you to death, I know you already messed this up. Go fix it.
Love,
Mary
It was her signature that got to me. Something about her signing it that way, just Mary, not Miss Mary, told me that she was inviting me into adulthood in a way she never had before. Even when I’d lived above her on my own and became her landlord, I always knew she saw me as my skinned-knee childhood self no matter how much polish I acquired.
I read the letter again, stopping to reread some of the lines. One in particular. “He’ll be as crazy for you as you are for him.”
That wasn’t how it had felt when I’d been sitting there in the crosshairs of Kyla’s ambush. I’d felt like a PR opportunity, not a girlfriend.
But Miss Mary had been right about everything else in the letter. And for so many things in my life. And she was as protective of me as my own parents were. So why would she push me toward Miles, knowing...
Miles is the goods.
I reread the line a half dozen more times before I cut the engine and headed into the house, thinking. Miss Mary hadn’t been here for the last two months that we’d been dating, two months where Miles sang pretty words around me, never to me. Two months where he’d never said the word Miss Mary threw around so easily: love.
He’d never spoken love.
Still, only an idiot would brush off Miss Mary’s advice about anything.
I curled up on the couch and opened my text messages. I’d at least read what Miles had to say over the last two days. Then I could tell her in good conscience that I’d given him a chance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The first several texts were variations of Ellie, I’m worried. Where are you? Please call me. As the timestamps got later, it changed to versions of Can you just talk to me? I can fix this.
The messages stopped around midnight and picked up again yesterday morning. Around 1:00, he changed direction. I didn’t use you as a PR stunt. That was all Aaron feeding the reporter that info. I would never have brought it up. But when it came up, all my old media instincts took over. Sanitize. Minimize. Tell half-truths. Throw them off the scent. Please talk to me.
There were only a couple more messages after that. The first said, I would never do that to you. It hurts that you think I would. And the final one said, I fired Aaron. Should have done it a while ago. But it won’t change that stuff like this will keep happening. As long as you’re with me, your past will come up. And it’s not fair. I want nothing but good things for you, but I can’t protect you from that. I’m sorry, Ellie. Thanks for trying.
I stared at the letter on the coffee table in front of me, then back to the phone, skimming his messages again.
Miles is the goods.
Miss Mary was right. The surety sat behind my breastbone like a light in a distant window, small but steady.
Miles Crowe was the goods.
It didn’t make what had happened with Kyla okay. But he had done what he’d been trained to do. And I had been naïve not to realize that as long as he and I were together, to some extent, that old part of my past was going to come up.
Could I live with that?
Was he worth it?
Miles is the goods.
I got up and went to the piano and played “Brave,” singing it softly to myself, replaying his texts in my mind.
As long as you’re with me, your past will come up.
Was I brave enough for that?
I can’t protect you from that.
Did I need him to?
I let the notes die beneath my fingers and rubbed my palms against my thighs. They were clammy. People would know it was me again, in that meme. It might take on new life, not that it had ever died.
I hated the idea.
I stared down at the piano keys and thought about the weeks I’d spent watching Miles play in the Turnaround, sharing his music with me, the stuff he wouldn’t play for anyone else, the incomplete lyrics, the snatches of melody. The way he let me see everything in process before it was perfect and ready for everyone else. How he shared his worries and fears about the club. And his hopes and dreams for it.
Maybe he hadn’t said “I love you” in the exact way I wanted