Page 33 of Tourist Trap

I let out a laugh and shake my head, reaching for a napkin to dab at my eyes. He lets go of my hand, and instantly I feel the loss of them.

I shake my head and give him a watery smile. “No, no, I’m just a crybaby. I cry at everything. Cute baby videos, sappy commercials, those fucking ASPCA commercials with Sarah McLachlan.”

I shake my head again and take a deep breath to center myself. “I’m good. And I appreciate it, really, but I understand. You’re under a lot of pressure?—”

“That’s not an excuse. I’m serious, Claire. Don’t make excuses for me. I was an ass. Let me apologize.” I roll my lips into my mouth and lift my hands in surrender for him to answer. He lets out a small laugh and shakes his head. “I’m just saying, I’m sorry. I’ve been judging you for some time on a scale that was unfair to you, and I promise to do better.”

I wait a beat to see if he’s done, so I don’t get yelled at again, and nod.

“I accept your apology.” He looks like he wants to argue with even that, to tell me I shouldn’t accept it before he lets it go. “You know, I’m just glad you’ve moved past your hatred stage,” I say with a smile and a shrug. I say it to add some levity because I don’t do well with serious conversations, but instead, he stares at me with soft eyes, a hint of sadness still there.

“I never hated you, Claire,” he says gently after a long moment. “I think…I think I was envious of you.”

“Envious?” I ask, fighting the disbelieving laugh bubbling in my chest.

“You do what you want. You don’t let anyone else tell you it’s wrong. You’re giving yourself time to figure out what you want. I’m lucky. I like what I do. I like where I live, but you’re right: I’m constantly hustling, trying to fulfill this sense of what I should do I created in my head. I don’t make time for myself or for…fun.”

I give him a small, sad smile, my chest tightening at the look on his face.

“You look tired, Miles,” I say, letting out the concern I’ve been keeping in since I moved in. He does, and not because it’s early as fuck. It’s a bone-deep weariness that seems to hang around him.

“I am,” he admits. I let that hang in the air between us, willing to let it be if he wants, but he surprises me when he continues. “I just…”

I sit there patiently, my heart pounding, to see if he’ll finally open up before he looks at the ocean behind me and takes in a deep breath. “Paul wants me to sell this place.”

“What?” I ask, alarmed, sitting up straighter.

“I don’t know how much he told you.” Knowing Paul, probably not enough. “But we both inherited this place from my grandmother. I wanted to keep it. He wants to sell it. So, we came to an agreement about how things would go, with me paying him essentially a mortgage since I couldn’t afford to buy him out outright.”

My brows come together as I try to digest this new information.

“But…?”

“But for some reason, he wants more. He wants me to buy him out. He’s threatening to try and force me to sell.”

I sit there for long moments as I piece the story together, realizing that once a month, Paul would go on a bender of sorts, spending money I didn’t think he had, partying, and buying shit he didn’t need…

Now, with context, I can realize it was whatever money Miles was apparently sending him.

“Well, his cash cow is gone,” I say without meaning to because, in those interim periods, I was the only one with money to pay for silly things like, say, groceries. I feel my eyes widen at the slip, and my cheeks burn. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have?—”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already kind of come to that conclusion,” he says with a laugh. “I think we both have a unique understanding of Paul and the way he manipulates people and the truth.”

I nod with wide eyes, and then, for some reason, I continue spilling.

“He’s jealous of you, you know,”

“What?”

“He wouldn’t outright say it, but it was obvious. Always complaining about you, comparing himself to you.” He shakes his head, but I continue. “We fought about you once.”

“You fought about me? With Paul?” he asks, shocked, and I nod.

“Yeah. It was after my birthday party. Apparently, he didn’t like that I was talking to you a bunch. He thought I was into you.” I hesitate and bite my lip, guilt eating me at that. “We got into a huge fight that night.”

“Why did you do that? Talk to me?” he asks.

“You didn’t know anyone there, and Paul wasn’t going to introduce you to anyone. And I…” I’m embarrassed at the reminder that he invited a dozen people I didn't know to what was allegedly a birthday party for me. Especially knowing that I stayed for another three months after that. “I didn’t know a ton of people there either. They were mostly Paul's friends he wanted to impress.”

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