Ugly Love Page 9

I stop staring and step off the elevator first. Cap is seated in his chair, ever so vigilant. He glances at the three of us exiting the elevator and pushes up on the arms of his chair, coming to a slow, shaky stand. Corbin and Miles both nod at him and continue walking.

“How was your first night, Tate?” he asks with a smile, stopping me midstride. The fact that he already knows my name doesn’t surprise me, since he knew what floor I was going to last night.

I look at the back of Miles’s head as they continue without me. “Kind of eventful, actually. I think my brother might have made a poor choice in the company he keeps.”

I look at Cap, and he’s staring at Miles now, too. His wrinkle-lined lips purse into a thin line, and he gives a slight shake of his head. “Ah, that boy probably can’t help it none,” he says, dismissing my comment.

I’m not sure if he’s referring to Corbin or Miles when he says “that boy,” but I don’t ask.

Cap turns away from me and begins shuffling in the direction of the lobby restrooms. “I think I just pissed on myself,” he mutters.

I watch him disappear through the restroom door, wondering at what point in a person’s life he becomes old enough to lose his filter. Although Cap doesn’t seem like the type of man who ever even hada filter. I kind of like that about him.

“Tate, let’s go!” Corbin yells from the far end of the lobby. I catch up with them to show them the way to my car.

It takes three trips to get all my things up, not two.

Three entire trips where Miles doesn’t speak another word to me.

Chapter four

MILES

Six years earlier

Dad: “Where are you?”

Me: “Ian’s house.”

Dad: “We need to talk.”

Me: “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’ll be home late.”

Dad: “No. I need you home now. I’ve been waiting for you since school let out.”

Me: “Fine. On my way.”

That was the conversation that led to this moment. Me, sitting in front of my dad on the couch. My dad, telling me something I don’t care to hear.

“I would have told you sooner, Miles. I just—”

“Felt guilty?” I interrupt. “Like you’re doing something wrong?”

His eyes meet mine, and I begin to feel bad for saying what I said, but I push the feeling down and keep going.

“She’s been dead less than a year.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I want to throw up.

He doesn’t like being judged, especially by me. He’s used to my supporting his decisions. Hell, I’mused to supporting his decisions. Until now, I always thought he made good ones.

“Look, I know this is hard for you to accept, but I need your support. You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to move on since she died.”

“Hard?” I’m standing. I’m raising my voice. I’m acting like I give a shit for some reason, when I really don’t. I could care less that he’s already dating again. He can see whoever he wants. He can screw whoever he wants.

I think the only reason I’m reacting this way is because she can’t. It’s hard to defend your marriage when you’re dead. That’s why I’m doing it for her.

“It’s obviously not very hard for you at all, Dad.”

I walk to the opposite end of the living room.

I walk back.

The house is too damn small to fit all of my frustration and disappointment.

I look at him again, recognizing that it’s not so much the fact that he’s seeing someone already. It’s the look he gets in his eyes when he talks about her that I hate. I never saw him look at my mother that way, so whoever she is, I know it’s not a casual thing. She’s about to seep into our lives, intertwining around and through and between my relationship with my father like she’s poison ivy. It’ll no longer be just my father and me. It’ll be me, my father, and Lisa. It doesn’t feel right, considering my mother’s presence is still everywhere in this house.

He’s sitting with his hands folded in front of him, clasped together. He’s looking down at the floor.

“I don’t know if this will go anywhere, but I want to give it a shot. Lisa makes me happy. Sometimes moving on is … the only way to move on.”

I open my mouth to respond to him, but my words are cut off by the doorbell. He looks up at me, hesitantly coming to a stand. He seems smaller. Less heroic.

“I’m not asking you to like her. I’m not asking you to spend time with her. I just want you to be nice to her.” His eyes are pleading with me, and it makes me feel guilty for being so resistant.

I nod. “I will, Dad. You know I will.”

He hugs me, and it feels good andbad. It doesn’t feel like I just hugged the man I’ve had on a pedestal for seventeen years. It feels as though I just hugged my peer.

He asks me to get the door while he heads back to the kitchen to finish dinner, so I do. I close my eyes and let my mom know that I’m going to be nice to Lisa, but she’ll always just be Lisato me, no matter what happens between her and Dad. I open the door.

“Miles?”

I look at her face, and it’s completely opposite from my mother’s face. This makes me feel good. She’s a lot shorter than my mother. She’s not as pretty as my mother, either. There’s nothing about her that can be compared to my mother, so I don’t even try. I accept her for what she is: our dinner guest.

I nod and open the door wider to let her in. “You must be Lisa. Good to meet you.” I point behind me. “My father is in the kitchen.”

Lisa leans forward and gives me a hug—one that I successfully make awkward after it takes me several seconds to hug her back.

My eyes meet the eyes of the girl standing behind her.

The eyes of the girl standing behind her meet mine.

You’re

gonna

fall

in

love

with

me,

Rachel.

“Miles?” she says in a broken whisper.

Rachel sounds a little bit like her mother, but sadder.