Miles

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“Damn, you look like shit,” Delia says the instant I walk in the front door of Inked. I’m half a mind to tell her to fuck off, but truthfully I don’t have the energy to do even that.

After what happened with Harlow, and quite possibly breaking my hand punching the front door, I polished off the remainder of my whiskey before passing out with my head in the toilet. That’s where I stayed until a few short hours ago. I haven’t really had time to process anything outside of trying to rid myself of this hangover.

“Thanks,” I grumble, heading through the lobby into the main area of the shop.

“She’s not here,” Delia calls behind me right as I reach the mouth of the hallway that leads back to the office.

“Who?” I question unnecessarily, turning back toward her.

“You know who.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and leans against the doorframe on the other side of the room.

“When is she coming in?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even and unphased.

“She’s not.” She shakes her head slowly, giving me a small frown. “She called this morning and quit.”

“She what?” The words tear from my throat and bounce off the walls around us.

“You heard me.” Delia gives me a pointed look. “Whatever you did, you must have fucked up really bad considering she just signed a year lease on that apartment two weeks ago.”

“Fuck.” I run my hands through my hair and tug on the ends in frustration.

I was so convinced that I was doing the right thing by pushing her away that I didn’t even consider what that meant for her. Of course, she’d quit. Why would I think for one second that she’d ever want to see my face again after what I did to her?

I can still see the hurt in her eyes, the desperation on her face. All she wanted was for me to let her in and I couldn’t do it. She tried to comfort me, to help me, and I couldn’t let her. She wanted to love me, and I threw that love back in her face like it didn’t mean a fucking thing.

What kind of person does that to another person?

Apparently, you do.

“So, what did you do?” Delia asks, pulling me out of my own mind and back to the conversation.

“It’s over. That’s all you need to know,” I tell her.

“So it was your fault then.” She nods. “I knew you’d find a way to fuck it up.”

“Are you done?” I practically growl, my frustration level doubling tenfold in a  matter of seconds.

“Yep.” She holds her hands up in front of herself and slowly backs out of the room without another word.

——

“I fucking knew it!” Winston bursts into my office just after six, slamming the door closed behind him. “I knew you’d find a way to fuck it up. Fucking hell, why couldn’t you keep it in your fucking pants for once?”

“Winston,” I start, ready to try to explain myself the best I can without telling him the real truth.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her? She’s devastated. Like hasn’t stopped crying for hours, devastated. I’ve never seen her like this before. What the fuck?”

My stomach knots at his words and I have the sudden urge to go to her. I push the thought down and quickly refocus.

“You’re right. I should have listened.”

“That’s it? I’m right?” he clips. “How about you tell me how the fuck you guys went from one hundred to zero overnight?”

“I, uh, realized that things were getting a little too serious and I needed to back away.” I stand, squaring my shoulders.

“A little too serious?” He snorts, unconvinced. “Just weeks ago you showed up at my dad’s shop pronouncing your love for her, or did you forget that part?”

“I remember,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice calm.

“So was it just a game to you? Make everyone believe you actually care so you can run around fucking her whenever you want without judgment? Fuck, dude, just fuck her and leave it at that. Why did you have to tell her you loved her?”

“Because I fucking do,” I burst out, not able to listen to him talk about Harlow like she was just sex to me. She was never just sex. “I do love her.” My voice falters.

“Then explain to me what the hell is going on?” Winston grips the back of the chair in front of him and leans forward slightly.

“It just wasn’t working out.”

“Bullshit.” Winston rocks back. “Tell me the real fucking reason.”

“I just did.”

“And that’s why you clearly punched something and fucked up your hand?” he asks, pointing to my right hand that’s bruised and swollen around my knuckles. “Because it just wasn’t working out.”

“Why the fuck do you care why anyway? It didn’t work out. Let’s leave it at that.” I shove a stack of papers across the desk in frustration.

“Why do I care?” He looks at me in disbelief. “Why do I care?” he repeats. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” He shakes his head. “You have been like a brother to me since we were kids. I warned you that this wouldn’t work, but you didn’t consider the position it would put me in. Nope. You had to have her, and whatever Miles fucking wants, Miles gets.”

“This was never about you,” I argue.

“Clearly, otherwise it wouldn’t have happened. But now I have to find a way to comfort my sister after my best friend ripped out her heart and fucking stomped all over it.”

“I never meant to hurt her, Winston. You have to know that.”

“Well what you meant to do isn’t really relevant anymore now, is it? The damage has been done. I hope you’re happy with the outcome.” He turns and rips the door open.

“I almost killed her,” I blurt, not able to let him walk away believing what he’s currently thinking.

He turns slowly back toward me, his eyes wide with confusion.

“I was having a nightmare. The same nightmare,” I say, having shared small pieces of the dream with Winston over the years. “I don’t know what happened. One minute I was in the dream with my hands around his neck and the next I was looking down at Harlow. My hands around her neck.” I collapse back into my chair and drop my face into my hands. “You should have seen her face.” I rub my eyes with the balls of my hands.

“That’s why you ended things so abruptly.” I look up just in time to see him close the door and slide down into the seat across from me.

“I love your sister. I love her like I’ve never loved a woman before. So much so, that I’m willing to let her go if it means keeping her safe from me.”

“Did you ever think of telling her this?”

“She wouldn’t listen if I did. She’d try to find a way to fix it. She’d convince me we could work it out. And I’d probably let her. And then what? What if next time it’s worse? What if next time I don’t wake up before it’s too late? I could never live with myself.”

“Fuck, man.” Winston lets out a slow sigh and leans back in the chair.

“I think maybe this was a sign. You know? Maybe after everything I’ve done I don’t deserve to be happy.”

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Winston disagrees. “You were at war, Miles. You can’t blame yourself forever for the things you did to survive or the decisions you made in an impossible situation. You have to find a way to forgive yourself, man. Because until you do, you’re right, I don’t think you can be with Harlow and not put her at risk.” He pauses for a long moment. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need help. Like real help. Otherwise, this brutal cycle will never end, and you’re going to keep coming out on the other side with more casualties at your feet. Maybe not in the literal sense but you know what I mean. If you love Harlow the way you say you do, you’ll find a way to make this right. If not, that’s on you. Either way, you’ve got to make a choice.”

“You want me to go to therapy. I’ve told you already, it won’t help.”

“And you know that how? Because you went twice right after you got home? You never even gave it a chance, Miles. You were so convinced that you knew better and who the hell could tell you differently? It was one thing when you were only hurting yourself, but now you’ve pulled Harlow into your fucking mess. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for her.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell him truthfully, knowing deep down there is not one damn thing I wouldn’t do to get Harlow back into my arms.

“I really hope you do. In the meantime, stay away from my sister. She’s been through enough. You said you were done, so be done. At least until you get your shit sorted out.”

“I can do that.” I nod, my chest tightening at the thought.

“I love you. You know that. But until this blows over, you know where I stand.”

“I know.” I nod once.

Winston pushes to his feet.

“You know I’ve got your back. Always. Do yourself a favor and get the fucking help you need. No matter what you think, you do deserve to be happy.”

“Thanks, man.”

With that, Winston turns and quickly exits the office.