Page 14 of Outspoken

“What?” I say again, almost in a whisper. I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “So all those times you were working late, you were actually…”

I clutch the envelope against my chest, feeling awful for only now noticing how tired his eyes are—the puffiness and purple splotches from a lack of sleep. And he still came here to eat dinner and hang out?

I'm speechless, so all I can do is shake my head, my vision blurring.

He nervously combs his fingers through his hair again, looking at the floor. “I know it won’t cover everything, but—”

“Stop. Who does this?” I hold up the envelope like I’m showing it to him for the first time. Then I gesture to the couch, then the ceiling fan. I’m a jumble of jerky movements, trying to understand how a man like him could exist. “Why would you do this? It’s too generous.” I bite my lip as a tear falls.Dammit. How can I be crying around himagain? I hate how weak I am.

He shrugs. “I’m not trying to overstep, but Brody has helped me out of some tight spots. I want to return the favor. That's what Mom always taught me—give when you can. I'm lucky I'm in a place where I can help, 'cause that means I have enough.” He gives a sheepish smile. “What kind of friend would I be if I bailed at a time like this?”

“Yeah, but…you didn't have to bring me food or help me clean up, or even message me when you've been so busy and had better things to do.. Why?” I wipe my face and fight a sob. I'm so pathetic.Am I ever not going to be a mess?

His lips part and he looks like he wants to say something, but instead he glances at my jacket and doesn't speak. His eyes then fall to the floor and he shrugs again.

I frown. His response is such a cop-out. If he's a player and just looking for a hookup, I’d get it. I’mveryfamiliar with guys like that. But genuine, good men are creatures I know nothing about.

I pull him into a hug. I may not understand him, but I can understand his actions. “Thank you,” I say. “I'll pay you back as soon as I get a job.”

“Don't,” he says close to my ear, his palms lightly resting on my back. “I'm good. Why do you keep fighting me on this? It’s okay to accept and receive a gift. It’s okay to let others help.”

We linger in the hug too long until it shifts from a friendly thank-you to a borderline intimate embrace. Intimacy with a man is something I’ve never truly felt. Lust and sex? Absolutely, but not genuine tenderness. Affection. I’ve only experienced shallow acts and emotions in past relationships.

Guys I dated long enough to label all turned into jerks, and our fights became massive drama fests. Nothing was ever deep or meaningful. We held hands and hugged, but it never felt the way Miguel is holding me now—tenderly pressing us together and cradling me like I’m something precious.

I inhale his inviting vanilla scent, letting it envelop my senses until I'm delirious. All of this is new—the way he looks at me, the thoughtful things he does to make sure I'm alright, the warmth in his smile, and the urge I feel to always smile back.

How did I not know men like him existed?

As he begins to break away from our lengthy hug, I lose my sanity for a moment. Something takes hold of me—a desperate need to be touched and comforted, an empty ache in my heart. I want my life and everything around me to feel okay for once. I want to feel normal, if only for a few moments of physical pleasure.

I don't know what possesses me, but I do the stupid thing and try to kiss him.

Before our lips touch, he inhales sharply and turns his face to the side. His brows furrow, crushing his eyes with concern. Or maybe he thinks I'm crazy. Maybe all of his kindness was only pity for Brody's pathetic, fucked up, emotionally unstable little sister.

I separate our bodies, clapping my hand over my mouth, an invisible knife twisting in my stomach as I stare at his surprised and pained expression. I whip around so all he can see is my back. Rejection is a bitter pill I haven't swallowed in a long, long time.

I squeeze my eyes shut.What the hell is wrong with me?He's Brody's best friend, and he just gave me cash out of the kindness of his heart. Then I make a move on him? So, so pathetic.

He touches my shoulder, so I step away.

“I'm, I'm so sorry,” I push out. “That was wrong. I don't know what I was thinking. It was selfish and I honestly…I mean, you were holding me and…”

And I miss closeness.

I want intimacy—want to feel like I'm not a hot mess for one stupid minute in my life. I want reassurance that I can actually stay sober and move on from my awful past, even though deep down, I fear I'll fuck up. One way or another, I always fuck up. Like I did just now.

Who I am is a fuck-up.

“Hey, it's—”

I face him instead of being a coward. “No, it's not okay. I crossed a boundary and I was thinking messed up things. I appreciate everything you’ve done so, so much. Thank you, Miguel, and I'm sorry I had thoughts about…Forget it. I’m just sorry.”

He studies me carefully. “Thoughts about what?”

I take a breath, flailing my arms as I try to speak without crying, which I always fail at. “I guess…thoughts of using you to mask my insecurities. To use you for a hookup. Like, distract myself with sex for a night. But that's so wrong, and you don't deserve that. You’re sweet and…” I groan and ball my hands into fists, glaring at the floor.Seriously, what is wrong with me?He's done so many nice things for me, yet here I am thinking of using him for a hookup?

I hate myself.

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