Page 63 of Outspoken

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bouncing, and his eyes dart around my face, panicked. “Please. Please, give me a minute to explain.”

I lower my voice, sensing other people in the room behind me. “What stories have you been telling your family about me?” I should also be mad at Brody for talking about me to Miguel all these years, but I've known about that for so long that I stopped caring. Maybe I trusted Miguel and shouldn't have.

He holds up his palms and says, “No stories. Only that I like you. I've mentioned you, but not how you think. I would never share personal stuff.”

“Uh-huh. Then why is the alcohol locked in a cabinet?”

His mouth falls open again as he struggles for words. He glances over my shoulder at something, or someone, then he opens the front door.

After we both step outside, he exhales, his eyebrows crashing together as word spill out. “I told Maribel and Rico that you're recovering. We put bottles away so you wouldn't feel any pressure. I'm sorry, I…I wasn't trying to be sneaky. I thought it must be hard being in situations like this where others are drinking, so if they're not drinking, you can relax and have a good time. No pressure. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“You didn’t ask if I was okay with them knowing.”

His gaze drops to the jacket in his hands. “I'm sorry. You're right. I didn't want to screw anything up and I thought…I didn't want you to feel awkward, but I should've asked.”

I cross my arms and stare at the blue potted flowers near the front door. “I’m tired of everyone knowing these awful things about me and then walking on eggshells when I’m around. It’s even…” I try to clear the lump in my throat but can't. “It’s hard with you.”

He steps forward, so I step back.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a gentle voice.

Fuck, why are we getting into this?I fight the tears so I can speak. “It’s hard to look at you knowing the stories you’ve heard. It’s embarrassing and I feel…” I bite my bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

I need to be stronger than this.

He takes another small step closer. “Feel what?” I shake my head, refusing to speak, so he touches my arm cautiously. “Feel what?” he gently repeats.

With a tsk, I fling my hand through the air, letting it all come out. “Pathetic, okay? I’m pathetic because all I ever do is fuck-up. I’m the girleveryonelooks down on or thinks is crazy because it’s only a matter of time, right? There will always be more stories because what stupid thing will Amber do next? Just wait. It’s coming. That’s why Brody is always hovering over me like I’m a fucking child, like I need babysitting. No one trusts me or has faith in me to succeed.” I brush his hand off my arm, choking on my words. “And…and you know about all of it—about my past. You know the stories but you keep hanging around me. That makes you crazy. You haven’t experienced my fuck-ups in person, so you’re only deluding yourself into thinking it’s all okay. You ignore my red flags and live in some…some fantasy about why you like me.” I can’t hold myself together any longer and cover my mouth to sob, praying his family isn’t spying through the windows.

I hate letting anyone see me this way, so why does this keep happening around Miguel?

After tossing the jacket next to the front door, he takes another cautious step closer. When he touches my shoulders and pulls me slowly into a hug, I don’t resist. I should, but my body is so desperate for comfort it ignores my hurt feelings.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his back, relaxing into the embrace and letting him stroke my hair. I had forgotten how good his touch feels—the safety of his body heat and the reassurance of his solid torso. How the smell of his vanilla aftershave and his steady heartbeat somehow erase my past. If we can talk this through, maybe I could forgive him—that’s what my heart wants.

But I rarely listen to my dumb heart.

“Mi corazón,” he says, tightening his hold, “why do you think it’s a fantasy?”

Because you don’t know all of me.

Because who could want all of me?

He’s only heard stories and seen bits and pieces. There’s so much he doesn’t know about me—so much I don’t know about him—and I haven’t done anything to actually earn his affection.

He's only seeing Fantasy Amber.

“I love you,” he whispers close to my ear.

I try to laugh, but a sob comes out instead. His intentions are good, but he doesn’t love me. I can hear it in the way he speaks. His emotions are intense butdefinitelynot love.

I’ve witnessed real love when Brody and Paige make goo-goo eyes at each other—heard it in the way Brody talks about her. I've even sensed it flowing from Paige’s phone—something in the way she types and the tenderness in her body.

Real love seeps into everything around it until it’s impossible to deny.

Miguel likes me, but his confession of love is hollow.

What's even more heartbreaking is that I don't think he realizes it.

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