Page 113 of Tell Me Something True

How humiliating.

So humiliating it took her a moment to realize they were parked on the street in front of her apartment and not at the Plush Petal.

Turning, she shot him an irritated glance. “I told you I need to get my car.”

He raised an eyebrow at her cranky tone and furious glare, though neither seemed to penetrate his mighty shield of stoicism. “You fell asleep before I even pulled out of the municipal building’s parking lot. You’re too tired to drive for five minutes, let alone five miles.”

“My car—”

“If you give me your keys, I’ll get your car delivered to you within the hour.”

He’d worked all night, but instead of going home to bed, he’d waited for her. Had made sure she arrived back at her apartment safely. And now, he was promising to get her car to her.

The man was making it increasingly difficult to remember why she needed to keep her distance from him. All the many and varied and crucial reasons she couldn’t let herself start to believe in foolish things like second chances.

She owed him an apology. Several—but who was counting?—starting with one for that glare she’d sent him and her cranky tone.

But apologizing to Miles was risky.

It had the potential to change things between them again. Every time she shared one of her truths, every time she opened up even a little bit about her past, the dynamic between them shifted. Became new.

She dug her car key out of her purse and handed it to him, keeping her remorse and I’m sorrys and secrets where they couldn’t change things.

Clearing her throat, she unbuckled her seatbelt, her gaze down. “Thank you for your help,” she murmured, tugging on the door handle. But when she opened the door, his soft voice stopped her.

“Did you trust me at all?”

Breath locked in her chest, she slowly lifted her head and turned to face him, but he stared out the windshield, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.

And she wanted, more than anything, to reach over and trace her fingertips across the backs of his hands. To give him some sense of ease. Of comfort.

But that wasn’t what he was asking for. He thought he wanted the truth. That it would somehow fix everything that had gone wrong between them.

Every broken piece of himself.

He wanted the truth.

But what he needed was some peace.

Peace of mind that he hadn’t been a complete fool to fall for her all those years ago. Reassurance that the decisions he’d made involving her—whether a decade, a month or two weeks ago—were correct. Acceptance of the way his life had turned out.

Yes, he definitely needed those things.

But there was nothing easy or peaceful about her truths. They were complicated and messy and all she wanted was to get past them. To focus on the life she’d worked so hard to build for herself. A life where she was strong and capable and worthy of all the things she’d always dreamed of. Friendship and security and belonging.

And love.

The truth wasn’t going to be good for either of them. Wouldn’t help them move beyond the mistakes they’d made.

But she’d give it to him, anyway.

Like she’d already mentioned, she had a hard time refusing the man.

Even when it meant she was going to hurt him.

She stared through the windshield at the rising sun barely penetrating the gray sky with streaks of purple and pink. “I trusted you. I trusted you to keep me safe. And I trusted you not to hurt me.”

He made a sound, a cross between a snort of derision and a grunt of pain. “You trusted me not to be an abusive asshole? Great.”

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