Page 107 of Tourist Trap

CLAIRE

Lainey drops me off after girls' night, screaming that I'd betterget it good,which means when I open the front door, I'm still laughing.

My brow furrows when I realize it's not locked, something that Miles is diligent about. My nerves ratchet high when I walk into the house, though. In the kitchen, I can see Miles, head in his hands, elbows on the granite of the counter.

"Miles?" I ask, my voice coming out in a worried whisper, but he doesn't move, doesn't shift to acknowledge my entering the house at all. "Miles, honey?"

I step closer, dropping my bag at the front and barely closing the door as I rush toward him. But then I stop in my tracks, startled when I see the hole in the wall that’s the size of a softball. I look around, worried someone is hurt, until I see one of Miles's hands wrapped in a bag of frozen peas.

"What happened here?" I say out loud, finally stepping into the kitchen and tipping my head to the hole.

"I punched a wall," he says matter-of-factly as if that's not an alarming thing.

I roll my lips between my teeth and nod.

"I see that, but can I ask why are we cosplaying as a frat boy right now?"

He doesn't answer, instead giving me a fake smile.

"You had a long day. Why don't you go take a shower and get in your pajamas? I'll be up in a little bit."

Fuck that.

"Mmm, no, I think not. What's going on here? What happened?"

He sighs, then shakes his head. "Nothing, baby. Go take your shower and get comfy. I've got a few more things to do. When I'm done down here, I'll come up and talk to you."

That's when I notice there are a dozen papers spread around him. From a quick glance, I see they're bills, mortgage documents, and agreements of some kind.

"Miles, there's a hole in the wall. The chances of me going upstairs and pretending it's not there are slim to none."

He looks at me, then sighs, closing his eyes, and I see it there: how tired he is. Not the physical kind, but the bone-deep emotional exhaustion. He's drained because something big happened.

"Let me see your hand," I say softly, stepping closer to him. I move the peas aside and see that, despite a small cut on a knuckle, nothing looks too swollen or damaged.

There's a bit of a bruise on a different knuckle, but I've seen worse when he hits a finger at work. I lean down, press my lips right above the cut, and he lets out a small chuckle before I sit next to him.

It takes everything in me not to look at the papers because even though I'm nosy, I know he'll tell me what I need to know when he wants me to know it.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?"

He leans back with a sigh, closing his eyes.

"I—" he starts, and then he leans forward again and looks me in the eyes. "Do you promise not to freak out, no matter what I say?"

My head tips to the side, and my heart skips a nervous beat. "Uh, no?" I tell him honestly.

"Claire—"

"If you're about to tell me you kissed another girl…"

His smile goes wide despite his grim mood, and he shakes his head, an arm moving around my waist and tugging me out of my chair and into his lap. Having him hold me like this, some of my fears drift away.

"You think I could evenlookat another woman when I have you waiting for me when I get home every night?"

I smile a bit at that, my hand moving to the back of his head and tangling in his hair before I lift the other to cup his cheek, brushing my thumb along his mustache.

"You better not," I whisper. He smiles again, and I feel it against my hand, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Tell me what's going on."

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