Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(69)

The entryway lights are off when we reach the apartment, just like we left it.

“No one’s home,” Mikey says. “I guess Jessie’s date’s going well.”

“Ha. Yeah,” I say without looking at him.

“Maybe we should—”

“Want to watch a movie?” I interject, practically dive-bombing the couch. I feel so jumpy and strange, a human hiccup. I grab the remote and start scrolling, but all the thumbnails blur together. Which is when I realize my eyes are wet.

“Arthur?”

I set the remote down and press the heels of my hands to my eyes. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. Not tonight. “I’m fine,” I say.

“You don’t seem fine.” His voice is so tender, I lose my breath for a moment. “You don’t have to talk about it,” he adds quickly. “But if you want to, I’m here.”

My throat tightens—for a moment, my words can’t break through. “You’re such a good person,” I say. It comes out husky and strained.

“No I’m not. I’m just in love with you.”

I try to smile, but it falters. I press my hands to my face.

“Hey.” Mikey pulls me closer. “You don’t have to say it back. You know that, right?”

Tomorrow, I think, and I hate myself for it.

He kisses the top of my head, and my eyes flutter shut.

Last time climbing into bed beside Mikey. Last time he’ll set his glasses on my nightstand. Last time I’ll catalog his features in the semidarkness: his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, his snowy-blond eyelashes.

I’m the only guy he’s ever shared a bed with. I’m the only one who knows he hugs a pillow when he sleeps. What am I supposed to do with that information? Where do I put it?

When he breathes, the pillow rises and falls with his chest—but then he opens his eyes, tilts his head toward me. For a moment, we just stare at each other.

“Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Me either.” He rolls onto his side, leaving barely an inch between our faces. I try to smile, but somehow it’s already skidding toward tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” He wraps his arm around me, pulling me in closer. “Hey.”

“For being an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole.”

“Mikey.” I take a deep breath. “I don’t even know how to say this. I was going to wait until tomorrow.”



His chest stiffens against mine. “Okay.”

“Mikey.”

“Please just tell me.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. “I think—when you told me you loved me.” I pause, wiping a tear. “I was just—I didn’t expect it. In that moment. So I kind of shut down. I don’t know.”

“Arthur, I know. I get it.”

“And I love you. Obviously. I knew that. But I couldn’t tell if it was the same kind of love, and I didn’t want to say it unless I was sure—”

“And that’s okay! There’s no rush.”

“I know, I know. You’ve been”—I swallow—“so wonderful and patient. I don’t deserve it.”

“But you do.”

“I don’t.”

I meet his eyes, and it feels like I’m free-falling. His expression is like wood.

“Mikey, I want to be in love with you so badly.”

He closes his eyes, smiling tightly. “But you’re not.”

I shake my head slowly. “I’m not.”

A tear slides down the bridge of Mikey’s nose, and he wipes it roughly away. Then he rolls away from me, onto his back.

“It’s not—”

“It’s not me, it’s you. Got it.”

“I know how that sounds, but it’s true!” I sit up, hugging my knees to my chest. “You’re the perfect boyfriend. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what’s not adding up. How I can love every single thing about you, but I can’t make it click—and Mikey, you deserve a guy who can give you that. I feel like I’m holding you back from meeting him.”

“So, what? This is just . . . it?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Wow.” Mikey stares up at the ceiling.

“Like, I’m so fucking sorry. Mikey. I just want you to know how incredible—”

“I don’t want to hear how incredible I am!” He sits up, burying his face in his hands. “God, Arthur. Can I just have a second to wrap my head around the fact that I just took a train here so you could dump me?”

I wince. “I don’t like the word ‘dumping’—”

“I don’t like being dumped!”

I start to cry again. “I’m sorry—”

“Can you just stop?”

I press my lips together, nodding.

“Do you want me to leave?” I say finally. “I can sleep in the living room.”

“Please. Stop. You don’t have to sleep in the living room.”

“Then can we talk through this?” I ask.