24. Miles
24
Miles
“ Y ou sure you don’t want to back out?” Veronica asks as I roll my eyes, working with Ford to carry the massive yellow couch out of the apartment. Unlike my place, which is on the second floor, hers is on the ground level, making it much easier to move things out as we load the moving truck.
The boxes pile up as Veronica and Blair sift through them, deciding what’s coming to my place and what’s going into storage. Meanwhile, Ford and I sweat it out, hauling the heavy stuff onto the truck.
“Don’t tempt me,” I struggle, my voice strained. While I appreciate the help with the heavy lifting, I’m not sure his skinny frame was made for this kind of work.
“Sorry, bro. I think it’s too late to back out now, especially now that she’s secured the bag and has that pretty little ring on her finger to prove it,” Blair teases as I thankfully walk backward out the door, no longer having to listen or force a reply.
Ford, seemingly, knows better than to encourage her or say anything else as we struggle to finish this task, carefully setting it down in the truck, beads of sweat dripping down our foreheads. Then again, judging by the way he’s hunched over, breathing heavily with his hands on his knees, I’m not sure the guy even has the strength to say anything right now.
“Don’t worry,” I say, leaning forward and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “We’re almost done with the heavy stuff. Just the bed and the dresser left.”
He tries to speak, or at least I assume so, as his lips twitch, as if trying to form words, but all that comes out is a series of gasps for air, and instead he just nods.
“Maybe let’s take a water break first,” I suggest, more for his sake than mine. With the spring heat kicking in, the thought of water is tempting. But honestly, I’d rather just power through and get it done. Clearly, though, we’re not built the same.
“Sounds good,” he finally manages with a grateful smile.
I bite back a laugh and retreat inside, grabbing the water bottle I’d left on the counter.
“I think we’re killing your boyfriend, Blair,” I joke to my sister from her spot in the kitchen as she continues to wrap the glassware in newspaper and bubble wrap.
“Eh, he’s tougher than he looks,” she says, brushing me off nonchalantly.
“No, I think Miles is right. I might actually be dying. My arms feel like they’re going to fall off,” Ford says, his face pale and his voice shaky as he walks back inside the apartment.
“Aw, don’t worry, babe. Tonight I’ll hook you up with a nice massage.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that,” Ford grins, his voice carrying a suggestive lilt, a tone I don’t exactly appreciate when it comes to my sister.
“Well, that only makes one of us, because I’d rather not know about these massages, or anything else you two choose to do behind closed doors,” I say, my nose wrinkling in disgust.
My sister may be a grown adult, but in my eyes, she’ll always be my little sister. As much as I appreciate Ford and the way he takes care of her, I’d rather not know about the inner workings of their relationship.
“Oh, come on. We’re all adults here,” Blair defends, stuffing a wrapped glass into a brown box.
“And I’m an adult who doesn’t want to know about my sister’s sex life,” I say before shivering. Those are two words I never want to use in the same sentence ever again. “And on that note, I’m going to see if Vee needs any help in the bedroom,” I say, more than ready to make my escape.
“Vee, huh?” Blair asks with a smirk and a wiggle of her eyebrows, but I choose to ignore her yet again.
Turning into the bedroom, I spot Veronica leaning over. I don’t want to come off as a creep, but it’s difficult to resist glancing at her perky, shapely ass, especially in the form-fitting hot-pink yoga pants she’s got on.
Glancing over her shoulder, she sends me a quick smile, either too busy or too kind to acknowledge the fact that I just got caught checking her out. “Sorry, I promise I’m about done. I’ve almost cleared out all the dressers,” she offers as she stands up and stretches her arms out in front of her.
“You’re fine,” I say, moving to take a seat on the stark white mattress that’s been stripped of its comforter and sheets. “Just taking a little break for Ford’s sake and wanted to see if you needed any help in here.”
She lets out a knowing chuckle. “Let me guess, what you’re really wanting a break from is the sugary-sweet, lovey-dovey duo?” she asks, shooting me a teasing grin before turning back to the box that’s already half-full.
“Somewhat. It is a lot, huh?” I muse. Since the moment we got home, they’ve treated us to a front-row display of their constant touching and declarations of love. Though they’ve kept the overt PDA to a minimum, the lingering brushes of their hands and the longing glances leave little doubt that they’re making up for lost time.
“A little,” she admits, pulling open another drawer as she works on clearing that one out too. “Honestly, I love seeing them happy. It’s a total win for the middle school me who predicted this happening. But after everything with Pete—and, well, us—it stings to know that I don’t have that too. So yeah, it’s a little tough to watch.”
I stand up, reaching for the large tape gun and move to tape off the box she’d just finished packing. “Yeah, sorry about that. I hate that I’ve somehow gone and made things even more difficult for you.”
She quickly shakes her head as she looks my way. “No, don’t be. I know our situation is a bit messy,” she admits with a scrunch of her nose, “but honestly, our friendship and knowing I have a place to stay are probably the only reasons I’m not completely losing it right now.”
“I’m just glad I can help,” I say, leaning against the dresser as I watch her continue to sort through the drawer, meticulously separating the contents into two distinct piles.
“You’re a huge help, and I couldn’t be more grateful for you and your sister,” she adds, her dark eyes looking up to meet mine.
My stomach flips as I watch the corners of her lips curve into a smile, lighting up her entire face. I’ve always known is Veronica was a beautiful woman, but damn! When did she get to be this gorgeous? Or have I just always chosen to be this oblivious?
I do my best to smile back, making sure not to reveal the true effect she’s having on me. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice as she returns to sorting through the drawer, until she freezes, her eyes locking onto its nearly empty contents.
My brows furrow. “What? Is everything okay?” I ask, my back straightening.
“I completely forgot that this is where I put it,” she says, lifting the giant rock of a wedding ring. I had known she’d done something with it, since I noticed she’d come back into the car without it the day she ran away, and we left on our trip, but beyond that, I hadn’t given it much thought.
“Fuck. That puts the one I gave you to shame,” I lamely offer, hoping to get her to smile, since clearly seeing that ring again has stirred up a bunch of old emotions.
A forced chuckle escapes her lips, but her eyes remain fixed on the ring as she idly spins it between her fingers. “Yeah, well, it seems like this ring meant about as much as yours does, so a lot of good that did me, huh?” she frowns, her shoulders drooping as she moves to sit on the bed I vacated just moments ago.
“You’re not regretting running away, though, right?” I ask cautiously as I take a seat beside her.
“No.” She sighs, shaking her head. “I just... I can’t believe I let it get that far. I feel so stupid.”
“Hey,” I say, scooting closer as I drape my arm across her shoulders. I’m not usually this touchy-feely, but I find myself willing to do whatever I can to shield her from the pain. “Listen to me, he’s the idiot here, not you. He’s the one who treated you like shit and let someone as amazing as you slip through his fingers. You did nothing wrong, and you weren’t stupid. He led you to believe he was someone else. Nobody can fault you for wanting to see the best in someone you loved. In my book, that doesn’t make you foolish—it makes you brave. You opened yourself up to someone, and that takes guts. If you ask me, it only proves even more how truly amazing you are. He’s the only idiot here, and we both know he never actually deserved you. So please, don’t blame yourself.”
“But I do blame myself,” she says, releasing a shaky breath as the ring falls into her palm and she closes her fist around it. “I should’ve known better. I ignored all the signs, and I let him change me. I let him have control, and—”
I interrupt. “Vee, you have to forgive yourself. Should things have gotten that far? Probably not, but you were in love and giving someone you cared about the benefit of the doubt. He’s the one who took advantage of you and the situation. This isn’t on you. This is all on him,” I continue, my hand gliding softly up and down her arm.
“Do you really expect anyone to see it that way?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at me, her sad, brown eyes meeting mine.
“Honestly? Probably not, at least not in this town. But do you want to know my official motto that gets me through all the bullshit this town puts me through?”
“Hmm?” she hums softly, a questioning tilt to her head.
“Fuck ‘em.”
I thankfully earn a smile as the corners of her lips lift. “That’s really your motto?”
“Yes, and it hasn’t steered me wrong yet. If I let everyone’s thoughts and opinions of me affect me, I’d have gone crazy years ago. The only opinion I care about is Blair’s, and even that is iffy.” I shrug as her smile only grows. “As long as I know my truth and am proud of myself, and stand by the decisions I make, that’s all that really matters.”
She nods, looking down at her closed palm. “Well, unfortunately, I’m not so sure I’m proud of any of my recent decisions. Not only did I wait too long and run away, costing all of us thousands of dollars, but I married my best friend’s older brother on a drunken whim. Pretty sure those aren’t decisions anyone should be proud of.”
I place a hand over my heart as if her words hit me right where it hurts. “Ouch!”
She lets out a playful huff and nestles her head into the space between my shoulder and chest.
“What?” I innocently ask. “I mean, you did just say that you weren’t proud of our marriage. I mean, come on. Way to cut a guy down.”
“Oh, okay,” she starts, clearly not buying what I’m selling. “So, what you’re saying is that you’re happy we got married and have absolutely no regrets?”
“Not exactly, but there are worse people I could have ended up married to.”
“Bullshit!” She laughs, a sound that actually sounds rather magical right about now. “There’s no way Miles from two weeks ago would ever say that there’s possibly someone else he could be married to who’s worse than me.”
My hand drops from around her shoulders and I push myself off the bed. “Well, I’m no longer the same Miles I was two weeks ago,” I admit. “And I have to believe that you aren’t the same person you were back then, either. We’ve both learned from our mistakes, and maybe we’ve also learned that maybe we were wrong and that certain people aren’t always who we think they are or expect them to be.”
Maybe it’s a little different given our two situations. She had to learn her fiancé wasn’t who she wanted him to be, whereas I learned the complete opposite—that Veronica Prescott isn’t who I assumed her to be, either—she’s so much better.
“Don’t tell me you might actually like me now,” she teases, pushing herself off the bed and closing the space between us.
In the past I probably would have taken a step back, wanting distance, but instead, I find myself stepping toward her, our bodies almost touching.
“And what if I do?” I ask, my eyes searching hers before they involuntarily fall to her perfectly plump pink lips. Plump, pink, and entirely kissable.
“Pretty sure I should be the one asking you that question right?” she says, her voice lowering to an almost whisper.
“So, are we ready to move this dresser now, or what?” Ford’s annoyingly deep voice cuts in, breaking the moment as I leap back.
“Oh, uh,” I ramble, scratching the back of my neck. “I guess that depends on Vee, here,” I say, my eyes falling back to the small, dark-haired woman whose charm has me completely under her spell.
“Almost ready,” she says, scurrying back toward the dresser as she continues to sort through one of the drawers. “But, uh, the bed is ready to move if you want to get that out of here,” she suggests over her shoulder.
“Yeah, we can do that,” I say, letting out a strangled sound before turning toward a seemingly oblivious Ford, who adjusts his glasses and nods.
“Alright, sounds good,” he agrees, moving toward the other side of the bed.
While a part of me has been dreading carrying the rest of the heavy stuff out, especially since I seem to be doing the majority of the heavy lifting, another part of me is relieved. If there’s one thing I could use right now, it’s a distraction and a release, since I should definitely not be thinking about Veronica Prescott’s lips, especially how good I know they’d feel against mine.
Yes, some physical exertion and maybe a cold shower later are exactly what I need.