I nod and point upward. "Corbin and Miles are working things out upstairs. I was giving them a minute."
Cap steps into the elevator and presses the button for the twentieth floor. "Well, I suppose you can walk me home," he says. He grabs the bars behind him for support. I stand next to him and lean against the wall behind me.
"Can I ask you a question, Cap?"
He gives me the all clear with a nod. "I love being asked them as much as I love asking them."
I look down at my shoes, crossing one foot over the other. "What do you think would make a man never want to experience love again?"
Cap doesn't answer my question for at least five floors. I eventually look at him, and he's looking right at me, his eyes narrowed, producing even more wrinkles between them. "I suppose if a man lived through the ugliest side of love, he might never want to experience it again."
I contemplate his answer, but it doesn't help much. I don't see how love could get ugly enough for a person to just shut himself off from it completely.
The elevator doors open to the twentieth floor, and I let him step off first. I walk with him to his apartment door and wait for him to open it. "Tate," he says. He's facing his door, and he doesn't turn around to finish his sentence. "Sometimes a man's spirit just ain't strong enough to withstand the ghosts from his past." He opens his apartment door and walks inside. "Maybe that boy just lost his spirit somewhere along the way." He closes his door and leaves me attempting to decipher even more confusion.
chapter twenty-six
MILES
Six years earlier
My room is Rachel's now. Rachel's room is my room.
We graduated. We moved in together. We're in college now.
See? We've got this.
Ian brings in the last of the boxes from the car. "Where do you want this one?" he asks.
"What is it?" Rachel asks him.
He tells her it looks like a box full of her bras and underwear.
She laughs and tells him to set it next to my dresser. Ian does.
Ian likes Rachel. Ian likes that she's not holding me back. Ian likes that she wants me to get my degree and finish flight school.
Rachel wants me to be happy. I tell Rachel I'll be happy as long as I have her.
She tells me, "Then you'll always be happy."
My dad still hates me. My dad doesn't want to hate me.
They're trying to accept it, but it's hard. It's hard for everyone.
Rachel doesn't care what everyone thinks. She only cares what I think, and I only think about Rachel.
I'm learning that no matter how difficult a situation is, people learn how to adapt to it. My dad and her mom may not approve, but they'll adapt.
Rachel may not be ready to be a mom, and I may not be ready to be a dad, but we're adapting.
It's what has to happen. If people want peace within themselves, it's necessary.
Vital, even.
*
"Miles."
I love my name when it comes out of her mouth. She doesn't waste it. She only says it when she needs something. She only says it when it needs to be said.
"Miles."
She said it twice.
She must really need something.
I roll over, and she's sitting up in bed. She looks at me, wide-eyed.
"Miles." Three times. "Miles." Four. "It hurts."
Shit.
I jump out of bed and grab our bag. I help Rachel change clothes. I help her to the car.
She's scared.
I might be more scared than she is.
I hold her hand while we drive. I tell her to breathe. I don't know why I tell her this. Of course, she knows to breathe.
I don't know what else to tell her.
I feel helpless.
Maybe she wants her mom.
"Do you want me to call them?"
She shakes her head. "Not yet," she says. "After."
She just wants it to be us. I like this. I just want it to be us, too.
A nurse helps her out of the car. They take us to a room. I get Rachel whatever she needs.
"Do you need ice?"
I get it for her.
"Do you want a cold rag?"
I get it for her.
"Do you want me to turn off the TV?"
I turn it off.
"Do you want another blanket, Rachel? You look cold."
I don't get her a blanket. She's not cold.
"Do you want more ice?"
She doesn't want more ice.
She wants me to shut up.
I shut up.
"Give me your hand, Miles."
I give it to her.
I want it back.
She's hurting it.
I let her keep it anyway.
She's quiet. She never makes a sound. She just breathes. She's incredible.
I'm crying. I don't know why.
I love you so goddamn much, Rachel.
The doctor tells her she's almost done. I kiss her on the forehead.
It happens.
I'm a dad.
She's a mom.
"It's a boy," the doctor says.
She's holding him. She's holding my heart.
He stops crying. He tries to open his eyes.
Rachel cries.
Rachel laughs.
Rachel tells me thank you.
Rachel tells me thank you. Like she wasn't the one who created this.
Rachel is crazy.
"I love him so much, Miles," she says. She's still crying. "I love him so, so much."
"I love him, too," I tell her. I touch him. I want to hold him, but I want her to hold him even more. She looks beautiful holding him.
Rachel looks up at me. "Will you please tell me his name now?"
I was hoping he would be a boy so I could have this moment.
I was hoping I could tell her what her son's name is, because I know she'll love it.
I hope she remembers the moment she
became
my
everything.
Miles is going to show you the way to Mr. Clayton's class, Rachel.
"His name is Clayton."
She begins to sob.
She remembers.
"It's perfect," she says, her words mixed with tears.
She's crying too hard now. She wants me to hold him.
I sit on the bed with her and take him.
I'm holding him.
I'm holding my son.
Rachel rests her head on my arm, and we stare at him.
We stare at him for so long. I tell Rachel he has her red hair.
Rachel says he has my lips. I tell Rachel I hope he has her personality. She disagrees and says she hopes he's just like me.
"He makes life so much better," she says.
"He sure does."
"We're so lucky, Miles."
"We sure are."
Rachel squeezes my hand.
"We've got this," Rachel whispers.
"We've so got this," I tell her.
Clayton yawns, and it makes us both laugh.
Since when did yawns become so incredible?
I touch his fingers.
We love you so much, Clayton.
chapter twenty-seven
TATE
I drop down into the chair beside Cap, still dressed from head to toe in my scrubs. As soon as I got home from work, I studied for two hours straight. It's already after ten, and I haven't even had supper yet, which is why I'm sitting next to Cap right now, because he's getting to know my habits and had a pizza ordered for the two of us.
I hand him a slice and grab my own, then shut the lid and set it on the floor in front of me. I shove a huge bite into my mouth, but Cap is staring down at the slice in his hand.
"It's really sad when pizza can make it to you faster than the police " he says. "I just ordered this ten minutes ago." He takes a bite and closes his eyes like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.
We both finish
our slices, and I reach for another one. He shakes his head when I offer him a second slice, so I put it back in the box.
"So?" he says. "Any progress between the boy and his friend?"
It makes me laugh that he constantly refers to Miles as the boy. I nod and respond with a mouthful. "Kind of," I say. "They had a successful game night, but I think it was only successful because Miles pretended I wasn't there the whole time. I know he's trying to respect Corbin, but it kind of makes me feel like shit in the process, you know?"
Cap nods like he understands. I'm not sure that he does, but I like that he always listens so attentively anyway. "Of course, he texted me the entire time he was in the living room sitting next to Corbin, so I guess I have that. But then there are weeks like this week when he's not even in the same state, and it's like I don't even exist to him. No texts. No phone calls. I'm pretty sure he only thinks about me when I'm within ten feet of him."
Cap shakes his head. "I doubt that. I bet that boy thinks about you a lot more than he lets on."
I'd like to believe those words to be true, but I'm not so sure they are.
"But if he doesn't," Cap says, "you can't be mad at him for it. Wasn't part of the agreement, now, was it?"
I roll my eyes. I hate that he always brings me back to the fact that Miles isn't the one breaking rules or agreements. I'm the one with the problems in our arrangement, and that's no one's fault but my own.
"How did I get myself into this mess?" I ask, not even needing an answer. I know how I got myself into this mess. I also know how to get out of it . . . I just don't want to.
"You ever heard that expression, 'When life gives you lemons . . .'?"
"Make lemonade," I say, finishing his quote.
Cap looks at me and shakes his head. "That's not how it goes," he says. "When life gives you lemons, make sure you know whose eyes you need to squeeze them in."
I laugh, grab another slice of pizza, and wonder how in the hell I ended up with an eighty-year-old man as my best friend.
*
Corbin's home phone never rings. Especially after midnight. I throw the covers off and grab a T-shirt, then pull it over my head. I don't know why I bother getting dressed. Corbin's gone, and Miles isn't due back until tomorrow.
I make it to the kitchen on the fifth ring, right as the answering machine picks up. I cancel the message, then put the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Tate!" my mother says. "Oh, my God, Tate."
Her voice is panicked, which immediately causes me to panic. "What is it?"
"A plane. A plane crashed about half an hour ago, and I can't get through to the airline. Have you talked to your brother?"
My knees meet the floor. "Are you sure it was his airline?" I ask her. My voice sounds so terrified I don't even recognize it. It sounds as terrified as hers did the last time this happened.
I was only six, but I remember every single detail as if it happened yesterday, down to the moon-and-star pajamas I was wearing. My father was on a domestic flight, and we had turned on the news right after dinner and saw that one of the planes had gone down due to engine failure. Everyone on board was killed. I remember watching my mother on the phone with the airline, hysterical, trying to find out information on who the pilot was. We found out it wasn't him within the hour, but that hour was one of the scariest of our lives.
Until now.
I rush to my room and grab my cell phone off my nightstand and immediately dial his number. "Have you tried calling him?" I ask my mother as I make my way back to the living room. I try to make it to the couch, but for some reason, the floor seems more comforting. I kneel down again, almost as if I'm in prayer mode.
I guess I am.
"Yes, I've been calling his phone nonstop. It's just going to voice mail."
It's a stupid question. Of course, she's tried calling him. I try again anyway, but his phone goes directly to voice mail.
I try to reassure her, but I know it's pointless. Until we hear his voice, reassurance won't help. "I'll call the airline," I tell her. "I'll call you back if I hear anything."
She doesn't even say good-bye.
I use the home phone to call the airline and my cell phone to call Miles. It's the first time I've ever dialed his number.
I pray that he answers, because as much as I'm scared to death for Corbin, it's also running through my head that Miles works for the same airline.
My stomach is sick.
"Hello?" Miles says on the second ring. His voice sounds hesitant, like he's unsure why I'm calling.
"Miles!" I say, both frantic and relieved. "Is he okay? Is Corbin okay?"
There's a pause.
Why is there a pause?
"What do you mean?"
"A plane," I say immediately. "My mom called. There was a plane crash. He's not answering his phone."
"Where are you?" he says quickly.
"The apartment."
"Let me in."
I walk to the door and unlock it. He pushes the door open and still has the phone to his ear. When he sees me, he pulls the phone away, immediately rushes to the couch, grabs the remote, and turns on the television.
He flips through the channels until he finds the TV news report. He dials numbers on his cell phone, then turns and rushes toward me. He takes my hand in his. "Come here," he says, pulling me to him. "I'm sure he's fine."
I nod against his chest, but his reassurance is pointless.
"Gary?" he says when someone answers on the other end. "It's Miles. Yeah. Yeah, I heard," he says. "Who was the crew?"
There's a long pause. I'm terrified to look at him. Terrified.
"Thank you." He hangs up the phone. "He's okay, Tate," he says immediately. "Corbin's fine. Ian, too."
I break down into tears of relief.
Miles walks me to the couch and sits down, then pulls me to him. He takes my cell phone out of my hands and presses several buttons before putting the phone to his ear.
"Hey, it's Miles. Corbin is fine." He pauses for a few seconds. "Yeah, she's fine. I'll tell her to call you in the morning." A few more seconds pass, and he says good-bye. He sets the phone on the couch beside him. "Your mom."
I nod. I already knew.
And that simple gesture, him calling my mother, just made me fall for him even harder.
Now he's kissing the top of my head, rubbing his hand up and down my arm reassuringly.
"Thank you, Miles," I tell him.
He doesn't say you're welcome, because he doesn't think he did anything that deserves thanking.
"Did you know them?" I ask. "The crew on board?"
"No. They were out of a different hub. The names didn't sound familiar."
My phone vibrates, so Miles hands it back to me. I look at it, and it's a text from Corbin.
Corbin: In case you've heard about the plane, just want you to know I'm fine. I called headquarters, and Miles is, too. Please let Mom know if she hears about it. Love you.
Receiving his text fills me with even more relief, now that I know with one hundred percent certainty that he's okay.
"It's a text from Corbin," I tell Miles. "He says you're okay. In case you were worried."
Miles laughs. "So he checked up on me?" he says with a grin. "I knew he couldn't hate me forever."
I smile. I love that Corbin wanted me to know that Miles was okay.
Miles continues to hold me, and I savor every second of it.
"When is he scheduled to come home?"
"Not for two more days," I say. "How long have you been home?"
"About two minutes," he says. "I had just plugged my phone in to charge when you called."
"I'm glad you're back."
He doesn't respond. He doesn't tell me he's glad to be back. Instead of saying something that might give me false hope, he just kisses me.
"You know," he says, pulling me onto his lap, "I hate the circumstances surrounding the reason you probably didn't have time to put on pants, but I love
that you don't have on pants." His hands slide up my thighs, and he pulls me closer until we're flush together. He kisses the tip of my nose, then kisses my chin.
"Miles?" I run my hands through his hair and down his neck, then pause with them on his shoulders. "I was also scared it could have been you," I whisper. "That's why I'm glad you're back."
His eyes grow soft, and the worry lines between them disappear. I may not know anything about his past or his life, but I definitely notice that he hasn't called anyone to let them know he's okay. That makes me sad for him.
His eyes fall away from mine and land on my chest. He fingers the bottom edges of my shirt, then slowly pulls it over my head. I have nothing but a pair of panties on now.
He leans forward, wraps his arms around my back, and pulls me against his mouth. His lips close softly over my nipple, and my eyes shut involuntarily. Chills erupt over my skin as his hands begin to explore every bare part of my back and my thighs. His mouth works its way to my other breast, just as his hands slip inside my panties at my hips.
"I think I have to rip these off you, because I sure don't want you to move off my lap," he says.
I smile. "Fine with me. I have more where these came from."
I can feel him grin against my skin as his hands pull at the elastic band of my underwear. He pulls on one side but fails to tear them. He tries ripping the other side to pull them off me, but nothing gives.
"You're giving me a wedgie," I say, laughing.
He lets out a frustrated sigh. "It's always so much sexier when they do this on TV."
I readjust myself and sit up straighter. "Try it again," I encourage. "You can do it, Miles."
He grabs the left side of my panties and yanks them hard.
"Ouch!" I yell, scooting in the direction of his pull to lessen the pain of the elastic digging into my right side.
He laughs again and drops his face to my neck. "Sorry," he says. "Got any scissors?"
I cringe at the thought of him coming at me with a pair of scissors. I scoot off of him and stand up, then pull my underwear down, kicking them off and away from me.
"Watching you do that was totally worth my failed attempt at being sexy," he says.
I smile. "Your failed attempt at being sexy actually made you sexy."
My comment makes him laugh again. I walk toward him and climb back onto his lap. He repositions me so that I'm straddling him again. "My failures are a turn-on for you?" he asks teasingly.
"Oh, yeah," I murmur. "So hot."
His hands are on me again, roaming across my back and down my arms. "You would have loved me from the ages of thirteen to sixteen," he says. "I failed at pretty much everything. Especially football."
I grin. "Now we're talking. Tell me more."