Chapter Twenty-Seven

Zoe

M y pillow moves under me.

My pillow moves under me?

Befuddled by the fog of deep sleep blurring my mind, I force my eyes open at great cost, but all I see is nothing. It's nighttime, the moon only a sliver, its glow too dim to make the night anything other than charcoal dark.

The left side of my face is numb against something hard. My legs are twisted, entrapped in something solid and ticklish as something diagonally presses on my back all the way to the grip on my hip.

I blink. I blink away the heaviest sleep I've had in a long time and reach for the bedside table lamp. Before I can click the light on, everything comes crashing back to me.

Miles. Me.

Miles on me. Miles above me. Miles under me. Miles inside me. Miles everywhere.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Miles is my pillow .

If the memories and the surrounding setting weren't clear enough, the soreness between my thighs connects the last dot in the picture.

His hard chest under my cheek moves up and down, his breathing slow and even in his slumber as my heartbeat races, erratic. I disentangle my naked body from his, careful not to wake him, and search in the moonlit darkness for something to cover my very naked body. Our clothes lay discarded somewhere on the floors of the library, so I grab one of his folded t-shirts on the dresser across the room.

Hurry trips me, tangling my feet in the duvet fallen on the floor, sending me titillating with a curse. The deep breath Miles draws announces he's stirred. He stretches the dense muscles of his arms, clicking another lamp on to gift me the glorious view of white linen sheets tangled around his naked legs.

Recollections of how good it felt to run the tip of my fingers all along that smooth skin, to memorize every ridge of his muscles and every crevice of his body ignite a flame in my cheeks.

When his eyes find me, his dimples dip with a drowsy, dreamy smile.

"Love? What are you doing?" His murmur is husky, directly connected to the shiver down my spine. "Come back to bed."

His request doesn't ring with secret intentions, but it reminds me I still wear nothing, prompting me to pull his shirt over my head.

Love .

The nickname I once despised now accentuates the longing in my heart with a squeeze.

My lack of answer is enough to shake the remnants of sleep from him. Miles sits up in a second, eyeing me as though he wants to shelter me from my storm within. "What's wrong, love?"

"I don't—I just—" What is wrong? I ask to my reflection. Freckles of dust stare at me, no definite answers. I'm not sure, but something doesn't feel right. "I think I need to go."

"Hey." His feet shake the sheets, but their rush betrays them, tangling them further. "Fuck. No. Come here."

My mind is an earthquake, no solid, stable ground to settle a single thought, one single emotion.

Elation at what happened.

Hopefulness at what it means.

Panic of what it could mean.

"No. No. I can't. I—I think I might've made a—"

"This was not a mistake." His denial is indisputable. "It sure as hell was not pretend."

"No! Of course I didn't pretend." Flashbacks flood my mind, halting my escape and tilting my head in contemplation. "I did come a surprising, and almost embarrassing, number of times."

I glance at him just in time to see his mouth open and close, again and again, until what comes is that damn throaty laugh. "For such a brilliant girl, sometimes you are so clueless, woman. What am I going to do with you?"

I have all the answers to that question. And every single one of them leaves me open and vulnerable. But were we ever truly a battlefield? Miles has only ever been my opponent in my head. I've long since seen him for what he is, the shield that protects, the sword that fights for me in every way that counts, in every instance that matters.

"If I weren't currently panicking, I'd be mad that you're laughing at me right now."

He takes advantage of my staring and erases the distance. Four steps and the tips of his bare toes kiss mine. "I like you when you're mad at me."

"I'm always mad at you." He runs his fingers through the tangled tresses of my hair, thumbs caressing my cheekbones. "Like, every second of every day, and that's not an exaggeration."

"I always like you." His answer is simple, spoken with meaningful eyes directly into my own. "Like, every second of every day. Not an exaggeration."

There goes my heart, boom ka-freaking- boom .

And that's why I need to retreat. I always lose possession of my full mental capacities when he's around. And I'm in desperate need of them, right now, to understand myself.

I take a step back, then another, forcing his hands to fall from my hair.

"Don't do that, Zoe. Don't run away from me." He doesn't follow me, but his tone holds enough demand, enough pleading. "I made you a promise, love. You have to give me the opportunity to honor it."

I want to. I so want to run to him and drown myself in the comfort of his arms, in the peace his heartbeat infuses against my temple.

Instead, I run in the opposite direction.

Bare legs and barefoot, only Miles's shirt and scent over me, I run.

"Put some clothes on, you—" I yell as I go. The damage he's inflicted on my sanity is severe if I can't form a proper insult anymore. "—slutty giant Greek god!"

My toes hit the marble steps one, two, twenty-seven times before they hit tile, and I'm crossing the living room, rushing through the windows into the sprawling backyard. The tickling cold grass embraces my soles, grounding me, allowing me to feel, focus on something other than the tornado in my mind.

I need to breathe. I need to think. I need the space, the time, the clarity.

Instead, all I find is his absence. All the fears remain, yet they feel small compared to the pulsing void of him that threatens to crush me.

I can't think when he's around, and I can't think when he isn't—and right now, I really hate him for that. I'm furious and embarrassed that he's turned me into this girl whose thoughts revolve around a man.

"You've had your five minutes." His voice echoes in the darkness. "I know you need your time to process, and I won't rush you. I'll give you all the time you need, but please don't shut me out."

He's charging into me, his stride resolute, eating the distance I put between us. I don't feel threatened. In fact, my breaths come easier with each of his steps.

He takes my hands in his, brings them to his chest in a movement that unwittingly allows me to feel the pounding of his heart, steady but fast. He's not as calm as he looks. I close my eyes, reveling in the strong thump that so perfectly matches my own.

"Look at me." His voice is just one decibel louder than a whisper, grave and desperate. "Tell me. Whatever is going on in this beautiful, overthinking head of yours. Tell me."

It has never been clearer. Right in the middle of my mind, walled behind an invisible shield, untouched by the mess that's the war between my emotions and my innate need to rationalize them—there it is. One single clear certainty.

I trap his gaze in mine. "I can't do this. I can't pretend anymore. I can't."

His face freezes, the heart in my palms pounding at dangerous speeds.

"What are you saying?" I can't begin to unravel the layers in his voice, warring with itself to stay even.

"I'm in love with you," I blurt out.

Miles blinks.

Blinks.

Blinks again.

Then, he tilts his face up toward the sky, to the stars and all the planets unseen. They must tug the corners of his mouth, pulling it in a smile that takes over his entire face.

I stare, stare, and hope in silence—hope for what, I don't really know.

I do know it isn't for his laughter.

I brusquely pull my hands from his grasp. "I'm so in love with you, I can't even think straight." I stab a finger in his chest. "Just a few hours ago, I was so sure I was ready for this, us . Now I'm freaking panicking again. I don't make sense to myself, and I just… I don't know. I don't know." I pause to look at him, empowered by my rage. "I just know this love I have for you—it scares me. And you're… You're laughing. You're fucking laughing at me!"

Miles laughs more, harder, louder, and I hate that I love the sound so much.

"Look at us, two fools irrevocably in love, yet so afraid of loving each other." Mirth makes his gray gaze glint—or maybe it's the reciprocity—while he shakes his head, coming for me again. "I'm done pretending that I'm pretending, Zoe."

He brushes my hair behind my back, securing my face in his hands to make sure his words penetrate.

"This, you and me, it was never just pretending. No matter what we've been saying all this time, no matter what excuses we've been hiding behind… it was never just pretending. Not for me."

My heart stalls, stutters, sprints, unsure how to proceed, my lungs following the same script.

I knew he wanted me, though that didn't mean he loved me. I knew he cared for me though that didn't mean he was in love with me.

But didn't I know all this time? Didn't I see it?

I did, yet the smoke in my head snuffed out the hope in my chest as soon as it dared to be born. The ghosts in my head played with my demons, blinding me to what stood in front of my eyes.

All his actions are loud in their love for me, yet I chose, time and time again, to silence them with empty excuses and explanations.

"Please tell me you are not that great of an actress."

Desperation drips in his voice; hope pools in his eyes, and I am undone.

"I don't know when I stopped," I whisper, "but I haven't faked in a long time." Longer than I'd be willing to admit. It had been long since it stopped being about Grandpa's feelings—and it was all about mine.

"Yeah?" He's so close that his chest punches against mine with every violent inhale, like he's been living underwater holding his breath, and he finally found oxygen. Almost like he was scared too. "What else? "

"Haven't I told you?"

"I'm hearing you're in love with me. And that's fan-fucking-tastic. Trust me, you have no idea how long I've wanted to hear those words from your mouth." He brushes my bottom lip with a rough thumb. "But it doesn't mean you want me. Or this—us."

Of course he wants to hear me say it word for word. I've spent so much time denying us that it's only natural, his need for reassurance and clarity.

"I do. I want you. I want you so much I don't even care that I don't deserve you. You deserve—"

"Do you want—"

"Stop interrupting my love confession!" I interrupt his interruption, baring my teeth. "Dude, are you not listening?"

"I'm listening." He smoothes the lines between my brows. "And what I hear is you trying to convince yourself that you're not right for me. When I know for a fact that you are the only one for me. What I hear is, as you tell me you want this, you're preparing yourself for my leaving. And I'm not letting you go. This is it, Zoe. I'm not letting you run away."

My shoulders drop in defeat. Is he right? Of course, he is.

No matter how hard I run, this fear of abandonment always catches up, racing ahead of me and throwing itself on my way, tripping my feet.

"Miles… What do we do?"

"We make it work," he answers. No hesitation, no reluctance, only utter conviction.

Work. This will take a lot of work. And I'm in for it.

Still, I must warn us. I must say, "This isn't going to be easy."

"Yeah, I kinda got the idea you're the furthest thing from easy," Miles says, all devilish dimples.

"I'm gonna have the urge to strangle you a lot. In fact, my fingers are itching right now."

Grabbing my hand in his, he skims a digit over each one of my knuckles. "These pretty fingers would look prettier around my neck. All you have to do is ask."

I snatch my hand, swatting his bicep. "I might actually injure you one of these days. Accidentally."

He traps it under the pressure of his shiver-inducing calloused palm. "As long as you always kiss me better."

"You are ridiculous."

"You love me."

I do.

I love him.

I have been falling for a long, long time. And I'm tired. I'm exhausted of fighting it, fighting us. Of denying myself happiness, or at least the possibility.

Locking his arms behind my back, Miles sways us from one foot to the other, slow dancing to the quiet soundtrack of a shy moon night, crickets and cicadas in the grass.

"Tell me. Let's make sense of it." How can I not love him just for that? For knowing me, understanding my need to understand—to make sense of everything, including the things that have no sense to make. "From now on, there are no more things left unsaid. We talk to each other, and we listen to each other."

A long exhale leaves me, taking the things I bottled up, the ones I shoved down and the ones I never dared to acknowledge.

"I'm afraid. I'm insecure. I'm unsure." I twirl my fingers in the overgrown strands of his velvety hair. "I have never felt anything like this before, Miles. The feelings I have for you… they scare me. They're devastating. Right now, it's all rainbows and roses. But life is change." I splay my hand in his butterfly, pressing at the word metamorphosis . "I'm afraid that one day, I might wake up and you won't be here, willingly or not."

"I will always be here. I'm not going anywhere."

Back and forth, I shake my head, trying to pull away. He doesn't let me, tightening his locked hands on the small of my back, still swaying us slowly. "No one gets married thinking they'll get a divorce; no one has a baby thinking the father will up and move across the country or the damn ocean."

"And yet people get married and have babies anyway, everyday."

"You can't realistically promise me forever, Miles." My fingers curve, clawing at the ink. Begging him to prove me wrong so I can be his and he can be mine. "There are so many ways this can blow up in flames."

"And there are so many ways this can bloom—all we need is one." He unlocks his grip, tilting my chin to deliver his words directly to my soul. "You're right. We don't know tomorrow. But here's what I know. Forever is made of nows , little moments and small choices. Forever is a decision we make every day—and the work it entails.

"That's what I promise you. I promise I will wake up tomorrow and choose you as I choose you today, right now. I promise I will choose to fight for you and for us—even when what I'm fighting is you and this beautiful mind of yours. And I promise I will always hold your hand while you fight your demons for us."

Possibilities flutter like the fireflies in the dark, lighting up every corner of my soul.

Hope.

Future.

Us.

"I—" The demons whisper in my head, but I listen to Miles's promises instead. I know in my heart he means them. I choose to believe them, too. I choose to believe we'll always have the choice, and we'll always choose each other, every day. "I'm still scared."

"I know." He smiles softly. "You can be scared while I kiss you." He kisses the tip of my nose. "In fact, I will kiss you every time you get scared." He kisses the lines between my brows. "I will kiss all your fears away." Then, my forehead. "And if they ever come back—" My cheekbone, right under my eyes that fall closed. "I will kiss you again." Finally, my lips. "Always." One peck, once more.

"That will be a lot of kissing." He doesn't pull away, and neither do I, my words delivered right into his mouth.

"Yeah?" His words brush against my lips. "Sounds like the perfect life for me."

"I'll make sure to stock up on lip balm, then."

Miles trails my jawline with his lips to whisper in my ear. "I never said which lips I'll kiss."

His hands descend from my lower back to give my ass a rough squeeze. I swat his chest, laughing, but he yanks me back, kissing me with the vehemence of his promises, with blind faith and fierce conviction.

Little cold droplets land in contrast with the warmth of my skin. Tick-tick-tick-tick , short and quick, then a hiss, longer and lower. The wet sputter of the sprinklers watering the garden cuts through the silent night, more accelerated than the rhythm of our breaths.

"Blackstein?" My lips curve against his, the kiss broken with a smile. "Was this planned? Is this your version of a rain kiss, like the ones from your fairy tales?"

"What can I say? I'm a romantic. I have an in with the universe."

I gasp in faux astonishment, but my grin doesn't falter from my lips, colliding against his own gravity-defying smile as we refuse to part even an inch.

Snaking his arms around my waist, Miles lifts me up, twirls us around, drawing circles upon invisible circles in the grass.

Although my head falls back to the starry sky, my eyes close to savor the feel of the cooling late breeze against my flushed cheeks as my laughter floats with the fireflies, mingling with the wet sputtering.

Tiny splashes fall and fall until every inch of our skin is soaked, more powerful than any liquor. I feel drunk, so drunk on his love.

Under the stars, comets and constellations, Miles kisses me in the rain. Sort of.