“Stop.”
He’s giving me whiplash. Have I missed something? We had a great night, didn’t we? Was there more to that look in the bar? I thought we were on the same page. I thought?—
“Did I misread this?” I lean forward but catch myself before reaching for him. “This thing between us?—”
“Christ, no.” His knee bounces, then he stands abruptly. Paces over to the window. Stares out at the dark.
I wait.
Finally, he turns back.
He leans against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. His whole body tense with restraint, like he can’t trust himself to come any closer.
“I can’t—” His voice breaks. “Summer, I can’t do this.”
“Can’t dowhat?” I rotate my glass between my hands.
“You’re leaving. In a few months, you’ll be gone and I… I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
My heart pounds so violently I worry it might break free of my ribs.
“Tonight at the bar, seeing you with my friends, seeing you happy about Cash—which you should be, it’s incredible—” His head thuds gently against the wall. “All I could think was that you’re going places I can’t follow. That every day I’m with you, it gets harder to remember you’re leaving.”
He closes his eyes.
“Hey.” I stand, cross to him. Rest my hand on his arm. Under my palm, his muscles are taut. “It’s okay?—”
“It’s not.” He’s shaking his head. “It’s not even close to okay. Because you’re going to leave, and I’m going to—” He takes a shuddering breath.
“Miles, look at me.”
He won’t.
“Please,” I beg.
Slowly, he lifts his gaze. His eyes are red-rimmed, filled with so much pain that I feel it in my own chest.
“I’m already in too deep,” he whispers. “And I can’t—Ican’t—knowing how this ends.”
I reach up and cup his jaw. “You don’t know how this?—”
“I do.” He pulls back as if I’ve burned him.
I open my mouth. Close it. I don’t know what to say. What I can offer him. How we got here.
“Don’t do this,” I finally say. “Don’t shut me out.”
He flinches. But when he looks at me, his expression is carefully blank. “I’m sorry.” The distance in his voice is worse than if he’d yelled.
“Don’t push me away.” I try to swallow down the lump forming in my throat.
“I’m trying to protect you?—”
“Don’t.” My voice shakes. “Don’t make this about protectingme. You’re protectingyourself. You’re scared.”
I see it all in his eyes—the pain, the regret, the truth he doesn’t want to admit.
“I know,” he whispers.
