Page 99 of Sweet Caroline
When I turn to cough into my cloak, he stiffens, drawing back to search my face. “We need to get you checked. The smoke…”
“I’ll be fine.”
“No, it could still make you sick. How long were you in there?” The worry in his expression is intense. “Exposed to it. How long?”
“I dunno. A couple minutes? It’s just a cough. I swear I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” He holds my face in his hands, his eyes darting back and forth between mine.
“Miles, I’m sure.” I pause, wishing I could reassure him—infuse him with calm. I’ve never seen him this upset before. This distraught. My next words are tentative. “Areyouokay?”
He frowns down at some indistinct spot on the muddy groundbeside us. “Yeah, I just… I had this weird hot dog and—” He cuts himself off with a grimace.
I don’t buy for a second that he threw up from what he ate, but I don’t argue.
“Caroline, I’m so fucking sorry.” He looks up at me, his eyes burning and glassy. “I wasn’t there. I should’ve been there.”
“Why?” I ask. “You keep apologizing, but none of this is your fault.”
“No, I should’ve come with you. I could’ve…fuck.”
“But I wouldn’t have wanted you to do anything that made you uncomfortable.”
“It doesn’t matter! I should’ve kept you safe! If something had happened to you…” His voice falters as he trails off, the emotion in his words cutting into my chest. “It was my worthless brain that stopped me from going with you. My goddamn fucking anxiety! I should’ve been there!”
“Miles!” I raise my voice so he can hear me over his own spiraling and fist his t-shirt underneath his flannel, tugging it to get his attention. “Your brain isnotworthless and this isnotyour fault!”
He pushes against me to get up, and I climb off his lap so he can pace in front of me. He yanks off his beanie and drives his fingers through his sweaty hair. “Itismy fault.”
“How can you say that?” I plead. “You didn’t even?—”
“No,” he says, cutting me off. “My messed-up fucking life isallbecause of me, Caroline! This piece-of-shit brain…” He stabs a finger at the air between us. “It’s why I’m a fuckup and an addict, it’s why my parents are dead, and it’s why I almost lost you!”
My jaw drops. “Hold on. Your parents?”
“Do you know why they died?” He steps closer, welling up with anger and anguish.
I shake my head. He knows I don’t.
“Because my ADHD ass forgot my meds at homeand my lazy,selfish fucking solution was to call my mom and beg her to bring them to me. It was dark and raining, and I was too fucking pathetic to walk home to get them myself.”
I hate the vitriol in his voice. I’ve never heard him like this. “Miles?—”
“My fuckinguselessnessis the reason they were even driving on that road.”
My heart twists for him—hearing the ugly way he talks about himself, the shame and disgust laced in every word. “But you didn’t know?—”
“It doesn’t matter!I’mthe one who killed them, Caroline!”
“No!” I reach for his face, but he steps out of my grasp like he doesn’t deserve to be touched or comforted. “It’snotyour fault!”
“Yes, it is. And I know I don’t fucking deserve you. Not for aminute.” He presses his lips together, his expression anguished. A tear slips down his cheek, lit by the faint festival lights behind me. “But if I’d lost you, too, all because I couldn’t suck it up and do the mostbasicfucking thing?—”
“Stop!” I plead, rushing to him. I take his face in my hands and force him to look at me. “Stop. Please. Just… God, stop.” Tears stream down my face, dripping off my jaw and onto my dress.
Dropping his forehead against mine, he closes his eyes.
“Breathe,” I whisper.
