Page 16 of Outspoken

He moves forward to take my hands. His face is dead serious when he says, “Something deep.”

I push him back, pulling away from his strong, comforting grip. “You don’t know me. You wouldn’t have any feelings if you did.”

We’ve only been talking a few weeks, so it’s an insult for him to suggest he feels something deep. I can understand if he likes me or wants to fuck me, butdeep? Seriously. I’m not about to let him love bomb me. Brody told me Miguel is desperate to settle down, so he probably built a fantasy version of me in his head. Whoever he’s picturing, it'snotthe real Amber.

He sighs. “If we can just talk, you would understand that—”

“Look, I don't know how this turned messy so fast, but it feels like I stepped into a soap opera. I can't handle drama, ever, so I think you should go home and clear your head and we'll forget this ever happened.” I nudge him toward the door. “I truly appreciate everything you've done. You're an amazing guy and a great friend to my brother. Thank you so much and…I don't know what else to say. This is a lot. I’m sorry. You're sweet, but I'm not interested in a relationship or anythingdeep. I'm fucked up and I'm sure you know that. You're attractive, but—” I open the door and force myself to stop talking. Why am I rambling?He gets it.

He stands in the doorway, looking deflated and conflicted. “What I feel is real, Amber. Can we just talk?”

The genuine plea in his voice gives me a moment of doubt. What if we did get involved? It has been a long time since I've been part of a couple. It could be nice.

But the shadows that linger at the edge of my thoughts start to billow. Their magnetic force tugs on me, reminding me how easy it is to get lost in the darkness—how hard it is to escape. How every day doesn't feel like a celebration of one more day sober—it feels like one day closer to destroying my sobriety, like a ticking bomb destined to explode no matter how many wires I cut.

Miguel is intense, and he moves way too fast, but he’s also a sweet guy. I'd rather not fuck up his life. Or his heart.

I avoid his eyes and focus on the empty space between us. “I’m not denying you feel something. I’m wondering why and how you could feel something this soon. And I wonder what baggage you have that makes you fall so quickly for women. Deep feelings are earned over time, and I haven’t done anything to deserve your feelings toward me.” He opens his mouth to protest, so I shake my head. “Please go,” I say softly. “This is too much for me right now.”

Please go before I revert to my default state of becoming a mess.

He presses his lips together and stares at a chip in the door with pained eyes. “Yeah, okay. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The door clicks behind him. The lack of his presence digs into me before I even hear his car start. I stare at the casserole dish he forgot on the table, crossing my arms to keep everything inside me contained. I fight tears because I have got to become stronger. If I'm destined to fall into bad habits when the darkness returns, I should fight to stay sober as many days as I can.I may not be a great fighter, but I can still go down swinging.

Chapter Five

Miguel

ONE YEAR LATER

I WALK UP BEHIND MY nephew, Daniel, who is hunched in front of a concrete table under the park ramada. He has one hand greedily in a chip bowl, and the other shoving greasy potato chips into his face.

I dangle my gift bag in his line of sight. “Sorry, I'm late,” I say, glancing at a group of kids playing with Nerf guns on the park grass.

There are plenty of family members and screaming kids here for Daniel’s eighth birthday. The sky is overcast and a bit gloomy, but it’s a chill day. Normally, it's a vibe I like, but today there's a lot on my mind.

Daniel snatches the red gift bag and then spins around with a grin, his cheeks bursting with chips. “Hi-hah, mumphle Miphel.” He hugs my waist.

I laugh, patting his shaggy head of hair that he convinced my sister to dye blue. His head almost reaches my chest. “Did you grow another inch overnight?”

He swallows the wad of chips and says, “Yeah, I’m taller.”

“And what did you just call me?”

“Uncle.”

I squeeze his cheeks between my palms, making his lips squish out. Then I over-enunciate my words. “Tío. You shall call me tío.”

He shoves my hand away, laughing. “You’re like Lupita. It’s the same thing. I don’t speak Spanish at school.”

“You’re stabbing my heart right now.”

“Can I open this?” He holds up my gift, bouncing on his toes.

I cross my arms and wait.

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