Page 93 of Chasing You

As he walks past the bench he takes notice of the puzzle pieces scattered across it that he missed the first time round. “You’re still doing these?”

“Of course I am.”

He picks up a random piece and slots it into place before continuing on his way to me. I have to hold back my smile, because if he could place that so quickly, it means he’s still been doing them too.

“Can you sit up for me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I mumble, pushing myself up to sit before he slides into the space behind me, his legs stretched out on either side of mine.

“Come here,” he says, pulling on my shoulders so I can lean back against him. I hesitate for half a second before I give up, leaning back against his body. My resolve for fighting off this thing between us crumbling away with every soft-spoken word from his lips. If I'm being honest, it’s been crumbling for a while now.

“This might help.” He drapes the wheat pack over my lower stomach. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” I drop my hand to rest on top of his, still holding the pack, fitting my fingers between his. “That’s good.”

Suddenly I’m warm all the way through, the wheat pack heating my front, and warmth seeping into my back from Miles behind me. But mostly because of how it feels to finally be in his arms again.

I close my eyes, allowing myself to soak in the feeling, to focus on that warmth instead of the pain jarring my abdomen every few minutes. Miles adjusts himself behind me, getting comfy as he uses his good arm to hold me tight against him.

I let my breathing match his, let my heart fall into the same rhythm as his, let my mind go quiet as I feel my tiredness wash over me.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“I know, princess.”

“Not of the endometriosis, of you.”

Miles just rubs his thumb back and forth over my arm. “I know.”

My headheavy with the remanence of a headache is the first thing I feel when I wake up. The second thing is the heavy weight of a blanket over my body, but despite that, I feel cold.

I force my leaden eyelids open and look around the space to see it looking cleaner than it did yesterday. My clothes are gone off the floor, my coffee table is clear except for the care package sitting center stage. But it’s missing one thing; Miles.

He left.

He left.

Heleft after that? After I told him about me? After I cried in his arms and told him I was scared? Heleft? Tears well in my eyesas I look around the space once more, as if looking for a sign of him but he’s nowhere. He’s gone. He left.

Again.

I screw my eyes shut. I am such a goddamn idiot. He gives me some sour peaches and all is forgiven? I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have trusted him. I shouldn’t have g?—

“Morning, princess.”

I open my eyes to see Miles standing in the doorway to my room, the door that was shut a second ago. His hair is wet, dripping onto the collar of his green T-shirt. The T-shirt of his I kept all these years. What is he…

He must see the way my eyes are flooding with tears because he takes two big steps before he’s sitting in front of me on the couch, my head in his big hands. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” I’m hyperventilating. “I thought—” I can’t get any air into my lungs; it feels like my tears are filling them instead.

“Breathe, baby, okay? In and out.” His eyes are locked on mine as he takes big breaths, wanting me to mimic his actions. I do, not taking my watery eyes from his penetrating gaze.

He looks at me with pure agony, like seeing me hurting is hurting him just the same, and it pushes the knife even deeper.

I get a few breaths in, filling my lungs with the smell of my shampoo in his freshly washed hair, and whatever deodorant he’s wearing.

He pushes my hair out of my face. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

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