I wanted to believe we had a chance. But I’d pushed hard. Too hard. Maybe she was done with me long ago and had just endured the time together and tried not to break my heart while we were forced to live under the same roof. I’d made a giant jerk out of myself by pushing for what I wanted, instead of listening to what she wanted.
She’d tried to tell me a few times to lay off.
But I ignored her and maybe destroyed my last chance.
I planned to go home, shower, and crawl into bed. I didn’t want to see Miranda and be fake. Pretend like I was okay, when everything inside was screaming I wasn’t. These were the feelings I’d conditioned myself to run from. As much as I wanted to just disconnect, exercise for four hours, or stay at work, I at least had to go home.
Somehow, I’d have to balance being there and being honest. I’d keep my word and not pressure her. She deserved better than to be pushed around.
Miranda must’ve been tucking Kacey in when I got home because the house was quiet. I slipped into my room, showered, and pulled on my sweats and a hoodie. I was a little hungry, but hunger felt like a poor reason to risk seeing Miranda before I got my nerve up.
If she wanted to leave, we needed to interact as little as possible. I doubted I could be around her without crumbling into a beggar. The thought of my house going back to the way it was…
Thatwasa feeling I’d keep running from.
I kept the lamp on and settled onto my pillows, staring straight up, watching the fan spin. Took about fifteen seconds watching the thing go round and round for me to zone out and remember Miranda in my arms. Remember how she felt, tasted. How hungry she was for me.
A soft knock on my bedroom door caused me to jolt out of my daydream.
“Jack?”
“Yeah. Come in.” I pushed into sitting and leaned back against the headboard.
She stuck her head in. “You sick?”
“No.”
She stuck a plate of food through the small opening. “You didn’t come get a plate.”
“You can come in. I don’t bite.”
She stepped in sheepishly. “I know. I didn’t know if you wanted to be alone.”
I shrugged. I did, but she was irresistible. She had her cozy clothes on. Gray leggings that made her legs look incredible. The Schrute Farms hoodie. Sloppy bun.
I found myself smiling and patting the bed next to me.
Surprisingly, she climbed up. My bed was huge. King sized almost due to necessity. But she came up, left about six inches between us, and handed me the plate.
“Oh, man. This looks delicious.” Caeser salad and grilled chicken.
She studied me. I didn’t have to look to confirm. I felt her eyes all over me.
She spoke, quiet and slow. “Something bad happened, didn’t it?”
“How’d you know?”
“Your face.”
“Good guess.” I shrugged. “I try to leave it in the truck.”
“You don’t have to leave your bad feelings in the truck. You should talk to someone about work stuff.”
“I do, actually. I’ve been seeing a therapist.”
Her brown eyes went wide. “For real?”
“Yep.”
