Page 198 of Tell Me Something True

“You don’t have to say anything. And it’s okay if you don’t believe me.”

When they’d been together before, he’d wanted everything from her. Every thought and feeling. Every secret and truth. But only if they didn’t cost him anything in return.

He knew better now. Her trust and belief in him, any truths and secrets she wanted to share with him, were gifts. They were worth his patience.

They were worth earning.

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me,” he repeated, turning her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m going to do everything in my power to prove you can believe me. That you can trust me. With whatever you want, whenever you’re ready.”

She gave him a watery smile. Squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

He squeezed back, then let go of her hand so he could go back to massaging her foot. He liked touching her—loved that he once again had the right to—and he loved making her feel good. But right now, it was more than that.

Being connected to her even if it was his hands on her feet, comforted him. Kept him grounded. In the moment.

Kept the anxiety and never-ending grief at bay.

“Mom didn’t believe Dad, either,” he told her. “Thought he was some big-time player out to score with the new girl.”

Tabitha snuggled back against the decorative pillow next to the arm of the couch. “Was he?”

“If you would’ve asked me that when I was a kid, I would’ve laughed my ass off. But I only knew him as my dad—middle-aged, quiet and easy-going. Strict, but fair, capable and loyal and full of really bad dad jokes.”

“And now?”

He moved on to her other foot. “Now I realize I didn’t know him. Not all the parts of him. I didn’t know who he’d been as a kid or a teenager or a young man before he became a father. I knew him as a parent, but I didn’t know him as a person. That’s one of the hardest parts. The fact that I’ll never know him or Mom, adult to adults. That I didn’t take the time to ask them more questions about their lives growing up, or what their plans were for the future. I know my parents were happy I just don’t think I… I don’t think any of us… really knew them. We took them, and the idea that they’d always be there, that there would be more time, for granted.”

“You were kids,” Tabitha reminded him. “Teenagers who had lovely, attentive parents. Of course, you were going to take that for granted. I would even go so far as to guess that was what they wanted. For you to know you would always be loved and taken care of by them.”

“They did want that. They always wanted what was best for us. I miss them,” he admitted hoarsely. “I miss them so fucking much. It tears me up inside to think about all the things they’ve already missed and everything they won’t be there for in the future. But I don’t like thinking about them or talking about them because it hurts to remember them.”

Swinging her legs off him, Tabitha sat up, then knelt beside him on the couch, her knees pressed against his outer thighs. “You’re allowed to grieve however you want, Miles. However you need. I don’t think grief over losing a loved one is something anyone ever gets over. Not completely.” She once again cupped his cheek. “It’s okay to be sad. Or angry. Or anything else you feel.”

His throat grew tight and he swallowed, but the lump there remained. “I am sad. It’s like their deaths left a hole inside of me. A place that can never be filled. And I’m angry. I’m so fucking pissed they were taken away from us.”

He swallowed again. Forced himself to hold her gaze while he told her his deepest secret.

His ugliest truth.

“But mostly, what I feel is guilt. Because they never would’ve been in that car accident if it wasn’t for me.”

Chapter 39

There was a moment of stunned silence in which Tabitha pressed closer, her gaze soft and full of sympathy.

And he was a selfish, greedy bastard because he was glad. Glad and so fucking grateful, because she had every right to back away from him. Not because of what he was going to tell her about his parents’ accident.

But because of what he’d kept from her all those years ago.

“Why do you think that?” she asked gently.

“They were coming home from one of my basketball games when the accident happened.”

“Were you in the car with them?”

He shook his head. When he and Tabitha had been together, all he’d told her was that his parents had died in a car wreck when he was in high school, but he hadn’t told her the full story.

He’d never told anyone the full story.

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