Page 118 of Tell Me Something True

And it became clear why Miles’s words had felt so false.

Leave it to Toby to call a man out on his bullshit.

“A few weeks.” Another glance at his brother and Miles saw Toby was giving him a raised eyebrow look, clearly calling him out on his crap.

Miles dropped his gaze. “Two months.” He cleared his throat. “I had it for over two months before she left. I’d take that ring out and stare at it at least once a day. Then I’d hide it away again. I told myself I was waiting for the right moment. That everything about me asking her had to be perfect. But I waited too long.”

“Maybe,” Toby said after a quiet, thoughtful moment, “you didn’t want to marry her after all.”

Miles opened his mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“I wanted her to stay with me,” he admitted. “I wanted a way to tie her to me forever, something binding and tight and hard for her to untangle.” He stared down at the remaining coffee in his cup. “Since she’s been in town, she’s told me, twice now, that I would have eventually walked away from her. That she wasn’t what I really wanted.”

“So she walked away first,” Toby guessed.

Miles nodded. Finished his coffee, then turned and set his cup next to the sink. Leaning down, he gripped the curved edge of the ancient yellow Formica counter. “She said it was the best thing she could have done. For both of us.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I want to think that can’t be true. That she’s full of shit and trying like hell to make herself feel better. To lessen her guilt and responsibility. I want to keep blaming her. I want to go back to believing I was right.”

Lifting his coffee, Toby eyed him over the edge of his mug. “Miles the Martyr?”

Another denial he couldn’t get out, so he kept his mouth shut.

Toby turned toward him, leaning his hip against the counter. “You said that’s what you want to believe. But what do you really think?”

“I think,” he said, slow and careful, although there was nothing cautious or safe about what he was about to admit, “that she might be right. Not about everything. Not about the way she left, but why she did. And,” he continued on a low mutter, “about it being for the best.”

“Let me guess. Instead of telling her that, you’re hiding out here.”

He glowered at his brother. “I’m not hiding.” He was doing the one thing he told himself he never did. “I’m running.”

Running from the truth. Running from the attraction he still felt for Tabitha. From the feelings he still had for her.

“And how long do you plan on doing that?” Toby asked.

Miles pushed himself upright. And told his brother the only thing he knew to be true. “As long as I can get away with it.”

“Or,” Toby said, tone dry, “you could try talking to Tabitha. Clearing the air. Maybe even admit you were wrong.”

“Partially wrong,” Miles corrected.

“It’s not a competition. You don’t get points for being less wrong.” He paused. “Or for making fewer mistakes.”

Damn it, that wasn’t what he was doing. He wasn’t keeping score. Wasn’t keeping a tally of Tabitha’s mistakes. Didn’t have a list of her sins. He wasn’t holding himself or his choices above her in any way…

His line of thought trailed off as he remembered just a few of the things he’d said to her, starting with that night at The Cockeyed Chameleon, including out on the sidewalk in front of her apartment, and especially that night in his kitchen, and this morning in his car.

“Fuuuucckkk,” he breathed, his gaze flying to meet his brother’s.

Toby clapped him on the shoulder. Kept his hand there, strong and sure and supportive. “The first step toward getting past a mistake is admitting you made one. Or, going by that completely stunned, what the fuck have I done? look on your face, several mistakes. Big ones.”

“Thanks, smartass. Now how about you tell me something useful. Like what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“That’s easy. Do what you always do.” He gave Miles’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze before dropping his hand. “Make things right.”

Make things right.

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