“You can’t blame yourself for that,” she said. “You weren’t the one with the gun.”
“Yeah. But I …”
“Was a stupid kid,” Ashley said. “We were all stupid kids. None of us handled that situation perfectly. Don’t know if anyone could, really. But … we were kids who ended up in an awful situation. None of us asked for this.” She glanced over at me before looking to the road again. “For what it’s worth, I knew Coach Nolan. He wouldn’t blame you. He’d just be happy you survived.”
We pulled into my driveway a few minutes later, and I started to unbuckle my seat belt.
“Tell her,” Ashley said. “Not because you think you have to. You don’t. But … because it’ll be a relief not to carry this around on your own.”
I leaned across the seat and hugged her before climbing out of the car.
Then I stayed up all night trying to write this. Because I’m being a coward, again, and I can’t tell you the truth to your face. I don’t want to watch you turn away from me the way you did that first time I saw you.
Because Ashley’s right. I love you, Lee.
I know that things are complicated with that. With romantic stuff. I know you’re asexual, and I’m still trying to figure out what that means. I don’t know what’s going to happen when you move to California. I don’t know what a future for us would look like. But I know that I love you. That I will do anything to keep you in my life. I’ll respect whatever boundaries you set. Even if that’s just us staying friends. I’d follow you wherever you’d let me, as corny as that sounds. I just want to be with you.
And I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.
So there you go. That’s the truth you’ve been asking for. I really hope writing this wasn’t a huge mistake.
Love,
Miles
I dropped Miles’s letter onto my bed and sprang up. It was past midnight by now, but I didn’t care. I had to see him. I slid on some sandals and didn’t worry about the fact that I was only wearing pajama shorts and a tank top. Then I hurried out of my room and down the hall.
“Lee baby?” Mom’s voice, croaky with sleep, called from her dark bedroom. I’d heard her come in about thirty minutes earlier, before she’d headed straight for bed. “You okay? Nightmares?”
“Not this time,” I replied. “I’m okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I jerked open the front door and sprinted down the front porch steps. All the lights were out next door, and as I crossed the yard, I hesitated. Miles had brought me home only an hour ago, but there was a chance he’d already gone to bed. And his grandmother was most certainly asleep by now. If I knocked, I might wake them both up. But this couldn’t wait until morning. It couldn’t even wait for me to go back inside and grab my phone so I could text him.
I swallowed my anxiety and stepped onto Mrs. Mason’s front porch. I tapped on the door lightly at first. Then again a little louder. I was about to raise my hand to tap for a third time when the door swung open.
Miles stood there, dressed in a black T-shirt and boxer shorts. His hair was messy, but he didn’t look like he’d been sleeping.
“Lee,” he breathed, and I noticed the subtle shake of his hand as it rested on the door. The nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Before he could say anything else—before he could move another muscle—I leapt forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. He stiffened at first, like I’d startled him. I almost stepped back, almost apologized. I knew better than to make those kind of sudden movements. But then his arms moved around my waist. He held me to him. Firm, but not too tight.
I pressed my face into his neck for a long moment. He was warm and smelled like a mix of mint and freshly washed clothes. I could have stood like that forever, just breathing him in.
But after a moment I pulled back. His arms loosened and I slid my hands to his shoulders, holding him still as I stared, long and hard, into his face.
“I read it,” I whispered. “I read your letter.”
His gaze lowered, but I squeezed his shoulders, urging him to look back up, into my face.
“Look at me,” I said. “Please, Miles.”
Slowly, he raised his eyes. And I tried to put everything in my expression. Every feeling I’d ever had for him. Every wish, every hope, every moment of calm that he gave me. I wanted him to see that I wasn’t disappointed in him. I didn’t see him as a hero. But I didn’t see him as a monster, either. I just saw him as Miles. My best friend.
The boy I loved.
I think he understood. I watched relief cross his face, tempered with a new sort of nervousness. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “So …” he said.
“So.”
