Page 172 of Tell Me Something True

“Or maybe,” she continued, “those patterns just need something big, something explosive to break them. Maybe we need to be brave enough to blow them to smithereens and then, when the pieces are scattered, we can see if there’s anything left to salvage. If there are enough left intact to rearrange them into a new pattern. One that’ll work better for us.”

“Something explosive, huh? Like the truth?”

“Something like the truth.” She took a deep breath, and an even bigger leap of faith. “What do you say, Miles? Want to blow this thing up with me?”

“Yeah,” he said, low and gruff. “I want to blow this thing up with you.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay…”

She closed the distance between them. Other than the kiss on her cheek he’d given her two weeks ago, Miles hadn’t initiated any physical contact with her. There’d been no more make-out sessions. They hadn’t so much as held hands.

She’d been grateful for his restraint even as she’d craved his touch.

The lines between past and present became too blurred when he touched her. It was too easy to let the attraction between them burn everything else away.

To pretend it was enough.

She took his left hand and pressed it against the middle of her chest. His palm flattened against the silky material of her halter top. Over her heart. She linked the fingers of her left hand through his right one, then raised her free hand to his chest, laying it flat above his heart.

“This is real,” she told him. “This is true. The way your hand in mine grounds me. Steadies me for whatever happens next. The way my heart skips a beat or speeds up based on something you say. This is real,” she repeated. “This is true. And I want you to feel it. No more hiding.”

It was a vow. Her promise to him.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “No more hiding.”

Giving that promise back to her.

Now the real test.

Seeing if either of them kept it.

Her fingers curled into the soft material of his shirt. “Miles, please tell me something true.”

***

Even though he’d meant the words and promises he’d made, Miles’s first thought was to deny her. To stay hidden.

But they’d come too far for him to let fear have a say.

“What about?” he asked, giving her the choice of which truth he shared.

Giving her that power.

She tipped her head to the side, the end of her ponytail sliding over her shoulder as she considered his question.

As if there were many, many truths she wanted from him, and was having a difficult time picking just one.

“Why haven’t you told your family about your panic attacks?”

He stared at her, his hand twitching on her chest. Well, fuck.

She’d gone straight for the jugular.

And she’d been smart, having them connected physically this way, their hands over each other’s hearts. He was certain she felt his speed up at her question. How hard it was thumping.

Christ, this was almost as effective as being hooked up to a lie detector.

“How do you know I haven’t?”

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