Page 55 of Marisol Acts the Part
“H-hey,” Jamila says, shoving the hands that were cradling my cheeks seconds earlier into her pockets. “I was telling Mari she can go home for the day.”
But Miles doesn’t hear Jamila’s explanation. If he notices anything off about us or how close we were standing, he doesn’t let it show as he rushes up to me, puts a hand on my shoulder, and examines me closely.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, not waiting for a response before continuing. “Were you able to do your breathing exercises? Do you need me to run through them with you?”
It’s unusually touching—knowing he remembers how to calm me down after a claustrophobia-induced panic attack—and the closest we’ve been in months. But my stomach doesn’t flutter the way it used to whenever Miles held me tight. Now all I can do is peer over his shoulder at Jamila. She pulls her hands out of her pockets to shove them under her armpits, unsure what to do with herself, averting her gaze. As though we need privacy.
As though he’s still the person who knows me best.
“I’m okay,” I assure him with a nod and a tight-lipped smile. “Just gonna head home and go to bed, probably.”
“You’re sure?” Miles doesn’t back away even after I nod again, but he does let go of my shoulder. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”
“I will,” I reply, even though I know I won’t. After the breakup, I’d gone off the deep end and assumed Miles didn’t care about me whatsoever, which was maybe unfair to him, but I was hurt and in a delicate place. At least now I know that he is in my corner. In his own way.
“Don’t let Rune get to you, okay?” he says before walking away.
Jamila’s stiff posture relaxes once Miles is out of view. She glances over her shoulder, checking that no one else is coming to check in on me, before closing the distance between us, cupping my face and running her thumb across the apple of my damp cheeks.
“I’ve got you,” she says, so quiet I almost don’t hear it.
I kiss her, letting the smell of her wrap around me like a blanket that’ll shield me from the fear lingering inside me. We hold on to each other for probably longer than we should. We know we’re safe for now, but someone could come outside any minute. And yet we can’t find it in ourselves to pull away.
She rests her forehead against mine, our noses gently brushing. “FaceTime tonight? We can watch whatever movie you want.”
I nod, releasing a shaky laugh. “Okay,” I reply, even though I don’t want to let her go. Thankfully, she lingers for a few more minutes, waiting until I’ve ordered my Uber to head back inside. As much as I want to be home, even the thought of the car ride there makes my stomach ache. Because in the silence of the backseat, there won’t be any escape from the worry now swirling through my mind.
That I’ve pissed off Rune for the final time.
Chapter 20
My acting skills save me from having to tell Dad and Jerome the truth. When I blame my general unease on period cramps, they immediately clam up and leave me be, returning with a hot-water bottle, dark chocolate, and an offer to bring dinner to my room. Jamila shouldn’t be home for another hour, so I’m killing time watching mindless YouTube videos. I’m considering grabbing a serving of the Impossible Meat ropa vieja Abuela dropped off for us yesterday—she’s convinced I’ve been eating rabbit food whenever she’s not around to feed me herself—when Dad reappears in my doorway.
“Hey, munchkin,” he singsongs after knocking on the cracked-open door, unusually chipper for someone who grounded me not that long ago. “You doing okay?”
I set aside my computer to peer up at him from my cocoon of blankets, where Bruiser’s fast asleep on my lap. “I’llsurvive,” I reply, poking out a hand from under the sheets to scratch the top of her head.
“Great, great,” Dad mumbles, staring down at his shoes. “So, you have a visitor, actually.”
Immediately, I perk up. I don’t think it’s Jamila because she was scheduled to be shooting until at least eight tonight, and it’s barely past seven. Kevin, like me, is still grounded and forbidden to leave his apartment past five. Even to visit his favorite cousin.
“It’s, uh…Miles,” Dad says cautiously, interrupting my brainstorm.
Oh. Well, can’t say I saw that coming.
“I can tell him you’re not up to seeing anyone if you want,” he continues, almost too eagerly. Like he’s dying to kick Miles to the curb. “We’ll let him down easy.”
“N-no, it’s fine. He can come in.”
Dad frowns, his brows knitting together. “You’re sure?” Over his shoulder, I spot Jerome peering out from their bedroom, mouthing “We can make him leave” to me.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
Dad doesn’t seem convinced but doesn’t argue either way. With a sigh, he heads back toward the door, and I do my best to make myself look presentable. There’s not much that can be done about the Cheeto dust on my fingers and staining my comforter cocoon, but Bruiser does a very helpful job of licking up most of it once I accidentally jostle her awake. I wipe my fingers on a napkin, toss my hair into a messy bun, readjust myAvalon Grovehoodie, and shove my laptop beneath a pillow before Miles can see that I was considering rentingThe Prince Who Saved Christmas.
Seeing him in the doorway to my cramped bedroom is startling. His designer short-sleeve sweater and three-hundred-dollar sneakers are a stark contrast to the chipped paint on the walls and bite marks in the door from Bruiser throwing a fit last week.
“Hey,” he says, giving me a wave with his free hand—a cardboard box in the other—but remaining outside of the room. “Mind if I come in?”
