Ugly Love: A Novel(79)

I don’t want him to watch me fall.

My regret over making the choice to knock consumes me with the brevity in his response.

“Good-bye, Tate.”





chapter thirty-six


MILES


Present day

Her eyes finally find the courage to meet mine, but I try not to see her. When I really look at her, it’s too much. Every time I’m with her, her eyes and her mouth and her voice and her smile find every vulnerable spot on me to breach. To seize. To conquer. Every time I’m around her, I have to fight it, so I try not to see her with anything other than my eyes this time.

She says she’s here to say good-bye, but that’s not why she’s here, and she knows it. She’s here because she fell in love with me, even though I told her not to. She’s here because she still has hope that I can love her back.

I want to, Tate. I want to love you so much it fucking hurts.

I don’t even recognize my own voice when I tell her good-bye. The lack of emotion behind my words could be misconstrued as hateful. A far cry from the apathy I’m attempting to convey and an even farther cry from the urge I have to beg her not to go.

She immediately looks down at her feet. I can tell my response just killed her, but I’ve given her enough false hope. Every time I ever allowed her in, it hurts her that much more when I have to push her away.

But it’s hard to feel bad for her, because as much as she’s hurting, she doesn’t know pain. She doesn’t know it like I know it. I keep pain alive. I keep it in business. I keep it thriving with as much as I experience it.

She inhales and then looks back up at me with slightly redder, glossier eyes. “You deserve so much more than what you’re allowing yourself to have.” She stands on the tips of her toes and places her hands on my shoulders, then presses her lips to my cheek. “Good-bye, Miles.”

She turns and walks toward the elevator, just as Corbin steps out to meet her. I see her lift one of her hands to wipe away her tears.

I watch her walk away.

I shut my door, expecting to feel even the slightest ripple of relief over the fact that I was able to let her walk away. Instead, I’m met with the only familiar sensation my heart is capable of feeling: pain.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Ian says from behind me. I turn around, and he’s sitting on the arm of the couch, staring at me. “Why are you not going after her right now?”

Because, Ian, I hate this feeling. I hate every feeling she evokes in me, because it fills me with all the things I’ve spent the last six years avoiding.

“Why would I do that?” I ask as I head toward my room. I pause with the knock at my front door. I expel a frustrated breath before turning back to the door, not wanting to have to turn her away for a second time. I will, though. Even if I have to lay it out in terms that will hurt her even more, she needs to accept the fact that it’s over. I let it go too far. Hell, I never should have allowed it to even begin, with us knowing it would more than likely end this way.

I open the door but find Corbin in my line of sight rather than Tate. I want to feel relieved by the fact that it’s him standing here rather than her, but the fuming look on his face makes it impossible to feel relieved.

Before I can react, his fist connects with my mouth, and I stumble backward toward the couch. Ian breaks my fall, and I steady myself before turning to face the door again.

“What the hell, Corbin?” Ian yells. He’s holding me back, assuming I want retaliation.

I don’t. I deserved that.

Corbin trades looks between the two of us, finally settling on me. He pulls his fist up to his chest and rubs it with his other hand. “We all know I should have done that a long time ago.” He grips the doorknob and pulls the door shut, disappearing back out into the hallway.

I shrug out of Ian’s grasp and bring my hand up to my lip. I pull my fingers back, and they’re tinged with blood.

“How about now?” Ian says, hopeful. “You gonna go after her now?”

I glare at him before turning to stalk off to my bedroom.

Ian laughs loudly. It’s the kind of laugh that says, You’re a goddamn idiot. Only he already said that, so he’s kind of just repeating himself.

He follows me to my bedroom.

I’m really not in the mood for this conversation. Good thing I know how to look at people without actually seeing them.

I take a seat on my bed, and he walks into my room and leans against the door. “I’m tired of this, Miles. Six fucking years I’ve watched this zombie walk around in your place.”

“I’m not a zombie,” I say flatly. “Zombies can’t fly.”

Ian rolls his eyes, obviously not in the mood for jokes. Good thing, because I’m not really in the mood to make them.

He continues to glare at me, so I pick up my phone and lie back on the bed in order to pretend he isn’t here.

“She’s the first thing to breathe life back into you since the night you drowned in that fucking lake.”

I’ll hurt him. If he doesn’t leave right this second, I’ll fucking hurt him.

“Get out.”

“No.”

I look at him. I see him. “Get the hell out, Ian.”

He walks to my desk, pulls out the chair, and sits in it. “Fuck you, Miles,” he says. “I’m not finished.”