Page 132 of The Kiss of Deception

He shrugs.

Because walking straight into hell for me is perfectly reasonable for him.

He would.

He had.

Velvety wings spread in my stomach, a little butterfly awakening after winter.

“I needed to find you,” he finally says to my speechlessness. “And yo—”

But once again, I don’t let him finish because I’m not finished. “You went to the police station?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his exposed forearms again, corded with thick veins that pulsed with every beat of his heart and every bulge of his muscles—and one of my stolen scrunchies.

“Shit,” I breathe out. “I’m surprised there isn’t a missing person report with my name on it.”

“Apparently, a period of twenty-four hours is required before you can file one,” Miles informs me matter-of-factly.

My eyes jump out of their sockets. It shouldn’t surprise me that he would actually reach the authorities. In the chaos, outward and inward, I didn’t consider the fact that a gun with my name on it is still out there—and my radio silence would have worried him for more reasons than one.

“Then, I got a call from the hospital because they also couldn’t reach you either. I wasn’t sure if I should have been worried or relieved,” he continues. Each word comes through painfully gritted teeth, as though he’s reliving his day as he relays it for my knowledge. “After I searched all the places I could think of, I came here and waited and fucking prayed.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” His words reduce my voice to its rasp. “You’re not religious.”

“Turns out there’s one thing that can convert me.”

My heart stutters as Miles multiplies the butterflies in the confines of my chest.

And I have to tell him. I can’t stand here with so many things unsaid anymore.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left like that,” I voice all the things, feelings and words, lodged in my throat. “I should have stayed and kicked everyone out so we could talk. But I wasn’t in a nice place mentally when I got home—I was upset and worried and… fucking terrified.”

One step forward, he reaches for me.

I step back, away from his reach.

After a long day of deprivation, my body is starved for his touch—but I can’t give in. I can’t melt into him until there is this solid thing between us.

He freezes and frowns at my rejection, nostrils flaring and eyes flashing and arms hanging midair with the ghost of my touch.

I forge ahead. “And when I overheard you… When you didn’t believe me, when I thought you didn’t trust me, I—It felt like…”

Struggling to find the words that can cohesively convey thoughts that have nothing to do with reason or logic,I can only shake my head back and forth, back and forth.

“I know it wasn’t you. I never thought so, Zoe.” He shoves his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, head mirroring mine. “I considered the possibility for half a second. That’s exactly how long it took me to decide it was ridiculous.”

A rogue strand falls from my ponytail as I duck my chin.

“I know. I know, Miles. I just—I was so afraid you would leave that I ran away instead.” I chuckle, all self-deprecation. “I spent the night in my head coming to the groundbreaking conclusion that acknowledging my struggles is only the first step towards healing. That just because I convinced myself I was healed once I accepted my trauma, it doesn't mean I’m miraculously done healing.”

Tucking the hair behind my ear, I raise my chin and attempt a smile.

“But I’m trying. This is me trying. I hope it’s enough.”

I hope I’m enough.

I don’t say it, but he hears it all the same.

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