Page 96 of Fragile

He nods, taking my hand and pulling it into his lap. His eyes fix on our intertwined fingers, as if he’s drawing strength from the connection, grounding himself. “Queenie, there are some things we didn’t talk about at the hospital. And I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.” My heart skips a beat when he calls me “Queenie.” Normally, it’s playful—him trying to get under my skin—but this time, there’s something different in his voice, something that puts me on edge. He exhales a shaky breath, his brown eyes locking onto mine. “Before the game, I had a rough phone call with my dad. He was…well, his usual charming self, and it got to me. I spiraled hard.” His voice cracks, and he swallows thickly. “Then I bumped into Levi. I tried to shut it all out, tried to focus on you, on how far you’ve helped me come…but I messed up.”

My heart sinks, the weight of knowing choking me because I already know what he’s going to say.

“I took two pills that Levi gave me.” He sighs, deep and tortured. “I thought they were the same ones as normal, but it turns out, they’d been laced with cocaine and that’s what caused me to feel so bad on the field. I started to feel off after the first touchdown, but didn’t stop, and then when that player knocked me, I was out cold.”

The ache in my chest grows as I try to stay calm, but I struggle because what if I lose him to this again. What if I can’t be enough for him? He pauses, his eyes filled with a mix of shame and regret.

“I take full responsibility for what I did, because no one forced me to do it. I could’ve, no I should’ve said no. But I didn’t.” He looks down at his arm, the white cast stark against his black hoodie. “I’m 99% sure I’ve lost my spot on the team. I’m waiting to hear from the dean to see if I’m going to be expelled too. I’ll find out everything in the meeting.”

I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping the bag of candy in my hands until I start to breathe again, and the plastic crinkles under my skin. I’m relieved he’s told me, but it doesn’t make the words any easier to hear. This is everything I didn’t want for him. But at the same time, I can see the guilt that’s eating away at him. When he hurts, it feels like the pain slices through me too.

“I can’t keep screwing up like this,” he whispers, his voice trembling with a raw vulnerability that shatters something inside me. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to crumble, not to fall into his arms and let the tears I’ve been holding back spill down my cheeks.

But I never want to be another person who’s disappointed in him.

Steeling my emotions, I purse my lips with a swallow.

“Miles, I see the struggle in your eyes every day, the way the weight of the world presses down on you, and I wish I couldcarry it for you. But I want you to know that you're not alone in this.” I cup his face in my hands, holding his gaze, telling him the only thing I know to be true. “I'm here, every step of the way, not just to pull you back when you're about to fall, but to walk beside you as you find your footing again. Even when you can’t see it, I see how strong you are. I see the good in you, and I’m not giving up on that, on you, because I know you can do better for yourself.”

His eyes start to well up, but he’s still trying to hold it together. I lean in closer, so close I can feel the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

“You’re stronger than you think,” I whisper. “And I’m here to remind you of that, every single day.”

Pressing my lips to his, I make sure I’m gentle, but he has other ideas, as he one-handedly scoops me up into his lap, claiming my mouth with passion that has me breathless.

When we break apart, there’s a look on his face that fills me with hurt for him. “You know, my dad always says, ‘you don’t get diamonds without pressure.’” He laughs, but it’s empty. “Even that made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”

My heart aches at hearing the emptiness in his voice. I reach out, placing my hand over his, squeezing. “But you’re not a rock, Miles, you’re human,” I say, trying to catch his gaze. “And if taking care of your mental health means letting one person down, let them down. You are more important.”

He finally looks up at me, his eyes filled with shadows. “I don’t deserve you, and I know that. I broke your trust, but I’m too selfish to give you up. Just like I know you’re too stubborn to give up on me.” His voice trembles. “You saw the worst of me, and you still loved me.”

“Love,” I correct, needing him to hear me.

“Huh?”

“You said loved, as in past tense.” I take a breath as I prepare to bare my soul to him. “There’s nothing past tense about how I feel about you, Miles. I’ve loved you since I was five years old.”

Miles’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he’s speechless. His dark eyes search mine, desperate and vulnerable, like he’s trying to grasp something just out of reach.

“I—” he begins, but his voice falters. He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving mine. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this kind of love from you. I don’t think I ever will. But... God, Quinn, I want to be the man you believe I can be.”

His hands wrap around my waist, holding me as though he’s afraid I’ll pull away. But I don’t. I can’t. “You deserve someone who will love every version of you, on your good days and your bad days.”

“I’ve made so many mistakes,” he whispers into my chest. “But if you can still love me after everything…maybe I can learn to love myself, too. I can be better, for you, for us.”

There’s a rawness in his eyes, a desperate need for reassurance. All the walls he’s built up over the years are crumbling, and he’s laying himself bare before me.

“I don’t need you to be perfect, Miles.” I take his hand from around my waist and clasp it in mine. “I just need you to be honest. With me, and with yourself.”

I stand and walk over to my desk, my heart pounding as I pick up the open scrapbook. It’s turned to a page where I’ve sketched some of his tattoos, with a polaroid of us tucked into the corner from a few weeks ago. Without saying anything, I carry it over to him and hold it out. “Look,” I murmur softly. “See how I see you.”

He hesitates for a second before taking it, his fingers brushing mine. Slowly, he begins flipping through the pages. Each sketch, every note, and memory is a piece of him, of us. And with eachpage he turns, I can hear his breath catch in his throat, the weight of what he’s seeing settling over him.

I watch his expression change—softening, becoming more vulnerable—as he takes in the little moments I’ve captured, the way I’ve seen him all along. “I know it’s a lot to take in…”

He exhales a shaky breath, dark eyes locking onto mine, and I can see the relief wash over him, mingling with hope. Then, his voice drops even lower. “Quinn...baby, I love you. I might not be good with fancy words, but I sure as hell can show you exactly how much I love and adore you, if you’ll let me?”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, my throat tight as the moment I’ve been waiting for—the one I’ve dreamed of for so long—is right in front of me, telling me he loves me too. Those three sweet words play like a melody in my head, one that I want to listen to every second.

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