Page 123 of Sweet Caroline
“Exactly.”
“I miss you.” His strained words catch me off guard, and the air rushes from my lungs. “So fucking much.”
I try to steady my voice, sensing heneedssteady right now. “I miss you too.”
“I know I’m an asshole for saying that?—”
“No, you’re not an asshole.” I shake my head, looking up at my ceiling as I roll the hem of my sweater between my fingers. “You’re honest.”
“I’m scared, Caroline.”
“Yeah?” The pain in his voice is almost more than I can bear.
“Scared I’ll never be right in the head. Scared my heart will never feel whole. Scared I’ll always be too broken for…”
My eyes close.
“Fuck, just listen to the shit coming out of my mouth.” His voice is tight. “This is why. This isexactlyfucking why.”
“It’s okay to be scared. Or feel like everything’s awful. But it doesn’t mean you’re irreparably broken.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I fell in love with everything good in you.” My voice breaks as I wind the fabric of my sweater into my fist. “And there’sso much goodin you, Miles.”
“I dunno if I can do this.” He pauses. “Without you. Fuck, it hurts.”
I want to run to him. Wrap him inside my heart and keep him there.
But I know I can’t.
“You have to. Promise me you’ll keep going. Keep trying. Keep getting better. Because I need you—” I cut myself off before I sob, then try to collect myself. I could stop there:I need you.That’s it. That’s the truth. But I push more words past my lips. “I need you to exist in this world. I need you to be okay.”
“Baby, I’m not okay.”
The way he calls mebabyhas me squeezing my eyes shut, letting loose a cascade of fresh tears. He sounds so tired—sodone—that my anxiety spikes again. “Then… I need to know youwill beokay. Someday. Even if I can’t be there to see it. Even if I have to stay away from you to let you get there.”
“What if I never am?”
“It’ll get easier,” I say quietly, unable to entertain his question. I tuck myself under my blanket and pull it up under my chin, wishing I could hold him instead. The solidity of him. The muscle and bone and weight and warmth of him. “With time, I mean.”
“Will it?”
I close my eyes again; the last two weeks apart haven’t eased the grief crushing my chest. But I have to believe it’ll get better—have to convince him it will, at least.
“It has to. So promise me,” I say once more. “Actually, no. Scratch that. You owe it to yourself to keep going. Promiseyourself.”
A memory drifts back to me and I quickly switch the call to speaker so I can take a selfie. The lighting’s bad, my hair’s a mess, and my eyes are bloodshot, but I don’t care. I hit send.
“Did you just send me…” A pause. “Oh, fuck.” He lets out a sad sound and inhales hard. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Pinkie promise.” My voice breaks. “Send me one back. Please.”
“I look like shit.”
“Hey,” I almost laugh through my tears. “I went first.”
“Shut up. You’re beautiful.”
