Ugly Love: A Novel(54)

I walk toward the elevator and press the down button.

He stands next to me, but neither of us speaks. It takes the elevator what seems like years to get to us. When it finally opens, we both breathe a quiet sigh of relief, but as soon as we’re inside and the doors close, neither of us can breathe again.

I can feel him watching me, but I don’t look at him.

I can’t.

I feel stupid. I feel like I want to cry again. Now that I’m here and I have no idea where we’re going, I feel like a fool for allowing him to even get me this far.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is weak, but it’s also surprisingly -sincere.

I don’t look at him. I don’t even respond.

He takes three steps across the elevator, and then he reaches down beside me and presses the emergency stop button. His finger lingers on the button as he watches me, but I keep my eyes down. My face is level with his chest, but my jaw is tense, and I won’t look up at him.

I won’t.

“Tate, I’m sorry,” he repeats. He’s still not touching me, but he’s invading again. He’s standing so close to me I can feel his breath and him and how much he really is sorry, but I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be forgiving him for. He never promised anything other than sex, and that’s exactly what he gave me.

Sex.

Nothing less and definitely nothing more.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “You didn’t deserve that.”

This time, he touches my chin, lifting my eyes to meet his. The feel of his fingers on my face causes my jaw to grow even more tense. I’m doing everything I can to keep up my armor, because I’m finding it hard to fight back my tears.

The same thing I saw in his eyes when he kissed me at his door Thursday night is back. Something unspoken that he wishes he could say, but the only words that come out of his mouth are his apologies.

He winces as though he’s experiencing actual physical pain, and he presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry.”

He presses his palms against the elevator wall and leans into me until our chests are touching. My arms are at my sides, and my eyes are closed, and as much as I feel like crying right now, I refuse to do it in front of him. I’m still not sure what he’s apologizing for specifically, but it doesn’t matter, because it sounds like he’s apologizing for everything. For starting something with me that we knew wouldn’t end well. For not being able to open up about his past. For not being able to open up about his future. For ruining me when he walked into his bedroom and slammed his door.

One of his hands wraps around the side of my head, and he pulls me against him. His other hand drops to my back, and he squeezes me, pressing his cheek against the top of my head. “I don’t know what this is, Tate,” he confesses. “But I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

The apology in his voice is enough to make my arms want to hold him. I bring them up and grab the sleeves of his shirt, then press my face into his chest. We stand like this for several minutes, both of us completely lost. Completely new to this.

Completely confused.

He eventually releases me and hits the button to take us to the ground floor. I still haven’t spoken, because I’m not even sure what words to use in this situation. When the elevator doors open, he takes my hand in his and holds it all the way to his car. He opens my door and waits for me to climb inside, then closes it and walks around to his side.

I’ve never been inside his car before.

I’m surprised by the simplicity of it. I know Corbin makes a decent amount of money and usually likes to spend it on nice things.

This car is understated, just like Miles.

He exits the parking garage, and we drive in silence for several miles. I’m tired of the quiet and tired of the curiosity, so the first thing I say to him since he ruined me is, “Where are we going?”

It’s as if my voice makes the awkwardness completely disintegrate, because he exhales like he’s relieved to hear it.

“To the airport,” he says. “Not for work, though. I go there sometimes to watch the planes take off.”

He reaches across the console and takes my hand in his. It’s comforting and scary all at once. His hands are warm, and it makes me want him to hold my entire body in them, but it scares me how much I want that.

It’s completely quiet again until we reach the airport. There are restricted-access signs, but he passes them like he knows exactly where he’s going. We finally pull into a parking lot overlooking the runway.

Several jets are lined up, waiting to take off. He points to the left, and I look, just as one of the planes begins to accelerate. His car fills with the sound of the engines as it zooms past us. We both watch it make its ascent, until the landing gear disappears and the plane is swallowed up by the night.

“You come here a lot?” I ask him while I continue to stare out my window.

He laughs, so naturally, I turn to face him.

“That sounded like a pickup line,” he says, smiling.

His smile makes me smile. His eyes drop to my mouth, and my smile makes his smile disappear.

“Yeah, I do,” he says as he looks out his window again to watch the next jet prepare for takeoff.

I realize in this moment that things aren’t the same between us. Something huge changed, and I can’t tell if it’s good or bad. He brought me here because he wants to talk.