Page 65 of One Billion Reasons

He tenses for a moment, and then squeezes my hand. His is warm and rough as I drag him along. We pick our way down the steps in the moonlight until we get to the deserted beach. The tide is going out, and you can see the reflection of the moon in the wet sand when the waves recede. Lovely. I pull out my phone to take a few photos. They probably won’t turn out the way I want them to, but I have to try. When I turn around, Miles’s eyes are shadowed, even in the soft light.

“I don’t know about this, Lane.” His voice hitches, and he looks away.

“Did you grieve your father?” I put my hands on my hips.

“What do you mean exactly? Of course I grieved him.”

“Did you cry? Did you scream? Did you spend days in bed wallowing? Did you work out until you couldn’t stand? Did you drink an entire bottle of wine at four p.m. and then regret it by ten?” I pause and step into him. “Because I did all of those things. And I can tell you it took a really long time to feel okay about my parent’s deaths, but it was a lot easier when I didn’t try to bottle the emotions up. I bet you went to work the next day.”

His eyes flick away guiltily.

“I knew it. You can’t bury it all deep inside you and expect to feel better eventually.” I twist my arms to reach my zipper and tug it down.

“You’re right.” He shoves a hand through that hair. “I’ve grieved a little. Mostly when I’m alone. What are you doing?”

I step out of my dress. “Going swimming. You’re not alone. I’m here. So come with me.”

He holds my gaze as I unclasp my lace bra and step out of the matching thong. I lay everything gently over a rock. The poor red dress is going to need some serious dry cleaning, but it doesn’t matter.

He stays stock-still in the moonlight as I step in and pull his tie free and unbutton his shirt. When I tug it free of his pants, he finally comes to life and warm palms land on my hands. Together, we push his pants down and remove his jacket. When he’s finally nude in front of me, I suck in a breath. Miles at twenty-three was a sight to behold, but now? It looks like he’s been sculpted by a divine hand. His throat is strong, and his collarbones are stark above a chest slabbed with muscle. The abs I saw this morning flex in the moonlight as he steps forward. There’s a trail of dark hair on his stomach, between that cut of muscles pointing downward, to where I know he’s thick and perfect.

I grab his hand and step into the surf. I yelp and slap my hand over my mouth. I don’t want anyone coming down here to interrupt. “I hate the cold.”

“You’re in it now, Lane.” And then he’s tugging me forward, his hand anchoring me as the water swirls and the waves beat against us. We dive under waves until we get past the break, and then I’m treading in the cold, bracing water, my toes just touching the bottom until the next wave rolls by and the swell carries me upwards.

“Come here.” He tugs me into him, where his feet are planted against the bottom. He’s warm and strong and I let him drag me close, until my naked body is flush against his chest. Until he gathers me into him and loops my legs around his waist.

“Better?” he murmurs, and I nod. His body heat feels delicious, and his skin is slick in the water. His heart is beating steady and sure under my cheek, and I shut my eyes. This feels too good. Achingly perfect.

“You know I never hated you, right?” His voice rumbles under my cheek, and I freeze. Why is he telling me this? Because he’s had a few drinks. And maybe because this moment feels sacred. Because my cheek is pressed to his naked chest and there are no more barriers between us. At least not tonight.

“I think I did know. Deep down. Why did you pretend?” I think I was pretending, too.

“Because it was easier that way. Because you’re Liam’s sister.” He tightens his arms around me. “And before you get mad, think about it from my perspective. He’s my best friend. And you hated me. If we fooled around, what good would that do? I always wanted Liam and you to have a place with my family. And I never thought we could be serious, Lane. A fling with you wasn’t worth the awkwardness that would follow. You’re too important to me.”

“I understand.” I squeeze him back. “Why are you so certain you’re the villain, then? Because with everything you’ve told me, I can’t help but feel like you might be a hero.”

He shakes his head, and I feel the motion ripple through me. “Because I am.” He’s quiet for a second, and then he adds, “On the night my dad died, I was supposed to be home. It was a heart attack. I told my parents I’d be home that weekend, but last minute, I decided I wanted to catch some waves in Montauk with Liam.” His voice is choked. “I told them I’d see them the following weekend. But then, he had the heart attack and there was nothing I could do. I should have been there,” he whispers brokenly.

“I’m sorry.” I squeeze him with all the strength I can muster.

“And after my dad died, my mom was a shell of a person for almost an entire year. I was helpless. I saw her every weekend, until it got too painful. And then I avoided her. My dad’s death destroyed her. I don’t think I can ever go through that again. I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire life.”

He’s silent when he finishes, and my chest feels like I’m sitting at the bottom of the ocean. All that pressure is enough to make me cry. So this is why he’ll never love. The full, awful picture makes a sick kind of sense, I suppose. Miles has a huge heart. So instead of hurting someone, he’ll hurt himself. He doesn’t want to be weak, so he’ll never care enough to fall for someone. He’ll never give his heart away, because he doesn’t want to cause anyone pain. And he’s utterly convinced that if he sleeps with me, we’ll fall in love and he’ll hurt me by walking away. Oh, Miles.

I don’t think I’ll be the one to make him change. But the fact that he would try to protect me from himself…a little part of my heart breaks for him.

Instead of speaking, I press my lips to his chest, and the salt of my tears mixes with the ocean.

“I understand,” I whisper. “It’s been a decade, and I still think about my parents every day. I still wonder if I could have stopped the accident somehow. Maybe if I’d been home that night when they drove to the store. Maybe if I’d offered to go instead, they’d still be alive.” My throat clogs. “But you can’t think like that. It will destroy you.” My voice is fierce. Miles has to understand. “The only way you’ll feel better is if you let go of the guilt and try to remember the good times.”

“What do you remember?” he whispers.

“So many things.” I let myself lean back and float, even though my limbs are going slightly numb and Miles feels like a small sun.

“I remember camping with my dad and cooking with my mom. She loved to bake, too. I wish I could bake like her. She was into woo-woo stuff, as my dad used to call it. She had crystals and read tarot when her friends came over. She taught me how to do it too. She burned sage every Friday so we could start the weekend with peaceful energy. My dad grew pot behind the house, and he thought he kept it a secret, but Liam found it when we were seventeen and tried to roll a joint of fresh leaves.”

Miles laughs quietly at that. “It sounds like they were great.”

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