Page 117 of Outspoken

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry for ghosting. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“I know. I know you have a lot going on and I understand. I wasn’t trying to make you a secret. It’s just…I’m sorry.” I step back. “Thanks for the jacket.”

He nods, lingering a moment longer, and then shuts the trunk. “Come on,” he says, folding the blue crocheted blanket in his arms. “There’s something I want to show you.”

He takes my hand, hesitating a second to see if I’ll pull away. When I don’t, he shows his dimple and guides me forward onto a dirt hiking path.

We fall in step with each other, dodging a few tree branches, as we make our way through the darkness. The moon is only a sliver tonight, so Miguel uses his phone’s flashlight so we don’t stumble.

I glance at Miguel’s sturdy silhouette—his broad shoulders, strong arms, straight nose. He’s dressed in his signature outfit of white sneakers, blue jeans, and a patterned button-up, clothes I adore too much now. He looks ahead, guiding us with confidence, keeping us both safely on the path. He’s always so sure about what he wants, setting his mind to something and going after it.

Maybe that’s why I love him, along with a hundred other reasons. He’s self-assured while I’m usually lost. Yet I never feel lost when I’m with him. I might feel embarrassed, pathetic, and a mess, but never lost. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Next to him.

If only that were true in reality, not just in my feelings.

I release a soft sigh, smiling at myself for getting deep in the drama with this man when I fought so hard not to. Old Amber would’ve been a nervous wreck, terrified about the heartbreak she’s about to experience—the dead end, the failure. She’d run away to drown every emotion in alcohol and swallow her self-loathing with a handful of pills.

Current me is simply okay. This is survivable. It sucks. It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker, but whether I run or stay, this is reality. I can face it. Like,actuallyface it this time and know that I’m strong enough to make it through.

Miguel squeezes my hand as we break through the trees to a grassy outlook.

“Wow,” I say, releasing Miguel’s hand and stepping to the guard rail. The city below us is a sea of lights.

Miguel lays the blanket on the grass and then stops behind me, his body heat soaking into my back. “It’s too bad it’s cloudy and we can’t see the stars,” he says. “That’s what I was hoping to show you.”

I lean against his chest. “There are plenty of stars. They’re twinkling below.” I pull his arms around my waist and let peace wash over me. What’s about to come doesn’t matter. Only this moment matters. “You just have to change your perspective.”

Pressing his cheek against my hair, he inhales. “Guess you’re right.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re taking care of your mom?”

His grip around me loosens, so I hold tight to his forearms, making sure he doesn’t move away.

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, and then says, “Partly because I didn’t want to bring up any painful memories for you since Brody told me how your mom passed. Also…” He inhales my shampoo again, hesitating.

I inhale his wonderful scent, too, giving him all the time he needs.

Finally, through the darkness, he says, “Also, I don’t like bringing it up. Talking about my mom’s illness makes it too real. I don’t like thinking about her not being around in the future.”

I reach up to touch his cheek, my chest aching for what he’s going through. “I understand that. I didn’t like to face it with my mom, either. I still wish you had told me. How can I support you if you don’t tell me?” I angle my head so he can see my smirk and know I’m teasing when I say, “I thought you were the guy who’s completely open with his emotions.”

He smiles. “Guess that’s the one thing I struggle with sharing.”

“Oh, so you’re like the rest of us after all?”

He laughs, then pulls me into a tighter embrace. He kisses the side of my head. “I finally know my wish.”

I’m enveloped in his jacket and in his arms—content, safe, right where I want to stay. Right where I know I can’t stay. Emotion rises again, so I clear my throat. “What wish?”

“The night we met at that party, we sat and looked at the sky. You made a wish on a shooting star, but I said I’d save mine for later.”

“What did I wish for?”

“A time machine so you could go back and change the past.”

I close my eyes, letting a tear fall as I get lost in the gentle rhythm of his breathing. “Sounds like me. I’d give anything to go back to prevent that car accident, but only to save that man’s life, not to fix my own. My life may have still ended up a mess. There’s no way to know. Either way, time machines aren’t real.”

He nuzzles me more, which I’m really enjoying.

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