Mine Would Be You (38)

“Yeah, of course,” I murmur, resting my palms flat on the counter, trying to ground myself with the feel of the cold surface and slow my heartbeat.

Myles swallows hard, and his eyes connect with mine, deep pools of brown that I used to love. Right now, they’re cold as stone. “I was going to apologize.”

I furrow my brows, trying to keep myself from nervously tapping my fingernails.

“At the wedding when we were dancing. That’s what I was beginning to say. That I was sorry, for everything. For how I ended things, for how I treated you during school and when I came home. For not being honest, for leading you on.”

I roll my bottom lip into my mouth. “You were going to apologize?” I say, noting his choice of words.

He sighs, running a hand backwards over his waves as goosebumps erupt on my skin, even buried in the warm hoodie. Myles trails his eyes over the sweatshirt I’ve been wearing for the past few hours, and judgement emits off of him in waves, but I hold my gaze.

“I’m still sorry. I am, but this? You being here, with Jackson? I don’t understand. I thought I was crazy when I saw you two dance at the wedding. Thought it was nothing. But I was wrong.”

For the love of god, he must be joking.

“Even if that apology was genuine, I don’t want that from you.” Anger starts to flood my veins, but I keep my voice even. “I spent far too long waiting for one, and I couldn’t care less whether you’re sorry or not. The best apology is changed behavior, and based on who Emma thinks I am, I’m not seeing much of that.”

“I’m not talking about Emma and me,” he counters, and I can hear how hard it is for him to keep his own voice level.

“Well, I don’t want to talk about Jackson. That’s my business, not yours.”

“He’s my best friend. I think I have a right to know.”

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “You don’t actually. You don’t have a right to anything.”

“Did you meet him at the wedding?”

“No, Myles. When I met him, I had no idea who he was,” I say. I don’t know why I even tell him, but if I can avoid this going any further that’s my goal.

“But that didn’t stop you.”

“Stop me from what?”

“From sleeping with him.”

The tell-tale signs of my anger start to appear.

My throat is starting to close, and my eyes prick, which only adds to my frustration. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and look to the ceiling until the pressure at my tear-ducts subsides. My anger is a combination of his accusing tone and the fact that I know he knows I haven’t slept with him. Because he used to know me better than anyone. I know for a fact he’s only saying this shit because he knows it’ll hurt me, and the frustration and hurt is practically boiling my blood.

“Screw you. I don’t owe you shit. Whether I am or am not sleeping with him is my business and mine alone. You’re happy, Myles, or you should be. You’re fucking married. Why don’t you worry about that instead of me? Grow up.”

Whatever alcohol is left in my system is only adding to my emotions, and I can’t keep the bite out of my words. Because I’ve been nothing but supportive to him. Nothing but kind. For years, I’ve done nothing but cater to him. Today, I tried endlessly to ease the tension, and this is what I get.

His eyes are hyper focused on me. “I am happy.”

“Well then act like it. Why does it matter what I do?

“Because it’s you. It’s Jackson and it’s you, Nina. It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

I curl my hands into fist on top of the counter and dig my nails into my palm. This is ridiculous.

“You don’t know me anymore, Myles.”

“But you’re Nina. You—”

“I am nothing to you.”

We stare off for a moment, but there are more words on my tongue, and I’ve been holding all of these emotions in tightly. Locked away in my own version of Pandora’s box. Over time, I’ve turned most of my anger into understanding. My sadness into acceptance. But this?

Myles just took a hammer to the lock and let the box spring open.

“I am your nothing. You made that clear all those years ago. You’re so full of shit. Me and you are nothing more than old friends, remember? I am not your girlfriend. I am not your old friend. We are barely even acquaintances.”

His eyes narrow. “Why’d you come to the wedding then?”

At this point, I’m searching for the purpose of this stupid conversation.

“Why’d you fucking invite me?” I counter, and I’m no longer concerned with the level of my voice. “I went because I wanted to see you happy and moved on. I felt that I owed that to us, to myself, to see you happy. So, imagine how I feel right now. I was mature enough to go to your fucking wedding, and you’re here bitter and angry about my life? It’s bullshit.”

“I just don’t get it. This isn’t you.”

“Did I not make myself clear? You don’t know me.”

Myles clenches and unclenches his jaw as we stand there. It’s painful standing in this kitchen repeating myself when I shouldn’t even have to. I see something flash in the window under the porch light, but my eyes flicker back to him.