Mine Would Be You (39)

“It’s all coming out wrong, I’m sorry. It’s just—I’m hurt.”

“Hurt? Fuck you, Myles.” I huff and shake my head; my breathing is shallow, and my legs are shaking with adrenaline. “Nothing I’m doing is hurting you. You said you wanted to talk, but all you’ve done is berate me and attempt to make me feel guilty over something trivial.”

I don’t let him get a word in before I continue.

“What I am or am not doing with whomever I choose is none of your goddamn business. I’m done with whatever this is. This is nothing, we are nothing, and we haven’t been for years. Get that through your head and treat your wife like she deserves to be treated.”

My eyes prick again, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to hold the tears back. I hate that I cry when I’m angry. I hate it. All of my emotions are like a crack in a glass, just getting deeper and deeper until it starts to shatter.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head. “Save it. I’m done with this conversation,” I say, finally, and turn on my heel down the hall and head up the stairs.

My chest is heavy, and my head is pounding with the effort of holding in these tears as I grip my sides tightly with my own arms. I refuse to let Jackson see me like this, so I head into my room first, shutting the door behind me and collapsing on the floor, leaning my back against the bed.

I bring my knees up to my chest and lean my head back. The tears start their descent down my cheeks and onto my neck in a slow trail. I don’t even know what emotion pushed me over the edge.

Anger, sadness, guilt. I’m so frustrated it’s painful.

My chest shakes with the effort I’m exerting to hold in the sobs. Tears are one thing, but I refuse to sob over that assault-like conversation. Who does he think he is? Asking me questions about my life and my decisions?

I hold my hands gently on my temples as I force myself to take deep breaths, blinking every so often to speed along the tears. My teeth are digging into my lip as I try to focus on the feeling of that instead of the speed of my heartbeat, making sure to actively blow my deep breaths out instead of letting them sit on my chest.

I don’t want him to ruin this for me. But I can feel it weighing me down already.

Despite it, I grab the candy, determined to try to salvage the night, and shove it into my pocket. I head into the bathroom next to my room before Jackson’s. I run my hands under cold water and splash it lightly on my flushed cheeks, trying to cool them down and swipe the water directly under my eyes to fight the puffiness. After a moment, it looks more like I got winded running up the stairs than had a full-on crying fest in my room. My eyes are a little red like they always are after I cry, and my skin is hot, but neither of those are dead giveaways to a miniature breakdown.

When I enter, the only light illuminating the light blue space is ESPN playing on the TV, and there is already a pillow wall on the bed—a small one—because it’s literally two pillows. Jackson is standing by his dresser, but he turns as I enter. He’s got on low hanging sweatpants and nothing else.

But not even the sight of a shirtless Jackson completely erases the previous events.

He smiles at me warmly, his eyes flickering with confusion as he takes in my slightly disheveled appearance, because cold sink water can only do so much. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about that.

“Ready?”

I pull out the candy. “All set.”

“You know the way to my heart.” He motions to the bed. “After you.”

I place the candy on the pillow wall, place my phone on the nightstand, and climb in with my refilled water bottle under my arm. The feel of the soft sheets comforts me immediately as I snuggle in, leaning on the single pillow between us.

He climbs in on the other side and hands me the remote. I make eye contact with his deep blue eyes in the low light. They’re still searching my face, and concern is clear in them, but I appreciate his not asking more than anything.

I scroll till I come across Ghost, and I pause. “Is this okay?”

“Anything you choose is fine, Nina.” He glances at me and I click play.

Sitting there next to him, I want to chase the warmth I felt less than an hour ago. When I couldn’t stop touching him and wanted to be anywhere close to him. But now, even though Myles is very much alive, it’s like his ghost, the ghost of our relationship, is chasing me.

And I don’t know how to fight it.





I’ve known something was wrong since Nina climbed into my bed last night.

Her face was red, and her eyes were slightly puffy, but it was clear she didn’t want to talk about it. Which was fine. She didn’t say much when she woke up, curled into a ball as close to the edge of the bed as she could’ve gotten, and things hadn’t improved at breakfast. It was awkward, and she was quieter than usual, only pulling Sloan and Harper away for a moment before the food was ready.

On top of that, every time I try to engage with Myles or talk to him, I’m met with a short, concise answer. It’s obvious he’s angry. He’s never hidden that well, but the tension has pulled tighter every second since this morning and even now as we’re on the beach. Roman and I are sitting back with Emma while everyone else had gone swimming. The girls were tossing the football back and forth last time I looked, but when I look up now, I see Harper following Myles out of the water, her hands moving wildly as Myles angrily holds a football in his hand.