"Tate is my middle name," I say. "It was my grandmother's maiden name."

"What's your first name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth Tate Collins," he says, making love to my name with his voice. My name has never sounded as beautiful as it did just now, coming out of his mouth. "That's almost twice as many syllables as my name," he says. "That's a lot of syllables."

"What's your middle name?"

"Mikel," he says. "People always misp.r.o.nounce it and say 'Michael,' though. Gets annoying."

"Miles Mikel Archer," I say. "That's a strong name."

Miles rises onto his elbow and looks down at me with a peaceful expression. He brushes my hair behind my ear as his eyes roam over my face. "Anything interesting happen this week while I was working, Elizabeth Tate Collins?" There's a playfulness in his voice. One that I'm not familiar with, but I like it. I like it a lot.

"Not really, Miles Mikel Archer," I say, smiling. "I worked a lot of overtime."

"Do you still like your job?" His fingers are touching my face, sliding across my lips, trailing down my neck.

"I do like it," I say. "Do you like being a captain?" I just throw versions of his own questions back at him. I figure it's safe that way, because I know he'll only give what he's willing to take.

Miles follows his hand with his eyes as he unb.u.t.tons the top b.u.t.ton of my shirt. "I love my job, Tate." His fingers work on the second b.u.t.ton of my shirt. "I just don't like being gone so much, especially knowing you're right across the hall from where I live. It makes me want to be home all the time."

I try to contain it, but I can't. His words make me gasp, even though it was probably the quietest gasp to ever pa.s.s anyone's lips.

But he notices.

His eyes meet mine in a flash, and I can see him wanting to backpedal. He wants to take back what he just said, because there was hope in those words. Miles doesn't say things like that. I know he's about to apologize. He's going to remind me that he can't love me, that he didn't mean to give me that inkling of false hope.

Don't take it back, Miles. Please, let me keep that.

Our eyes remain locked for several long seconds. I continue to stare up at him, waiting for the take-back. His fingers are still on the second b.u.t.ton of my shirt, but they're not attempting to unb.u.t.ton it anymore.

He focuses on my mouth, then back to my eyes again, then back to my mouth. "Tate," he whispers. He says my name so softly I'm not even sure if his mouth moves.

I don't have time to respond. His hand leaves the b.u.t.ton of my shirt and slides through my hair at the same moment as his lips connect fiercely with mine. He slides his body on top of me, and his kiss instantly becomes intense. Deep. Dominating. His kiss is full of something that's never been there before. Full of feeling. Full of hope.

Until this moment, I thought a kiss was a kiss was a kiss. I had no idea kisses could mean different things and feel so completely opposite from one another. In the past, I've always felt pa.s.sion and desire and l.u.s.t . . . but this time, it's different.

This kiss is a different Miles, and I know in my heart that it's the real Miles. The Miles he used to be. The Miles I'm not allowed to ask about.

He rolls off of me when he's finished.

I stare up at the ceiling.

My head is full of so many questions. My heart is full of confusion. This thing between us has never been easy. One would think limiting oneself to just s.e.x would be the simplest thing in the world, but it makes me question every move and every word that comes out of my mouth. I find myself a.n.a.lyzing every look he gives me.

I don't even know what move I'm supposed to make next. Do I lie here until he asks me to leave? I've never stayed the night with him before. Do I roll over and put my arms around him, hoping he'll hold me in return until we fall asleep? I'm too scared he'll reject me.

I'm stupid.

I'm a stupid, stupid girl.

Why can't this just be s.e.x for me, too? Why can't I come over here, give him what he wants, get what I want, and leave?

I roll onto my side and slowly sit up. I reach down for my clothes, then stand up and dress myself. He's watching me. He's quiet.

I avoid looking at him until I'm fully dressed and slipping on my shoes. As much as I want to crawl back into the bed with him, I walk toward the door instead. I don't turn around to face him when I say, "See you tomorrow, Miles."

I make it all the way to his front door. He doesn't speak. He doesn't tell me he'll see me tomorrow, and he doesn't tell me good-bye.

I'm hoping his silence is proof that he doesn't like how it feels to be walked away from.

I open the door and walk across the hall and into my apartment. Corbin is seated on the couch, watching TV. He glances up at the door when he hears me enter, then shoots me a condescending look of disapproval.

"Lighten up," I say as I make my way inside. I slip off my shoes by the door. "You have to get over this eventually."

I see him shake his head, but I ignore it and walk toward my bedroom.

"He was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g you behind my back and lying to me," Corbin says. "That's not something I'll get over."

I face the living room again and see that Corbin is looking at me. "Did you expect him to be open with you about it? My G.o.d, Corbin. You kicked Dillon out of your apartment for looking at me the wrong way."

Corbin stands up, angry now. "Exactly!" he shouts. "I thought Miles was protecting you from Dillon, when in reality, he was laying claim! He's a G.o.dd.a.m.n hypocrite, and I'll be p.i.s.sed at him for as long as I want to be p.i.s.sed at him, so you get over it!"

I laugh, because Corbin has no right to point fingers.

"What's funny, Tate?" he snaps.

I walk back to the living room and stand directly in front of him. "Miles has been nothing but honest with me about what he wants. He hasn't once fed me a line of bulls.h.i.t. I'm the only girl he's been with in six years, and you're going to call him a hypocrite?" I don't even try to keep my voice down anymore. "You might want to look in the mirror, Corbin. How many girls have you been with since I've moved in here? How many of them do you think have brothers who would love to kick your a.s.s if they found out about you? If anyone's the hypocrite here, it's you!"

His hands are on his hips, and he's watching me with a hardened look in his eyes. When he fails to respond, I turn to walk back toward my room, but the front door opens with a knock.

Miles.

Corbin and I both turn, just as he peeks his head inside. "Everything good over here?" he asks, stepping into the living room.

I glance at Corbin, and Corbin glares at me. I arch an eyebrow, waiting for him to respond to the question Miles posed, since he's the one with the issue.

"You okay, Tate?" Miles asks, addressing only me now.

I look back over at him and nod. "I'm fine," I say. "I'm not the one with unrealistic expectations of my sibling."

Corbin groans loudly, then turns around and kicks the couch. Miles and I watch him as he slides his hands through his hair and grips the back of his neck tightly. He turns to face Miles again, then exhales heavily.

"Why couldn't you have just been gay?"

Miles looks at him with careful concentration. I'm waiting for either of them to have a reaction, so I'll know whether or not I can breathe.

Miles begins to shake his head as soon as a smile appears on his face.

Corbin starts to laugh, but he groans at the same time, indicating that he just came to terms with our arrangement, even though he still may not agree with it.

I smile and walk quietly out of the apartment, hoping they're about to mend whatever was broken between them when I stepped into the picture.

The elevator doors open on the lobby level, and I'm prepared to step off, but Cap is poised in front of them as if he's about to step on.

"You coming for me?" he asks.

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 b.u.t.ton 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."

s.h.i.t.

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.