Page 121 of Fighting Fate

Including me.

WEEK ONE

Utter silence. Not a word from him. Nothing.

WEEK TWO

I was pounding on his door, frustration and pain churning inside me. "Miles, just let me in," I begged.

I had thought, hoped, that when he came home, I'd be the one he'd reach out to. That he'd ask for his favorite gnocchi soup or just my presence. But a whole week slipped by before I even knew he was back, and I was fuming. Luke hid behind "bro code" as an excuse for not telling me. But that's no excuse, not when the man I love is wallowing in his room, refusing treatment, succumbing to whatever twisted fate he thinks he's been dealt.

As I stood there, knocking until my hands turned red, tears streaming down my face in the biting cold, I pleaded softly, "Miles, please, just open the door for me."

"Go away, Milli," came his muffled reply. It took everything in me not to shout back, to tell him he was being foolish. But I didn't. Instead, I let my hand drop and drove back to campus, sinking into my own pit of despair.

WEEK THREE:

"Dammit, Miles," I yelled, pacing in his and Luke's living room.

Luke quickly vacated the premises when he saw the determination on my face. I was on a mission, fed up with the silence, the waiting. My friends had nudged me; even my mom had advised me to let Miles hit his own bottom, to let him find his fight. So, with a heavy heart, I slammed my fist onto the kitchen island one last time and walked to his bedroom door.

Resting my forehead against the cool wood, I whispered, "Miles, fight this. If not for me, then for yourself. You're meant for greatness, for the title of Dr. Chasen, for a life filled with love. Don't let your demons win."

We all have our demons, but it's up to us whether we let them consume us or if we stand and fight. When Miles offered no response, I knew it was time to step back, to let go.

In the library, surrounded by books and silence, I'm supposed to be lost in my studies. But my thoughts? They're miles away, stuck on him. Today should have been another tutoring session with him, but he's a no-show, again. Despite promising myself that it was time to step back, to let go, I find myself unable to detach.

I understand Miles too well. He lets problems simmer, especially when his world crumbles in an instant. But like before, he needs support, and I can't just stand by and watch him sink into despondency. He needs a wake-up call to remind him that giving up isn't an option. There's too much love for him, too many people who need him around.

I want him here.

I want him in this world.

I want him in my world.

Books hastily packed away, I sling my bag over my shoulder, my mind made up. Week four, and here I am, still caught up in his turmoil, still fighting for him despite the frustration and the advice to stay away.

My jeep roars to life, cutting through the quiet afternoon. The familiar streets pass in a blur as I pull up outside his place. Pausing, I take a deep breath.

This is the right move. I have to believe that.

Stepping out, I approach their door with resolve. My hand hesitates before knocking, questioning my decision.

You're already here, Milli. No backing out now.

Luke answers, his expression etched with resignation. And, I get it, I do. He's another voice in the chorus telling me to let Miles be, to let him work through this alone. But how do I do that? How do I just let the person I love flounder without trying to help?

"Hey, is Miles around?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

Luke nods, motioning toward the living room. "Yeah, he's in there. Come on in."

The house is in disarray—dishes, clothes, beer bottles. Miles is on the couch, a picture of defeat. Our eyes meet, and he quickly looks away.

Last week was bad, but this is worse.

Luke mumbles something about needing to leave, then leans in close. "Hope you know what you're doing."

So do I.