22. Miles
22
Miles
I may not know Veronica as well as my sister does, but this week I’ve learned that she’s a whirlwind of activity, constantly buzzing around and chattering away like the damn Energizer Bunny. Sitting quietly is not in her nature. Most of our trip has been her talking my ear off, and the only time I got a break was when she was listening to one of her murder podcasts or when she’d actually tired herself out enough to sleep.
However, ever since we decided to stop for one last night before our journey home tomorrow, an uncomfortable silence has settled between us.
Even when we ended up in a tiny diner for dinner, she was quiet, barely speaking. The only words exchanged were the ones I initiated—so clearly, not much.
“You sure you’re okay?” I finally ask as we make the short walk back to our hotel, where thankfully, we were able to get separate rooms. We may be married, but that’s in title only. Neither of us is ready to pretend there’s more to this relationship than what it actually is.
“I’m fine,” she says, sending me a tight-lipped smile as we cross the street.
“Yeah, that was convincing,” I deadpan. I might have let her have her space in the car, and even at dinner, but I’m done playing pretend—even if that was what old Miles would have much preferred. In fact, the Miles from the start of this trip would have preferred we not talk to each other at all. Now, I unfortunately find that I care a little too much about her feelings—something I’m trying very hard not to read into.
“Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind,” she admits, folding her arms across her chest as she somehow seems to sink even further into herself.
“I know I’m probably not your preferred audience, but I’m a pretty good listener, or at least that’s what Blair tells me,” I push, despite my better judgment.
“She is my usual go-to person for all my problems, and while you may somewhat look like her with your gorgeous baby blue eyes, I’m thinking you should just wait until tomorrow when I can actually chat with my usual Bennett sibling.”
“Try me,” I goad her. I should let this go, but I can’t. I’ve always been a fixer. It’s why I own and operate a mechanic shop. Sure, maybe the only person I usually care to fix problems for is Blair, but somehow, Veronica has weaseled her way in, and I’m desperate to see a smile on her face again.
“Okay, well, other than the obvious of having to return home with a husband, I realized that I’m also returning with no place to live.” She sighs, the weight of her words causing her shoulders to physically slump.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my brows drawing together. “I get that you’re no longer moving in with Pete, but you have your apartment, right? Can’t you just renew your lease?”
“Nope,” she says, the ‘p’ popping out of her mouth like a bubble. “Unfortunately, my landlord has already rented it out to his niece, so I’ll only have a week after we get back to move my things out. I mean, I’m sure I’ll be able to find somewhere to rent eventually, but until then, it looks like I’m going to be the twenty-eight-year-old loser who has to move back in with her parents.”
I clench my jaw, trying to suppress the involuntary eye roll that wants to escape. “Oh, come on, things could be worse. In this economy, plenty of people live with their parents. Hell, some people would kill to have Mr. and Mrs. Prescott as their mom and dad. We both know they’d be happy to have you move back in.”
She shoots me an apologetic glance. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.” She winces. Given how close she is to my sister, it’s no surprise she knows all about our shitty parents, who could not have cared less about Blair or me, or what happened to us.
Hell, the only reason we weren’t homeless or put into child protective services custody was because of our grandma, but even she made it pretty obvious that we were nothing but a burden and a responsibility she never wanted.
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or worse. If anything, I’m just trying to help you see that you have people. You have a support system when you get back. You have your family. You have Blair and Ford, and now you have me,” I offer as casually as possible, even if the words feel strange on my tongue. Never in a million years could I have predicted that I’d consider her a friend, yet here we are.
“You?” she asks, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. “We’re friends now, huh?” she asks, bumping her hip into mine as we approach the entrance of our hotel.
“Don’t make this into a big deal,” I say, mimicking her stance as I fold my arms. “But it’s true. You’re not alone, and maybe,” I start, realizing I’m actually about to suggest this. Finally giving in—despite my better judgement—I complete my sentence, “you could move in with me.”
She freezes in her tracks, her eyes widening as she turns to face to face me. “With you? Okay, yeah. Sure. Be for real. There is no way you’d ever want me as your roommate,” she says, sarcasm lacing her tone as she follows it up with a non-amused laugh.
I stop as well. “I said nothing about wanting you as my roommate, but I have the extra room, and it’s not like it’d be forever. Just until you get on your feet and figure things out.”
“What about Blair?” she asks, her eyebrows pinching together.
“What about her? If anything, she’d probably be all for this and is likely already planning to spend most of her time at Ford’s. Plus, it’s not like you two haven’t shared a room or a bed before. Don’t think I forgot about that night where you two drunkenly crashed at my place just a couple of weeks ago.”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, barely suppressing an amused laugh. “You don’t think it’d be weird? Plus, you know everyone is already going to be talking about us. Wouldn’t this just add more fuel to the fire?”
I lift one shoulder. “I’m sure people are going to talk about us no matter what. Maybe this would actually give them something real to talk about this time.”
I’ve never loved being the center of gossip and have made a conscious effort to keep my nose clean and stay out of their mouths, but I don’t see why this should stop me from taking care of someone I’ve actually grown to care about.
“Maybe...” she trails off, her brow furrowing as she ponders my offer. “But if we did this, I’d have to pay you rent. I’m not looking to be some kind of charity case,” she finally says, pointing a finger in my direction.
“That’s fine with me.” I shrug, even if I don’t actually want to charge her anything. I can more than afford my own place, but if that’s what it takes to get her to say yes, then I’ll say whatever I have to.
I can’t explain this feeling, this urge to make sure she’s safe and taken care of, but it’s strong, and it’s something I can no longer ignore. I won’t let her do this alone, not when I have the power to help.
“Are you sure about this?” she asks, the warmth of her smile evaporating as her brown eyes fix on mine. “I’m sure you think you can handle this after spending a week and a half with me, but we’re talking about me moving in and being around twenty-four-seven. That’s a lot of Veronica time.”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it,” I assure her, doing my best to avoid the deeper conversation about the inexplicable pull I feel to make everything better for her. “Plus, I can’t have my wife homeless, now can I? What kind of husband would that make me?” I joke, needing to add some humor to this, and not just for her sake, but mine as well.
“A pretty crappy one, but if you’re not particularly fond of the woman you married, it’s logical that you wouldn’t want her to move in with you. After everything, I’d assume you’d want to see as little of me as possible.”
“Just because I’m suggesting you move in for a little while doesn’t mean we have to be best friends,” I point out. “We both have jobs and different friend groups, so I’m sure we’ll only see each other in passing. This isn’t a big deal,” I lie. This is an enormous deal and I know it, but once again, I can’t help myself.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” She nods as a soft exhale passes through her lips, her shoulders slumping with a hint of defeat. “Are you really sure you’re okay with this?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t.”
Deep down, a part of me knows I should question why I’m offering, but I’m still not ready to let my brain consider why that is.
“If you say so, but if at any time between now or even tomorrow when you’ve had time to thoroughly think this through and want to change your mind, that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you,” she promises.
I shrug her words off as I walk back toward our hotel entrance. “Deal, but I can promise you, I won’t change my mind,” I say over my shoulder as she follows close behind.
Is asking her to move in with me the smartest decision I’ve ever made? Probably not. Especially since I tend to overthink everything and steer clear of situations that might backfire. But there’s something about Veronica Prescott that pulls me in, something I can’t shake. Maybe that should be my cue to keep my distance, to protect myself. But instead, I’m doing the exact opposite.
I like how she makes me feel—alive, untethered—and I’m not ready to give that up. Not now, and maybe not ever. For once, I want to live in the moment and do what feels right. I’ll deal with the consequences later.