Page 64 of Outspoken

I push myself free of his embrace, wiping away my tears and looking at the freshly cut lawn. “I know you think it's love, but you only have a crush—an infatuation. You want love so desperately that you've convinced yourself you feel it.”

He shakes his head. “I don't believe that.”

“I know you don't.”

His face contorts like he’s struggling for a response, then his shoulders hunch and he lowers his gaze to the ground.

I’m so drained, and I’ve gone through so many emotions in the past forty-five minutes, that part of me wants to say 'fuck it' and go home. But I need to know the truth. “Why do I have your jacket?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking guilty. “Well, that’s a bit of a story.”

“Give me the abridged version.”

After a long inhale, he says, “The night I met Brody, about six years ago, Dustin told him we were going to a party. It happened to be the same one you were at, so Brody asked us to find you and keep you safe.”

I flatten my palms against my stomach, seriously feeling ill. The missing pieces are finally clicking into place and I’m not liking the picture. “A party? Where?”

“I don’t remember the address. It was a mansion with tons of palm trees.”

“And I…I was drunk? Or…?” He takes a breath to respond, but too many questions are popping into my head and I can't contain them. “Did we…did we hook up? Why do you remember and I don't? The only reason I'd have your jacket was if you came to my place and we hooked up and you forgot it and—”

“No, no. We didn't hook up. We…It was just a walk. I was making sure you were okay. Brody said you were on a bender and he was concerned. That’s why he wanted me and Dustin to check on you.”

“So you found me and just gave me your jacket?”

“You were cold. When I got you a ride home, you were still wearing it.”

I exhale, relieved that we didn't have some sloppy hookup I don't remember—because this situation would've been much worse if he never told me something likethat—but knowing that the first time he saw me I was a slobbering mess isn't great.

The acid in my stomach thrashes, so I swallow, worried I really will puke. I swallow again, letting the sensation pass before saying, “Why didn't you tell me? We’ve been talking, and it’s not like I completely ghosted you. You have my number.”

He nods excessively—like a bobblehead—looking the most lost, conflicted, and worried I’ve ever seen him. “I know. Brody made me promise not to tell you, and then when we met at the hospital, I was going to. I wanted to be upfront and just tell you, but you were dealing with a lot. I didn’t want to add to your stress. Then I tried to bring it up a few times after that, but it was always the wrong moment. I kept picking bad times, and then it kept going unsaid, so I kept putting it off. I couldn’t find the right moment.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair, his brown eyes filled with remorse. “This was ahugefailure on my part, and I’m really sorry. The last thing I want is to hurt you.”

I know he’s sincere, but I'm struggling to process everything I’ve learned. Miguel met mesixyears ago? That means he hasn’t only been thinking about me this past year. He spentsix yearsbuilding his fantasy version of me. Not only that, he met Drunk Amber first. That’s six years of thinking about the drunk, wasted girl he kept safe at a party, building false feelings of love.

My head is woozy, so I close my eyes. All of this—meeting him at a party when I was too wasted to remember, wearing his jacket for years, how his family knew I was an alcoholic—it’s too much. Too much all at once. I’m pissed and confused and devastated and so, so hurt.

Something clicks in my mind and my eyes shoot open to stare at the man I was developing feelings for.

Fuck.

I get it now.

I get why he’s done so many caring things, why he’s always been around to ‘watch me’—helping with bills and texting in times of crisis to make sure I don’t jump off a cliff. I’m a woman he’s constantly taking care of because I’m just…

My vision blurs as I scowl. “So I’m your fucking charity case?”

His eyes widen. “What? No,” he protests. “I fell for you the night we met.”

“Out of pity! Fucking Brody asked you to babysit me, so you took that job way too seriously. You could’ve called to get your jacket back, but you let me keep it. Because you pity-like me, is that it? The drunk, high girl who can never get her shit together and who will always be a disaster. You keep talking about feelings, but we’ve barely hung out—we barely know each other. So every time Brody told you about what I was up to or how I was spiraling, did that just fuel your need to be my white knight?That’swhy you came over to give me company while he was in the hospital, and why you brought those meals—which I learned you cooked andnotyour aunt—it makes you feel good to save me again and again.”

I pause to take a few breaths because I’m shaking. I feel too close to him, so I step off the porch, far, far away. “Look. You did help me and…and I am grateful for that because there were moments I needed company. You’re sweet, and I think you’re a good guy, even if you can be misguided and your interest comes from pity. But this just feels…wrong. Like you’re trying to buy my affections—like you’re doing way too much when we’re not in a relationship.”

Miguel is speechless on the porch, patiently listening as I unleash my wrath.

I thought I was going somewhere with my rambling and could stay calm, but my thoughts get clouded with emotion again, my voice loud and forceful when I say, “You just confuse me so much, and I don’t know what to think. You're a people-pleaser. And intense. And you’ve been fucking keeping things from me. And you’re playing games! What was with you at the taco festival? And today? You’re flirty, but then you’re not, and all of this is messing with my head. I shared things with you—youknowthings that I don't want others to know. Then you go and tell your family. How can you be so sweet one moment and then so indifferent the next, causing this much pain?”

His expression collapses and he hurries from the porch to cross the distance I put between us. He reaches out to take my hand but stops, letting his arm drop to his side. “I’m sorry. IswearI only mentioned something today because I wanted you to feel comfortable, and I only told Maribel and Rico. I don’t go around talking about you like that. I've mostly talked about my feelings and usually only to my mom. My family knows your favorite color and what movies you like, but nothing private and serious.”

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