He hadn’t actually planned on staying past the threshold.
That was the lie he’d told himself the whole walk over drop the books off, prove a point, leave before she had the chance to throw him out.
Some half-formed argument about getting ahead of Whitfield’s essay before it buried them both, true, technically, in the same way it was also a cover story he’d built around something he didn’t want to look at too closely.
He was sitting on her floor twenty minutes later, back against her bed frame, a textbook open across his knees that he hadn’t read a single page of, and the lie had stopped being convincing even to him.
“You’re not actually reading that,” Harper said from her desk chair, arms crossed, watching him with the particular suspicion of someone waiting for the catch.
“I’m absorbing it․” “That’s not how reading works․” “It’s how I work․” He turned the page anyway‚ mostly for the effect‚ catching the almost-smile she was trying to smooth away before he could call her on it․ He liked finding the small cracks in the wall between them‚ knowing they were fleeting and gone the second she noticed he’d seen them․ It had grown to be something like a game‚ in the last week‚ though he couldn’t be sure who was winning‚ or if winning was even the right way to think about it․ “You didn’t have to come‚” she said․ “I had a plan․ A whole schedule․ You weren’t part of it․ “Sounds lonely.
Schedules don’t laugh at your jokes.” “Neither do you, most of the time.
You just make your own and laugh at them yourself.” “They’re good jokes.” “They’re really not.” He grinned at that, wider than the comment probably warranted, and let the quiet stretch out after the kind of quiet that didn’t feel like it needed filling, which was new, with her.
Most silences in his life got filled fast, with noise, with someone needing something from him, with the exhausting performance of being Miles Miller in a room full of people who’d already decided what that meant.
This one just sat there, easy, while she typed something into her laptop and he pretended to read a chapter on thematic structure he couldn’t have summarized at gunpoint.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, before he’d fully decided to.
“That depends entirely on the question.” “Fair․” He closed the book and threw it over his shoulder․ He suddenly seemed more interested in the conversation than the reason he’d brought the book․ “Doesn’t it ever get exhausting?
The plan․ The schedule․ Always having the next four things lined up before you’ve finished the first one․” The shadow that had slipped over her face made him think she had not expected to find the question in a place she had to face it․ “It’s not exhausting․ It’s necessary․” “Those aren’t the same thing.” “For me they kind of are․” It was an everyday statement‚ without any particular weight to it‚ and it was the flatness of her voice that made him want to see what was behind it․ “You ever think about what happens if it doesn’t go to plan?
Like – at all․” If the law school thing falls through‚ or the scholarship‚ or whatever’s next on the list․ What then?
She was too quiet for a second․ “I don’t really let myself think about that‚” she said finally‚ careful‚ like she was choosing each word with more weight than the sentence usually required․ “What about you?
You’ve got the draft․ The whole hockey thing․ Doesn’t that come with its own version of the same question?” And there it was the door swinging open in front of him, an opening he hadn’t meant to create and now couldn’t quite step back from.
He considered lying․ He was good at lying‚ or the less serious version‚ making jokes that danced around the truth yet obscured it with laughter before the sound left the room․ He’d done it a hundred times․ He could feel himself reaching for the move now‚ the easy exit‚ the line that would turn this back into banter and let them both off the hook․ “Yeah‚” he said instead‚ quieter than he meant to․ “It does․” She didn’t say anything․ She just looked at him‚ waiting‚ as if she’d actually meant the question and actually wanted the real answer instead of the performance․ “There’s a version of this where the draft doesn’t happen the way everyone thinks it will‚” he said‚ the words coming slower now‚ more careful‚ like he was testing the weight of each one before he let it out․ “Where I don’t go where I’m supposed to go‚ or I get passed over entirely‚ and then there’s nothing left except‚” He stopped himself․ He felt the next sentence rising up behind his teeth except going home‚ except the company‚ except becoming exactly the thing his father’s been grooming me to be since he was eight years old and pulled back hard‚ the way he always did right before something real tried to get out․ “Except what?” Harper asked, leaning forward slightly, and for one disorienting second he genuinely considered telling her.
All of it.
“Except I’d have to find a new party trick,” he said instead, the deflection sliding into place at the last possible second, easy and practiced.
“Hockey’s basically my whole personality.
Without it I’m just a guy with good hair.” She didn’t buy it․ He could see that immediately‚ the way her eyes narrowed slightly‚ the way she opened her mouth like she was about to call him on it directly․ Then a knock at the door․ “That’s probably Sky‚” Harper said‚ standing‚ already moving toward the door․ “She forgets her key constantly‚ I told you‚ ” She pulled the door open mid-sentence.
It wasn’t Sky.
Taylor stood in the hallway, a takeout bag in one hand, the easy, unhurried smile already forming on his face the same smile, Miles realized with a jolt of something he didn’t love examining, that probably greeted Harper every single time he showed up, steady and certain and completely unbothered.
The smile faltered for half a second when his eyes moved past Harper into the room and landed on Miles, sitting on the floor against her bed, textbook abandoned beside him, looking, by any reasonable measure, exactly like a guy who’d been somewhere he had no business being.
“Hey,” Taylor said the warmth in his voice cooling by several degrees.
“I didn’t realize you had company.” “He’s helping with an assignment,” Harper said quickly, stepping back to let him in, the explanation coming out faster than it needed to, which Miles noticed, and which he was fairly sure Taylor noticed too.
“Whitfield’s essay.
We were just—” “Studying.
Sure.” Taylor’s eyes lingered on Miles a beat longer than the situation strictly required, something assessing in the look, quiet and unhurried, before he set the takeout bag down on the desk and turned his attention fully back to Harper, like he was choosing to dismiss whatever he’d just walked into.
“I brought dinner,” he said, voice warming again, settling back into its usual ease.
“Thai.
Your favorite.” “Thank you.” Harper smiled at him, soft, familiar, the kind of smile that came easy because it had years of practice behind it.
And then, without any particular drama, without any performance in it at all, Taylor leaned in and kissed her brief, unhurried, entirely natural, the kiss of two people who’d done this a hundred times before and would do it a hundred times again.
Miles looked away.
He told himself it was politeness․ Privacy․ It was the decent thing to do‚ looking somewhere else while two people who weren’t him had a moment that had nothing to do with him at all․ It didn’t sound the least bit polite․ Something tight and sharp was behind his lower ribs‚ something he had no right to and no name he was willing to give it‚ his jaw set hard before he could stop it‚ and his eyes caught on a spot on the carpet that suddenly seemed very deeply‚ very urgently interesting․ “I should head out‚” he said‚ voice flatter than he meant it to come out‚ already reaching for his bag‚ already standing‚ the easy charm from twenty minutes ago nowhere to be found․ “Let you guys eat․” “You don’t have to․” Harper started․ “I do‚ actually․” He slung the bag over his shoulder‚ didn’t quite look at either of them‚ the muscle in his jaw still tight․ “Tuesday the library same time․” Before she could say anything else‚ he was out the door‚ footsteps quickening down the long hallway‚ and Taylor’s low‚ easy voice in the background‚ asking Harper about her day like nothing at all had just happened․ Miles didn’t really slow down until he reached the stairwell‚ and even as his heart pounded‚ the tightness still hadn’t gone away․