Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
MIRANDA
My story has just begun, and I don’t know what I expected Miles to do. But he sits across from me, looking at me with so much love in his eyes, the same way he looks at me every single day. That beautiful look gives me the strength to keep going.
“So I grew up in one of those tent cities,” I say softly. “And while it wasn’t ideal, I was… I don’t know… fine, I guess. I went to a local school. It was a poor school. The education wasn’t great, but it was still school.”
Miles doesn’t flinch. He just nods, encouraging.
“One of my gym teachers noticed how good I was at basketball and gave me my own ball when I was six. It became my only real possession. Around the corner from the tents was this old court with a single hoop—no net, a cracked backboard, but it was enough. Whenever I wasn’t at school, I was there. Shooting. Playing. Escaping.”
My throat tightens at the memory.
“I can’t explain it—it was a gift. Maybe the only gift I’d ever been given. I loved basketball. I loved the way it made sense. I loved that it was mine.”
I rub my palms against my knees, grounding myself.
“And… I got really good. Good enough that people noticed. Eventually, the most prestigious private school in Los Angeles—the one where all the celebrity kids went, including Anna—offered me a full scholarship. They wanted me to play ball for them.”
A humorless laugh slips out. “And so I did. And it was… awful.”
Miles’s jaw works, but he stays silent, letting me speak.
“I didn’t belong there. I didn’t have the clothes.
I didn’t have the money. I didn’t have anything in common with any of the kids.
I stood out like a fish out of water. And the bullying started immediately.
It was constant, and cruel, and I had never experienced anything like it.
You’d think growing up where I did would make you tough, but nobody there cared what shoes I wore or how old my backpack was. We were all just… surviving.”
I give Miles a small, sheepish smile. “But at that school? I was fresh meat, and rich kids are mean.”
I take a breath.
“Thankfully, almost right away, Anna noticed me and befriended me. She brought me to her mansion after school one day and gave me a makeover. She let me take so many clothes from her closet that I felt like I was stealing,” I say with a slight shrug.
“Most of them got stolen when I went back home that night.”
A flicker of pain crosses Miles’s face, but he stays quiet.
“When Anna realized where I lived, she started inviting me to stay over. And eventually… I never really went home. I visited sometimes, but my mom was… she was gone long before she actually died. Drugs had her. And she didn’t want help.”
My voice cracks. “She passed away when I was thirteen. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want to get sent to foster care. I was already living with Anna’s family, so I just stayed.”
Miles reaches out, but I shake my head gently—needing to get this part out before I fall apart.
“I kept playing basketball. Started varsity in my freshman year. And from the beginning, my coach, Coach Clearwater, gave me a lot of attention.”
My stomach twists.
“I used to think it was because I was good. Maybe part of it was. But now? Looking back?” I swallow. “I know it was more than that.”
The air leaves my lungs in a shaky breath. “He made me feel special and seen. I felt loved, in a way I’d never been loved before. At the time… I believed him. I believed every word he said.”
My eyes lift to Miles’s. “It didn’t take long for me to fall for him, and I did. Hard. We started dating when I was fifteen.”
“Of course, we had to keep it secret,” I say quietly.
“I didn’t even tell Anna. But I thought it was the real thing.
I thought we were in love. I thought he was my forever.
” A hollow laugh slips from my chest. “And the age thing? Back then, it didn’t even bother me because he was my person. Or at least… I thought he was.”
My throat tightens as the memories flood in. “But when we were found out—when the story broke—he cut me off completely. Just vanished. And I was alone. Completely alone.” My voice wavers. “He got off on some technicality, didn’t serve a day, didn’t get a single mark on his record. Nothing.”
I shake my head, disgust tightening my stomach.
“Meanwhile, I got ripped apart. Brutally bullied. Hounded by the press. I kept saying we were in love because I thought that’s what he wanted—what he was saying, too.
But he wasn’t. He was telling everyone else I was crazy.
That I was some obsessed high school girl who wouldn’t leave him alone. ”
The betrayal still hits like a fist to the ribs.
“I lost everything. My scholarship. My spot on the team. Basketball. My future. All of it.”
My voice is barely audible now. “And honestly… I probably would’ve lost my life if Anna hadn’t saved me.”
I scrub at my eyes, but the tears just keep coming.
“She protected me. She enrolled me in online classes. She gave me a safe place to stay and a reason to get up every morning. She gave me friendship and love and purpose when I had none. She got me through the worst years of my life. That’s why I owe everything to her. ”
My breath trembles. “And now… because of Tracey… this story is everywhere again.”
I gesture helplessly toward the phone. “It’s even worse this time. Social media is a monster now. It’s louder. Meaner. More sensationalized than ever.”
The panic rises inside me like a tide I can’t stop.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to escape it. I don’t know how to protect you.”
I finally lift my eyes to him, and the devastation in his gaze nearly breaks me.
“You didn’t deserve this, Miles. And Anna doesn’t deserve it either. You’re both going to get dragged into this because you’re associated with me. And this—” My voice cracks. “This is why I always kept my distance. Because this was always my fear.”
A sob bursts from me, raw and painful.
“I don’t know what to do,” I repeat. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to keep you safe from the fallout.”
I fold forward, burying my face in my hands as a fresh wave of tears pours down my cheeks, unstoppable and crushing.
Miles moves beside me on the sofa without hesitation.
He gathers me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me with a gentleness that both steadies me and shatters me further.
His warmth surrounds me, solid and grounding, but some distant part of me knows it’s only temporary shelter.
Not even Miles, my perfect, loving, steadfast Miles, can stop what’s already unraveling.
He presses soft kisses into my hair, brushing back the damp, tear-soaked strands of hair stuck to my face.
“Listen to me,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, threaded with a tenderness that almost undoes me.
He tips my chin just enough for me to hear him clearly.
“None of this is your fault. Not now, and not then.”
My breath trembles.
“You were a child, Miranda,” he continues, his fingers brushing a stray tear as it falls. “You were groomed. Manipulated. Taken advantage of by a predator.”
I close my eyes, a fresh wave of shame threatening, but he holds me tighter, refusing to let me fold into myself.
“Remember who he was,” Miles says, his voice firm but still gentle. “A grown man, twenty years older than you. Someone who was supposed to protect you, coach you, and guide you. He was supposed to be safe.”
His jaw flexes against my temple, anger thrumming beneath the softness. “And instead, he used your innocence, your loneliness, and your insecurities against you. He twisted them to control you. That is not something a child can consent to. That is not something you can blame yourself for.”
His thumb sweeps my cheek, collecting another tear before it can fall.
“He should’ve gone to jail,” Miles says, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “He should’ve been behind bars for a very, very long time. But the system failed you. It protected him instead of you.”
I choke out a small sound—pain, acceptance, and grief all tangled together.
Miles presses his forehead to mine.
“You were a victim,” he whispers. “An innocent kid who never should’ve had to carry that weight. You do not apologize for what happened to you. You don’t shoulder the blame for the crimes someone else committed.”
He pulls me against his chest again, one hand stroking slow circles on my back.
“And you sure as hell don’t apologize to me,” he adds softly, kissing the top of my head. “Not for this. Not ever.”
“This publicity isn’t going to be good,” I whisper, my voice trembling so hard the words barely hold together.
“I don’t care about the publicity,” Miles says immediately—so quickly and so fiercely that it startles me. His hands frame my face, gentle but certain. “The only thing that matters to me is you.”
I try to look away, to protect him from the mess my past has dragged to our doorstep, but he won’t let me pull back.
“I know the way you grew up taught you that love is conditional. That it can be taken away. That people leave.”
My chest tightens with that painful, familiar ache.
“But real love doesn’t work like that,” he continues, voice low and steady. “Real love is unconditional. No—listen to me,” he urges when I start to shake my head. “The circumstances don’t matter. The noise doesn’t matter. The media, the headlines, the idiots online—they don’t matter.”
His forehead rests against mine, his breath warming my skin.
“It’s the people who matter,” he whispers. “You matter.”
A sob breaks free from my throat.
“My love for you is real,” he says, brushing another tear away. “So real. And there is nothing—nothing—you could tell me, or that the world could dig up, that would make me stop loving you.”
My lips tremble when he adds, voice rough with emotion, “If anything… after hearing what you survived, and seeing how strong you are, how much you’ve built from nothing—I love you even more.”
The words hit me like a wave—soft, warm, overwhelming. I cling to him, my heart breaking and healing at the same time.