Page 122 of Fighting Fate
And then I'm alone with Miles, the silence thick between us.
Before I can say anything, he speaks up. "Aren't you tired of showing up here?"
His words sting, but I can see the pain behind them. He's lashing out, looking for a target for his frustration.
But I'm not backing down. "Here's your homework," I say, slapping the stack of papers onto the table. "You've been missing class, so I brought this over."
He dismisses it with a shake of his head, then stands, beer in hand.
Is he drunk?
"Thanks, but I'll pass," he states, with an air of indifference.
Luke's parting words echo in my mind. Maybe this is the moment to let him figure it out. But that's not who I am. I'm not one to walk away easily, especially not from Miles. He's facing a monumental challenge, and harsh words won't deter me. I'm here, ready to fight for him, even if it means fighting with him.
I grab the papers from the table, determination fueling my steps as I follow him into the kitchen. Pushing the papers into his hands, my frustration boils over. "Do you seriously think I've spent every Sunday this semester helping you just to watch you fail?" My voice is sharp with alarm. "You're mistaken if you think I'm going to let you throw all that effort away, Miles."
He turns, his expression a cocktail of surprise and annoyance, and then there's a smirk. It's not the one I fell for. It's tainted, bitter. "Not like you didn't get anything in return."
His words stop me dead. Confusion and hurt swirl inside me.
"What are you talking about?" I demand, my voice rising.
He lets out a cynical laugh, raking his hands through his hair, and turmoil is written all over his face. He's a shell of the Miles I know, the pressure from his dad about getting back into the game weighing on him even though he hasn't been near a football field since that fateful night. He's been trapped in this house, in his own head.
"You got to sleep with Miles Chasen, the one and only," he retorts, reaching for another beer. The house is littered with them; he's drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain.
His eyes meet mine. "You got what every girl wants, didn't you, Milli Girl?" The nickname stings, used in such a context, far from the sweet moments it usually signifies.
How can he say that? How can he be so cruel?
His expression darkens, his message clear and cutting.
Do I mean nothing to him?
I remind myself he's not himself, but my patience is wearing thin.
"I don't need your help," he says, his words like shards of glass. "I don't want your support," he continues, each word a hammer to my heart. "I don't need you." The final blow. "Just...leave," he mumbles, turning away to drown himself in a movie, in his misery.
The words cut through me, leaving a sting that's both physical and emotional. My eyes threaten to betray the pain with tears, but I refuse to let him witness the depth of my hurt. Swallowing hard, I muster every ounce of composure I have, masking the inner chaos.
With a heavy heart, I cast a final, scathing remark over my shoulder, "I didn't take you for a coward." It's a parting shot, laced with disappointment and a tinge of sorrow, as I step away from him, from us, into an uncertain future. I cling to the one thing I know for certain—the promise I made to Brooke weeks ago, a promise that guides me forward.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Wyatt remarks as I scan the dance studio, our eyes meeting. He's got that signature hip sway going, his expression clearly asking, "What's going on?" And yeah, it's 11:00 pm on a Sunday, and here I am, in the dance studio, a place I've avoided for weeks.
To anyone looking in, I'm still the same Milli—always cheerful, buried in books, tutoring, dancing. But inside, I'm unraveling. This semester, once a highlight, is now spiraling downward.
I remember this one time, Payson and Brooke practically dragging me to class. I was just...out of it, emotionally drained from my efforts with Miles. Trying to support him the way he needs feels like running on empty, and honestly, it's embarrassing.
I do sound pathetic, don't I?
Thanks for the reminder, inner critic.
Everyone's been saying the same thing—I can't let one guy mess with my head, derail my future. But Miles isn't just "one guy." He's the man I love. But after our last conversation and now, sitting here in the dance studio, my refuge, I'm questioning if it's all worth it.
People come into our lives for reasons we can't always understand. They appear, leave us pondering their purpose. Miles is like that—not just a fleeting presence, but a significant part of my life, intertwined with countless memories, laughter, tears. But everything feels different now.
It's as if Miles has his own chapter in the book of my life, and I'm trying to decipher if he's meant to teach me something vital, or if I'm just clinging to what's no longer meant to be.