ignore any more than I’ve tried to.
As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I knew I had to get out of that room. I have to stop pretending like this is my life. That living off room service and good sex was my lifestyle. I need to be in the rink, in the gym, training and eating good. Instead of going for round who-knows-what with Miles, I got my ass up, showered and got myself down to the beach and tried to salvage some sort of calm.
With the qualifiers and the championships, the last thing I need is to complicate whatever me and Miles have. As much as I tried to push it away, I knew I was attracted to him from the beginning. A large part of me hoped that we could just power through the next few months and push away all our desires to focus on the task at hand. That was until the gala, the game, Christmas – where things started to get real. When it was an intense struggle to fight off the feelings between my legs. What's worse is that it's not just his looks but it's everything about him. His selflessness, his support, his care and the way he listens to me. Every fucking thing.
Despite my initial rule, and although ambiguous, Miles was the only one to admit how he truly felt. He made thatveryclear since the beginning. I was scared. I still am scared of falling into deep and forgetting everything I have worked so hard on. Every time I’m around him, my self-control shrinks and the little devil and angels on my shoulder disappear, leaving behind a cloud of smoke. Being in a real relationship with someone like him would be consuming, distracting and everything I can’t have right now. But everything that a secretly want.
I know I ran off this morning, but I didn’t expect Miles to be gone too. He’s probably freaking out as well. I finally finish cleaning up the bedroom and packing away our things into our suitcases.
Strangely enough, Miles’ suitcase has very little clothes for the week that we’ve stayed here compared to mine. I’m packing up the last of our things, double checking the bathroom when somebody knocks on the door.
Before I know it, it swings open as I cross the living room in my denim shorts and white tank top. My heart drops through my ribs as I take in the sight in front of me. An elderly black lady with kind eyes in a flower sundress stands in the doorway with a very sad and very drunk Miles on her shoulder.
Oh, no. Miles, what have you done?
This is the first time I’ve seen him drunk in months. The lady looks around the room before her eyes settle on mine and they soften. I rush over to them, pulling Miles’ weight off her. He’s sweaty and a lot heavier than I remember. He sinks into me, and I can smell the alcohol. My stomach turns.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. He was wandering around and he said that he was staying here. You’re Wren, right?” the lady asks in a thick southern accent. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay, good. He might not look like it right now, but he said some really nice things about you. Take care of him.”
“I’m sure he did, and I will,” I say, my voice sounding foreign as I look down at him, his face buried into my chest. “Thank you so much.”
I try and keep calm as I walk with Miles’ arm over my shoulder, which is hard to do when he’s a lot heavier and taller than me. He stays quiet as I bring him into the bathroom.
This is why I don’t drink a lot. This is why I don’t like being around people that drink because it brings out the worst in them. It gets out of control and sometimes so out of control that a random person has to bring you back to your hotel room. He has avoided my eyes since he got in here and I don’t know how to act around him. What to say. How to make this better. What makes this worse is that he’s a sad drunk.
I get some water from the fridge and bring it to the bathroom and rummage for some painkillers in my bag. He stands, leaning against the sink even though I’ve told him to sit down. He takes a few painkillers and chugs half the bottle of water. Slowly, as if he knows what’s going to happen, he bends down to the floor, leaning over the toilet and he throws up. A lot. My stomach flips as I kneel next to him, rubbing his back while he leans his head on his arm on the toilet seat.
“It’s okay. Just let it out,” I say, rubbing circles on his back. He doesn’t say anything, just indistinct mumbles as he sits back up. What happened to him? We have to get to the airport in two hours. He can’t be like this right now.
He groans as he sits up, hopefully finished throwing up. I pull his arm around my shoulder and wrap my hand around his middle to help him stand up.
“C’mon, let’s get you in the shower.”
Like I expected, he doesn’t reply, just mumbles something in agreement. When he’s able to stand, I stand across from him and part of me wishes I couldn’t see his face right now. Tears that are staring to dry, streak his pale cheeks. He catches me staring and his eyes shoot to the floor.
I inch closer, reaching my hand out to pull off his shirt. He helps me to take of his shirt and his trousers. I lean over to turn on the shower as he takes off his boxers and steps into it. He sits down, pulls his knees to his chest, and rests his head on them. He looks so vulnerable that my heart pinches. He’s always the one helping me. He’s supposed to be the fun one.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Wren,” he mumbles as I run the shower over his hair and his back. I place my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb under his eye. He melts into my touch. "I'm trying to be good for you, I swear."
“I beleive you. You don’t need to be sorry. I shouldn’t have run away,” I respond quietly.
“I thought…I thought you hated me. That you regretted last night and that you didn’t want me — this — anymore. And I saw- I thought I saw Carter.”
It feels like someone has taken a pin to my heart and deflated it. He talks about Carter all the time, I’m not surprised that he thought he saw him, especially when he’s intoxicated. I should say something. I should tell him that it’s not true. To tell him that all I want is to be there for him. To make sure he’s okay.
“We’ll talk about this later, okay? We need to get you feeling better right now.” He nods, some of the colour coming back into his face as I run my hand through his hair. “I’m here, Miles. I’ve got you.”
