I go inside.

I go to her door.

I attempt to turn it, but it's locked.

I knock.

"Rachel?"

I hear movement. Something crashes against the door, and I jump back. When I realize what's happened, I step forward again and bang on the door. "Rachel!" I yell, frantic. "Open the door!"

I hear her crying. "Go away!"

I take two steps back, then lunge forward and shove my shoulder against the door as hard as I can. The door flies open, and I rush inside. Rachel is curled up against the headboard, crying into her hands. I reach her.

She pushes me away.

I walk back to her.

She slaps me, then scoots off the bed. She stands up, shoving me back, pushing her palms against my chest. "I hate you!" she screams through her tears. I grab her hands and try to calm her down. It makes her angrier. "Just leave!" she yells. "If you don't want anything to do with me, just leave!"

Her words stun me.

"Rachel, stop," I plead. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Her tears come harder now. She screams at me. She says I left her. I put her in bed this morning, and I left her because I couldn't handle it. I was disappointed in her.

I love you, Rachel. More than I love myself.

"Baby, no," I tell her, pulling her to me. "I didn't leave you. I told you I was coming back."

I hate that she didn't understand why I left today.

I hate that I didn't explain it to her.

I walk her back to the bed, and I position her against the headboard. "Rachel," I say, touching her tear-stained cheek, "I'm not disappointed in you," I tell her. "Not in the least. I'm disappointed in myself. Which is why I want to do everything I possibly can to turn this around for you. For us. That's what I've been doing today. I've been trying to find a way to make this better for us."

I stand up and grab the folders, then spread them out on the bed. I show her everything. I show her the brochures for family housing I picked up from campus. I show her the forms we need to fill out for free campus child care. I show her the financial aid brochures and the night cla.s.ses and the online course review and the academic adviser list and how it will all coordinate with my flight-cla.s.s schedule. All the possibilities are spread out before her, and I want her to see that even though we didn't want this, even though we didn't plan for this . . . we can do this.

"I know it'll be a lot harder with a baby, Rachel. I know that.

But it's not impossible."

She stares down at everything I've laid out before her. I watch her in silence until her shoulders begin to shake and she covers her mouth with her hand. She meets my gaze as huge tears spill out of her eyes. She crawls forward and throws her arms around my neck.

She tells me she loves me.

You love me so much, Rachel.

She kisses me over and over.

"We've got this, Miles," she whispers against my ear.

I nod and hug her back. "We've got this, Rachel."

chapter nineteen.

TATE.

It's Thursday.

Game night.

Normally, the sound of their Thursday-night game gets under my skin. Tonight it's music to my ears, knowing that Miles should be home. I have no idea what to expect from him or this arrangement we've got going on. I haven't texted or spoken to him in the five days since he's been gone.

I know that with as much as I'm thinking about him, I shouldn't be doing this. For something that's supposed to be a casual thing, it's felt anything but casual. For me, it's been extremely involved. Intense, even. He's pretty much all I've thought about since that night in the rain, and it's quite pathetic that I'm reaching for the doork.n.o.b to walk inside my apartment and my d.a.m.n hand is shaking, knowing he might be in there.

I open the door to the apartment, and Corbin is the first to look up. He nods but doesn't even say hi. Ian waves from his seat on the couch, then looks back at the TV.

Dillon's eyes roam up and down my body, and I do what I can to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

Miles doesn't do anything, because Miles isn't here.

My whole body sighs from disappointment. I drop my purse onto the empty chair in the living room and tell myself it's a good thing he isn't here, because I've got way too much homework to do anyway.

"There's pizza in the fridge," Corbin says.

"Nice." I walk into the kitchen and open the cabinet to remove a plate. I hear footsteps closing in on me, and my heart rate kicks up a notch.

A hand touches me on my lower back, and I immediately smile and turn around to face Miles.

Only it isn't Miles. It's Dillon.

"Hey, Tate," he says, reaching around me to the cabinet. The hand that first touched my lower back is still on me, but now that I've turned to face him, his hand has slid to my waist. He keeps his eyes locked with mine as he reaches past me and opens the cabinet. "Just need a cup for my beer," he says, excusing the fact that he's right here. Touching me. His face only inches from my face.

I hate that he saw me smiling when I turned around. I just gave him the wrong idea.

"Well, you won't find a cup in my pocket," I say, pushing his hand off of me. I look away from Dillon just as Miles steps into the kitchen. His eyes are burning holes into the part of me that Dillon was just touching.

Miles saw Dillon's hand on me.

Miles is looking at Dillon now as if he just committed murder.

"Since when do you drink beer from a cup?" Miles says.

Dillon turns around and looks at Miles, then glances back to me and smiles a very blatant, flirtatious smile. "Since Tate was standing so close to the cabinet."

s.h.i.t. He's not even hiding it. He thinks I'm into him.

Miles walks to the refrigerator and opens it. "So Dillon. How's your wife?"

Miles doesn't make an attempt to remove anything. He's just standing there, staring into the refrigerator, with his fingers gripping the door handle harder than it's ever been gripped, I'm sure.

Dillon is still looking at me, staring down at me. "She's at work," he says pointedly. "For at least four more hours."

Miles slams the refrigerator and takes two quick steps toward Dillon. Dillon stands up straight, and I immediately scoot two feet away from him. "Corbin specifically instructed you to keep your hands off his sister. Show him some f.u.c.king respect!"

Dillon's jaw twitches, and he doesn't back down or look away from Miles. In fact, he takes a step toward him, closing the s.p.a.ce between them. "Sounds to me like this isn't really about Corbin," Dillon says, seething.

My heart is pounding in my chest. I feel guilty that I gave Dillon the wrong idea and even guiltier that they're arguing about it now. But dammit, I love that Miles hates him so much. I just wish I knew if it was because he doesn't like that Dillon is flirting when he's got a wife at home or if he doesn't like that Dillon is flirting with me.

And now Corbin is standing in the doorway.

s.h.i.t.

"What isn't really about me?" Corbin asks, watching the two of them in their standoff.

Miles backs up a step and turns so that he can face Dillon and Corbin at the same time. His eyes remain locked hard with Dillon's. "He's trying to f.u.c.k your sister."

Jesus Christ, Miles. Ever hear of sugarcoating?

Corbin doesn't even flinch. "Go home to your wife, Dillon," he says firmly.

As embarra.s.sing as this is, I don't do anything to step in and defend Dillon, because I get the feeling that Miles and Corbin have been looking for an excuse to defriend him for a while now. I would also never defend a man who has no respect for his marriage. Dillon stares at Corbin for several painstakingly long seconds, then turns to face me with his back to both Miles and Corbin.

This boy seriously has a death wish.

"I live in ten-twelve," he whispers with a wink. "Stop by sometime. She works weeknights." He turns away and walks between Corbin and Miles. "The two of you can go f.u.c.k yourselves."

Corbin turns, and his fists are clenched. He begins to stalk after Dillon, but Miles grabs his arm and pulls him back into the kitchen. He doesn't release Corbin's arm until the front door slams shut.

Corbin turns to face me, and he looks so angry I'm surprised steam isn't coming from his ears. His face is red, and he's popping his knuckles. I forgot how insanely protective he is of me. I feel like I'm fifteen again, only now I suddenly have two overprotective brothers.

"Erase that apartment number from your head, Tate," Corbin says.

I shake my head, somewhat disappointed that he would even think I'd want to remember Dillon's apartment number. "I have standards, Corbin."

He nods, but he's still making an attempt to calm himself down. He inhales a deep breath, pops his jaw, then walks back into the living room.

Miles is leaning against the counter, staring down at his feet. I watch him silently until he finally raises his eyes and looks up at me. He glances toward the living room, then kicks off the counter and walks toward me. Every step closer he takes, the more I press myself into the counter behind me, making an attempt to back away from the intensity in his eyes, even though I can't very well go anywhere.

He reaches me.

He smells good. Like apples. Forbidden fruit.

"Ask me if you can study at my place," he whispers.

I nod, wondering why in the h.e.l.l he would make such a random request after everything that just happened. I do it anyway, though. "Can I study at your place?"

He breaks out into a huge grin and drops his forehead to the side of my head so that his lips are directly over my ear. "I meant for you to ask me in front of your brother," he says, laughing quietly. "So I have an excuse to get you over there."

Well, that's embarra.s.sing.

Now he knows exactly how much I'm not Tate when I'm near him. I'm only liquid. Conforming. Doing what he asks, doing what I'm told, doing what he wants me to do.

"Oh," I say quietly as I watch him ease away from me. "That makes a lot more sense."

He's still smiling, and I didn't realize how much I missed seeing that smile. He should smile all the time. Forever. At me.

He walks out of the kitchen and heads back to the living room, so I go to my room and shower in record time.

I didn't realize I was such a good actress.

I had practice, though. Five minutes of practice. I stood in my room, trying to think of the best, most casual line for when I walked into the living room to ask Miles for his key. I decided to wait until a particularly loud moment during the game, and then I burst out of the room and yelled at all of them.

"You guys either need to mute the d.a.m.n TV or go watch it next door, because I'm trying to study!"

Miles looked at me and tried to hide his smile. Ian looked at me with suspicion, and Corbin rolled his eyes. "You go next door," Corbin said. "We're watching the game." He looked at Miles. "She can use your place, right?"

Miles stood up immediately and said, "Sure. I'll let her in."

I grabbed my things, followed him out of my apartment, and now here we are.

Miles opens his apartment door for me, even though it isn't locked. Corbin doesn't know that, though. He walks inside, and I slip in behind him. He shuts the door, and we turn and face each other.

"I really do have homework," I say. I don't know what he's expecting to happen right this second, but I feel like I need to let him know that just because he shows up after a few days away, that doesn't mean he's my number one priority.

Even though he pretty much is.

"I really do have a game to watch," he says, pointing over his shoulder at my apartment but walking toward me at the same time. He takes my books out of my hands and walks with them to the table, where he sets them down. He starts walking back toward me and doesn't stop until his lips are pressed to mine and we can't walk any farther because my back is against the apartment door.

His hands are gripping my waist, and mine are gripping his shoulders. His tongue slides between my lips and into my mouth, and I take it, very willingly. He groans and presses himself against me as my hands slide up his neck and through his hair. He pulls away just as fast and steps back several feet.

He's looking at me like it's somehow my fault that he has to leave. He runs two frustrated palms down his face and releases a deep breath. "You didn't get to eat earlier," he says. "I'll bring you some pizza." He walks back toward me, and I step aside without responding. He opens the door and disappears.

He's so weird.

I walk to the table and begin to lay everything out that I need in order to study. I'm pulling out my chair to sit when his apartment door flies open again. I turn around, and he's walking toward the kitchen with a plate in his hands. He puts the pizza in his microwave, presses a few b.u.t.tons and starts it, and then heads straight toward me. He's doing that intimidating thing again that makes me naturally back away from him, but his table is behind me, and I can't go anywhere.

He reaches me and quickly presses his lips to mine. "I have to go back over there," he says. "You good?"