I don’t know how much time passes before I start to become aware of my surroundings again. Everything feels distant, like I’m trapped somewhere between reality and the memory that keeps dragging me under.
Then I feel him. Strong arms wrap around me, lifting me from the ground, and before I open my eyes, I know it's Miles. His scent surrounds me—the faint smell of cigarette smoke mixed with cedar—and somehow, despite the panic still coursing through my body, I feel a small sense of relief.
He came for me.
I force my eyes open, needing to see him, needing the reassurance that he’s really here. My vision is still blurry, but I can make out the familiar blue of his eyes and the face I’ve grown far too attached to. The small smirk that always manages to make my stomach flip is nowhere to be found.
Instead, his jaw is clenched, his brows pulled together, and there’s a storm brewing in his expression.
He’s angry, but not at me. At least, not yet.
I close my eyes again quickly, hoping he didn’t notice me staring. I shouldn’t care about what he thinks. I shouldn’t care that being held by him feels like the only place where my mind finally quiets down. But I do. And that terrifies me more than anything.
Miles carries me over to his Jeep and carefully lowers me into the backseat. His hands are gentle despite the tension radiating through him, and I hate how easily my body relaxes around him when my mind is screaming at me to push him away.
“Stay with me, Mads,” he murmurs.
The softness in his voice almost breaks me. I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him about my father. About the car. About the memories that came rushing back the second I saw that tear in the leather.
But the words won’t come.
Because the second I tell him the truth, there’s no taking it back. He’ll know what I’ve done. He’ll know the secrets I’ve spent months carrying alone, and I don’t know if I could survive watching him look at me differently.
“Miles?” Kaitlin's voice pulls my attention away.
“Get in the car.”
His tone is sharp, but I can hear the fear underneath it. He isn’t angry with her, he’s just scared, and that somehow makes me feel even worse.
Kaitlin immediately climbs into the passenger seat and shuts the door. A strange feeling twists in my chest when I see her sitting beside him. I hate it. I hate that I even notice. The seat isn’t mine. I don’t have any claim over Miles, especially when I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that I need to keep my distance from him.
Kaitlin is my best friend. She’s the person who stayed with me when I couldn’t even breathe. She’s the reason Miles knows I needed help. And yet, some irrational part of me still wishes I was sitting there beside him. Because being close to him feels natural. It feels safe, and I don’t know what to do with that.
The Jeep pulls out of the parking spot, and I focus on the conversation happening in front of me.
“What the fuck happened, Kaitlin?” Miles’ voice is low, but the concern behind it is impossible to miss.
“I-I don’t know,” she says, her voice shaking. “We were about to leave the coffee shop, and Maddie said she needed to use the restroom. Then, out of nowhere, I see her running across the street in front of moving fucking cars.”
My stomach twists as I listen to her explain.“I tried to stop her, Miles. I swear I did. But it was like she couldn’t hear me. She was completely focused on that car.”
The silence that follows makes my heartbeat pick up.
“What car?” Miles asks.
Kaitlin hesitates.
“It was some old blue car with black stripes. I think it was a Camaro. I don’t know what the fuck her issue was with it, but she looked terrified.”
I watch Miles through the small opening between the seats, and the second his hands tighten around the steering wheel, I know. He remembers the car. He’s putting things together. That scares me more than I want to admit.
Since meeting Miles, I’ve noticed that he’s always been observant. He notices the little things people try to hide, and right now, I can practically see the questions forming in his mind.
I can’t let him find out.
I don’t know what would happen if he knew the truth about my father. I don’t know if he would see me differently or if hewould look at me the way I’ve always feared people would if they knew. Like I’m something broken—something dangerous.
The worst part is that I want to tell him. A part of me wants to stop carrying this alone. I want to trust him. I want to believe that he won’t run when he sees the ugliest parts of me. But the other part reminds me that everyone I let close eventually gets hurt, and I can’t let Miles be another person I destroy. By the time we pull into the parking garage beneath Miles’ apartment, I force myself to sit up. Both of them immediately turn around.
