“I just don’t want this to end,” I said, opening the pantry and staring unseeing at its contents.
“This meaning this trip? Or this meaning us?” he asked, wary.
“Both? Fruit and yoghurt? Granola? Or do you want something more substantial?”
Miles swung his towel over my head, pulling me away from the pantry and into his arms. “Hey, what do you mean both?”
“I don’t know.” I turned within the circle of his towel, looking up at him. “I just worry sometimes, that’s all.”
“About us?”
His gaze was steady and full of concern, and my determination to keep my troubles to myself cracked. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Like what if one day all this just disappears without a trace?”
Still holding me trapped against him, he leaned back, his expression a little shocked. “I’m not going anywhere, Mat.”
“I know that when you’re with me,” I mumbled, knowing it sounded pathetic but too tired to care. “But it’s harder to believe when we’re apart. We’ve talked lots since Paris, but before that—” I hesitated, knowing I was skating close to bringing up the match in New York that we still hadn’t talked about. I’d been waiting for Miles to do so when he was ready, but held there against his chest and blinking back sudden tears, I finally wondered whether he hadn’t brought it up because he didn’t need to. Because he had grieved and moved on and there was nothing he needed to hear me say, while I had been left circling it, unable to escape the fear it had lodged in my chest. “Before that I was sure every day you were done with me. Especially after you just . . . left.”
Miles breathed out a soft, “Fuck,” and pulled away, turning his face like he couldn’t bear to look at me. “I’m sorry. It was such a shit thing to do. I knew that the moment I did it, I just . . .” A shake of the head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” With his hands on his hips, he glared at the floor for a few seconds before looking at me like he was forcing himself to. “No,” he said, anger in his dark eyes. “That’s a lie. I know what I was thinking. Iwas thinking that I couldn’t let my last memory of you that night be that winning shot. But neither could I bear the thought of tears and reassurances when everything hurt so much. I should have waited until the next day to see you instead of being cruel. I guess when you never said anything, I hoped you’d forgiven me.”
“Of course I did. But then we hardly spoke for weeks and I couldn’t shake the feeling I was carrying around shattered glass, desperately hoping it wouldn’t break more in my hands. But I don’t blame you,” I added hastily. “I just—”
“Well, maybe you should,” he snapped, taking my shoulders and giving me a fierce little shake. “This has been ruining you for months, and I was so relieved not to have to talk about it that I convinced myself you were fine whenof courseit would be eating you up. I fucking walked out on you! I left you worrying that my love was conditional when it’s not.” He looked on the brink of tears himself and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fuck! I amsosorry.”
I wasn’t sure when I had gripped the front of his shirt, but I tightened my hold then like a cat digging in claws.
“Mat . . .” Miles laid a hand softly over mine. “That match was the hardest loss of my whole career, but I think maybe it was the worst win of yours.”
A nod was all I could manage for the lump in my throat.
“So, if our places had been reversed, if we’d both made it to the final of the Australian Open and you’d never won a major before and the whole crowd—the whole damn nation—wanted you to win it for them, but I beat you, would it hurt?”
I’d dreamed of winning the Australian Open since I was six years old. “Yes.”
“A lot?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t feel much like talking to me for a day or two.”
“Yeah.”
“But would you still love me?”
I bent my head to his shoulder. “Always.”
“Then you know how I felt. Losing that match hurt. I relived so many moments over and over for days, all the shots I should have done better, all the points I should have won, but I never hated you. And no, I never once wished I hadn’t helped you find your form again, because you can’t tell me you didn’t think of that!”
Of course I had. I breathed a laugh and didn’t look up.
“I was proud of you, honestly,” he said. “I just couldn’t admit it at the time and have been a dick since. God, I wish you’d said something earlier.”
“I didn’t want to make it about me! ‘I beat my boyfriend, and now he’s not talking to me and I’m worried he’ll leave me, am I the asshole?’”
He laughed and kissed my forehead. “I think even Reddit would agree that I’m the asshole.”
“We’ll have to play again at some point.”
“Yeah, and maybe I’ll lose again and maybe it will be in a final and will hurt even more. And maybe I’ll sulk for a few days, but it won’t matter because I love you, Matteo, andnothingwill change that. It really is that simple.”
