Page 116 of Sweet Caroline
“Well, it’s fucking true, Caroline!” My chest threatens to crack open.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “I can’t have this conversation in the car. Not now. I can’t drive while I?—”
“When, then?” I ask, cutting her off.
Her shoulders shoot into her neck. “I don’t know!”
“There’s no good place. No good time. This whole thing has been the wrong fuckingtiming…” My voice breaks on the last word—right as her phone rings.
The goddamn irony.
Sniffing back my emotion, I gesture at Adrian’s face on the car’s touchscreen and drop my hand in defeat. “Answer it.”
She gives me a long look, then draws in a steadying breath before accepting the call.
“Hey,” she says, her voice soft.
“Hey. Can you talk?” His voice is cautious this time, like he might have sussed out why Caroline hung up on him so fast earlier.
“Yeah, it’s fine.” She flicks a glance my way.
“How’s your dad taking the news?”
“What?” She frowns. “What news?”
Adrian scoffs. “What news? Aren’t you watching the election results?”
“No, I… We were, but we had to leave. What’s going on?”
“They’re calling it,” Adrian says. “He lost, Care.”
23
CAROLINE
There’s nothing but a strange numbness in my chest, which should surprise me given how much I’ve supported my father my entire life. But there’s also relief in knowing this campaign is finally over—and that he won’t be holding a higher position of power, especially after what he did to Miles tonight. The truth is, my dad doesn’t deserve the role. Doesn’t deserve the public’s support. Or mine.
Miles shuts down for the rest of the drive home, like Adrian’s call interrupting us gave him the chance to think better of what he seemed on the verge of saying. He texts back and forth with his sponsor while I drive, and I’m grateful he has someone who understands the temptation he just faced.
But, the longer neither of us speaks, the more my anxiety prickles and an all-too-familiar coil of dread squeezes my heart. Growing up, tense silences always meant I’d done something wrong.
I’d felt the beginnings of it in the gallery earlier today. Rationally, I know I’m losing him, but my heart can’t take the emotional withdrawal. Not from Miles. He’s never once made mefeel alone, ignored, or abandoned, and I can’t stomach the grief I already feel creeping in. There’s a cruel loneliness in finally being seen only to have it ripped away. It’s like being stabbed with a barbed spear—it does more damage on the way out than on the way in.
I pull into my driveway and park a few feet from Miles’ truck. I try to catch his eye but the blue glow from the dashboard lights his cheek as he turns away from me to step out into the night.
Heart sinking, I climb out of the car, tugging my jacket tight around me. The night is cold but clear, the nearly full moon casting a cool glow all around us. We meet behind my car, stopping short of falling into each other like we’re trying to get used to something about as natural as trying not to breathe.
I let my unfocused gaze settle on the center of his chest.
“Well,” he says, rocking on his heels as he swings his arms in front of him, “it’s been a slice.”
My head snaps up as he turns toward his truck. “Miles!”
He spins back to me, his smile teasing but laced with pain. “C’mon. Did you think I would really just walk away?” As he shakes his head and closes the distance between us, the moonlight catches the way his eyes have welled up. “Fuckin’ c’mere.”
I can’t pull him against me fast enough—squeeze him tight enough—and I bury my face in his coat to silence my inadvertent sob.
“I dunno how to do this goodbye thing.” His voice is a familiar deep rumble against my cheek, even through his thick jacket. He sniffs back his emotion. “Can I be a selfish prick for a sec?”
