Chapter 32
32
I cancel the Uber just before Gabriel’s Mercedes pulls up to the restaurant. He hops out of the car to open my door as I rush over to him on shaky legs. I glance at him and notice his unusually ruffled appearance. He’s in sweats and clearly hasn’t slept a wink.
“Ella,” he says, voice raw from what can only be exhaustion. “You gotta know he didn’t do what’s in those reports. Elliot showed up—”
“How is he?” I cut in. I probably sound wild with desperation. And if I do, I can’t bring myself to care. The last time I saw Miles, I had the chance to tell him I think the world of him, that I adore every part of him, and I didn’t. Now his world is crashing down around him, and it’s partly my fault.
Once I’m settled inside the car, there’s a beat as Gabriel buckles his seat belt as he casts me a sidelong glance. In that moment of silence, I forget to exchange air. “He’s fine. Physically,” Gabriel finally confirms. “Apart from his arm. The team doctor’s taking a look at that right now.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s only half-hearted. Because while I’m relieved to know that Miles is physically okay, I need eyes on him, and hands on him, before I truly believe it.
“Did you read what they’re saying happened?” Gabe asks me, and I want to say that I don’t care what whoever is saying about whatever. But I did get the chance to scan ESPN’s article after I hung up with Jamie. And even if half of what’s printed is true, I’ll never be able to apologize enough for bringing this level of drama into Miles’s life. That feeling I had at my breakfast with Janet, that sneaking suspicion that, just like my mom said, things were happening a little too easily for me. That at some point the other shoe would have to drop…it finally has.
I’m afraid that if I speak too much I’ll cry, so I keep my answer to Gabe’s question short. “Yeah, I did.” I glance at him and find his mouth pressed into a hard line.
“Miles didn’t swing at Elliot,” he says. “I was there at dinner with him last night at Sempre, Mia.”
This draws a gasp from me, and Gabriel looks over. “It’s where his mom works. He’s told you about her, I know.”
I nod. “In our voice notes,” I confirm. “He told me all about her.”
“Well, I left early to meet up with Jamie,” he continues, shaking his head. And I can almost feel the regret in his voice. “Miles always leaves out the back alleyway entrance…for security reasons and to help his mom keep her low profile.”
“He doesn’t want press to figure out she works there,” I guess aloud. At this, Gabe nods.
“Anyway, Elliot must have been tracking us somehow, because according to Miles, the guy shows up in the alley, drunk off his ass and looking for a fight. He swings at Miles a few times and misses. But on the last swing, he loses his footing but latches on to Miles’s arm on the way down. Elliot takes a tumble, bangs himself up. But he dislocates Miles’s arm in the process.”
I drop my head into my hands. Of all the potential outcomes of me divorcing Elliot Majors, I never saw this one coming. He and his team have ghosted me and Janet since the botched settlement discussion. So I’ve had no insight into what angle they’d be coming from next. But the recent headlines out of Onyx Records and whatever they might spell for his image and career must have rocked him to his core. Or maybe he got word of my meeting with Mamie Houston, saw that I was about to escape his clutches, and decided to set things aflame on his way out the door.
Or maybe, like my Mimi used to say, chaos doesn’t need a reason .
By the time we pull into the driveway at Miles’s house, his team has already gathered at the stadium for their warm-up. I turn to Gabriel. “Does he even want to see me?”
“You’re the only person he wants to see right now,” he tells me. And hearing this pierces through the guard I’d started to defensively erect around myself somewhere along the 10 freeway. “I texted to tell him you’re on your way up.”
After punching in the security code, I enter the house. It’s an unnaturally overcast afternoon in Santa Monica, which replaces what was once warm and radiant with a dark and imposing interior. Padding up the stairs, I hear the sound of our version of “No Ordinary Love” coming from the direction of the primary suite. My heart slams against my chest, and I start taking the steps two at a time in a rush to get to him.
When I open the door, Miles is at the window, head bowed, in his oversized sitting chair. His arm is in a sling, and seeing that crushes me. I pad forward, and he must sense my movement, because his head lifts and he turns to face me. When his eyes latch on to mine, Miles doesn’t speak. He simply leans back against the headrest, and as if in full surrender all the tension drains from his body.
I draw closer, and with his uninjured arm he reaches for me. Careful not to hurt him, I step between his legs and clamber up until I’m straddling his lap. I press him close against my chest and rest my cheek against the crown of his head. Even in the midst of such desolate circumstances, I take simple pleasure in holding the man I love—siphoning off his pain.
“I’m so sorry, Miles,” I tell him, with my voice thick from unshed tears. “You’ll never know how sorry I am that this happened.”
“Baby…” He drags out the word, rocking back to look me in the eye. With a gentle hand he smooths back my hair. “Don’t do that, okay. This was all him . Tell me you know that?”
I take his words and swallow them whole, knowing they are true but also that it’ll take me a while to fully believe them. I nod anyway.
“And you know everything’s gonna be okay, right?” I say. “Even if he’s dumb enough to press charges. If it goes to trial, I’m more than willing to be a character witness against him.”
Miles shakes his head. “I’d never put you through that. Besides, the people I need to convince most won’t be a jury. They’re in the front office.”
At this, I grimace, and my worries start to compound again. Miles could lose his career all because my trifling ex-husband was trying to settle a score.
“But let’s not talk about this anymore,” he says. “We can’t change any of it today anyway. Can we talk about yesterday, though…before you left?”
Swallowing hard, I say, “Now that I do need to apologize for.” Then, reaching up, I smooth out the worry lines in his forehead. “There’s so much I could have told you yesterday and I held it all back. I left you here without telling you how I feel, and I’ve never regretted anything more.”
“You want to tell me now?” he asks, smiling at me with glassy eyes. “Think I could use some good news. Been kind of a bad day.”
“Miles Rafael Westbrook, two and a half months ago I pretended to fall in love with you on a video shoot. But, turns out”—I shrug as a single tear falls from my eye—“it was for real.”
And now I’ve said it. For the second time in my life, I have told a man I love him. And this time, like the last time, it feels like swimming out to sea. But instead of facing a vast, empty horizon, now I’m looking at a glittering island. And Miles is standing there waving back at me, beckoning me to join him on the shore.
“I’m in love with you, Miles. You are who I want. When we’re alone behind closed doors and, I don’t know exactly how, but I want you out in the open too.”
Miles exhales and with the release of air, his body deflates beneath me—like all that pent-up doubt has finally released at once. “Well, Elladee Ashley Robinson…since we’re using government names. That’s a good thing. Because you’ve had me since the Grammys. Before I broke your dress. Before you put on my shirt. I knew I loved you the s-second you looked me in the eyes and challenged me to name three of your songs.”
“Is that right?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm,” he confirms. “I would have taken any opportunity to be in a room with you again. Even a music video across the country.”
I sink farther into his lap, prepared to take off my clothes and show him just how much this confession has bound us together. But then Miles’s phone rings. He reaches in his pocket to check the caller ID.
“It’s Coach Carlin,” he says. “He’s at the gate.”
This sudden reminder of the heaping shitstorm beyond these four walls makes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I rise off Miles’s lap and help him up from the low chair since he’s only got use of one arm at the moment.
“Coach has to be at the…s-stadium in an hour, so I’m s-sure this will be quick,” he says, and his words fall like bricks. Like he’s bracing himself for a verbal onslaught. “Do you mind hanging back up here?”
The request stings, but I know I have no place participating in this conversation, or even listening on. So I simply nod and kiss him once before he heads downstairs to face the music.