Page 106 of Outspoken

“Called me a helicopter mom and said I need to start giving you the benefit of the doubt. More trust. Be supportive and not demanding.”

I have no words. I can’t believe Miguel stood up for me like that. I can't believe he's still willing to trust me and tell others to back off when I clearly showed him how unstable I can be.

I'm flooded with such strong love for Miguel—a feeling that weaves deeper and deeper into me, making it impossible to untangle—that I'm ready to hop in the car right now and show up at his house uninvited. He said I could stop by any time, and there's so much I need to tell him.

But things are also strange between us. His lack of response is strange. What if, for some reason, he doesn't want to see me?

I should give him a few more days to text back. And I need time to let all of this emotion settle.

“Sorry I was an ass,” Brody says. “You doing okay?”

“Um, better than before.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for getting back to your sobriety. I’m here if you need anything. So is Paige.”

A lump grows in my throat, so I leave quickly before doofus realizes he made me weepy. His maturity is now on such a cosmic level I have no hope of catching up.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Amber

I’VE BEEN PARKED ACROSS THE street of Miguel’s house for a half hour. It’s evening, so it’s dark, and I feel like a creeper just sitting here and staring at his lit windows, watching any movements behind the curtains. He’s home because I’ve seen shadows walking around. The only problem is getting myself out of this stupid car and to his front door.

After trying unsuccessfully for the past three days to convince him to come over, I decided to just drive here. There’s too much to say and if something has changed and he’s trying to blow me off, I need to know.

I glance out the driver’s side window for the hundredth time, picking at my nails and chewing all of my light pink lipstick off. I really like his house. It’s in a decent neighborhood with cute single-story homes. The grass in his front yard is maintained—unlike his neighbors—and there are round flower bushes lining a stone path from the driveway to the porch. A large tree towers over everything, and it’s bursting with fresh buds from late spring. There are also two rocking chairs on the porch under the awning. I never pictured Miguel as a rocking chair kind of guy, but it makes me smile thinking of his large, muscular body rocking in that tiny white chair.

I close my eyes and press my forehead against the cold car window. I haven’t eaten because I worried food wouldn’t stay in my stomach. All those annoying butterflies take up too much space. And I’ve tried to rehearse what I’m going to say once I see him, but my mind goes blank every time. I guess I’ll start by apologizing in case he’s still mad. I’ll apologize for showing up without warning, though he did tell me before it was okay to do that, and I’ll apologize for how crappy I’ve been and for making him climb out the window. Then I’ll ask him on a date. We can save the whole love conversation for another night. It’s better to take vulnerable talks in chunks.

I might have this planned out more than I thought.

In a burst of determination, I grab my purse and leave the car. Then I adjust my hair using the car window’s reflection. Since he might be guarded, I went with a modest, plain outfit of jeans and a pink blouse, focusing more on my hair since he seems to enjoy feeling its softness. I avoided a sexy outfit because that will probably send the signal that I’m here for a hookup.

Of course, I wouldn’t mind doing that with him since I’ve missed him so much, but tonight is about opening up and getting back to a good place. And I really have no idea how this will go.

No more hesitating. Big girl panties on.

After power walking to the front door, I jam my shaky finger against the doorbell. A TV is blaring in the living room. The curtains rustle and then I hear a woman’s voice, my heart immediately crushed.

“One minute, please,” the woman calls out.

He is dating someone.

As I try to process this bombshell, I know I need to run to avoid confrontation and anything awkward. I spin, racing for the car before the fact that Miguel moved on hits me too hard.

He moved on.

I’m halfway across the lawn when the door opens.

“Miss?” the woman says. “Miss? Can I help?”

I freeze midway across the lawn. With the door open, I can tell the woman’s voice is older with a Spanish accent. Turning around, I find a short, slightly hunched woman standing on the porch. She might be in her late 50s or early 60s. She’s wearing a turquoise house dress with large orange flowers embroidered along the neckline, and her salt and pepper hair is a curly mess around her face.

She smiles sweetly, and I can’t help but relax and smile back, taking a few steps closer. I bet she’s a relative who is visiting.

Thank God it’s not Miguel’s Tinder date.I still have a chance to mend bridges.

“Hi,” I say, taking another step toward the porch. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was looking for Miguel.”

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