I can’t explain what happens to me, because I don’t know. But it’s as if every single thing he’s ever said and done that’s hurt me impales me all at once. I want to scream at him. I want to hate him. I want to know what the hell happened that made him capable of saying things that can hurt me more than any other words have ever come close to doing.

I’m tired of treading water.

I’m tired of pretending it’s not killing me to want to know everything about him.

I’m tired of pretending he’s not everywhere. Everything. My only thing.

“What did she do to you?” I whisper.

“Don’t,” he says. The word is a warning. A threat.

I’m so tired of seeing the pain in his eyes and not knowing the reason for it. I’m tired of not knowing what words are off-limits with him.

“Tell me.”

He looks away from me. “Go home, Tate.” He turns around and grips the edge of the counter, dropping his head between his shoulders.

“Fuck you.” I turn and exit the kitchen. When I reach the living room, I hear him coming after me, so I speed up. I make it to the front door and open it, but his palm meets the door above my head, and he slams it shut.

I squeeze my eyes tightly, bracing for whatever words are about to completely slay me, because I know they will.

His face is right next to my ear, and his chest is pressed against my back. “That’s what we’ve been doing, Tate. Fucking. I’ve made that clear from day one.”

I laugh, because I don’t know what else to do. I turn around and look up at him. He doesn’t back away, and he’s so much more intimidating in this moment than I’ve ever seen him be before.

“You think you’ve made that clear?” I ask him. “You are so full of shit, Miles.”

He still doesn’t move, but his jaw tenses. “How have I not been clear? Two rules. Can’t get any simpler than that.”

I laugh incredulously, then get everything off my chest at once. “There’s a huge difference between f**king someone and making love to them. You haven’t f**ked me in more than a month. Every time you’re inside me, you’re making love to me. I can see it in the way you look at me. You miss me when we aren’t together. You think about me all the time. You can’t even wait ten seconds to walk in your own front door before coming to see me. So don’t you dare try to tell me you’ve been clear from day one, because you are the murkiest goddamn man I’ve ever met.”

I breathe.

I breathe for the first time in what feels like a month.

He can do what he wants with all that. I’m done trying.

He blows out a steady, controlled breath while he backs several steps away from me. He winces and turns around as if he doesn’t want me to read the emotions that are obviously present somewhere deep within him. His hands grip the back of his neck tightly, and he remains in this position for a solid minute without moving. He begins to blow out steady breath after steady breath, as if he’s doing everything in his power to pull himself together and not cry. My heart begins to ache when I realize what’s happening.

He’s breaking.

“Oh, God,” he whispers. His voice is completely pain-ridden. “What am I doing to you, Tate?”

He walks to the wall and falls against it, then slides to the floor. His knees come up, and he rests his elbows on them, covering his face with his hands to stop his emotions. His shoulders begin to shake, but he’s not making a sound.

He’s crying.

Miles Archer is crying.

It’s the same heart-wrenching cry that came from him the night I met him.

This grown man, this wall of intimidation, this solid veil of armor, he’s completely crumbling right in front of my eyes.

“Miles?” I whisper. My voice is weak compared with his massive silence. I walk to him and lower myself to my knees in front of him. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and lower my head to his.

I don’t ask him what’s wrong again, because now I’m terrified to know.

Chapter thirty-two

MILES

Six years earlier

Lisa loves Clayton.

My dad loves Clayton.

Clayton fixes families.

He’s already my hero, and he’s only two days old.

Shortly after my dad and Lisa leave, Ian arrives. He says he

doesn’t want to hold Clayton, but Rachel makes him. He’s

uncomfortable, because he’s never held a baby before, but he

holds him.

“Thank God he looks like Rachel,” Ian says.

I agree with him.

Ian asks Rachel if I ever told her what I said to him after I met

her.

I don’t know what he’s talking about.

Ian laughs.

“After he walked you to class that first day, he took a picture of

you from his seat,” Ian tells her. “He texted it to me and said,

‘She’s gonna have all my babies.’ ”

Rachel looks at me.

I shrug.

I’m embarrassed.

Rachel loves that I said that to Ian. I love that Ian told her that.

The doctor comes in and tells us we can go home now. Ian

helps me take everything to the car and pull it up to the exit.

Before I go back to Rachel’s room, Ian touches my shoulder. I

turn around and face him.

I get the feeling he wants to tell me congratulations, but

instead, he just hugs me.

It’s awkward, but it’s not. I like that he’s proud of me.

It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing this right.

Ian leaves.

So do we.

Me and Rachel and Clayton.

My family.

I want Rachel in the front seat with me, but I love that she’s

riding in the back with him. I love how much she loves him. I

love that I’m attracted to her even more now that she’s a mom.

I want to kiss her. I want to tell her I love her again, but I think

I tell her way too much. I don’t ever want her to get tired of

hearing it.

“Thank you for this baby,” she says from the backseat. “He’s

beautiful.”

I laugh. “You’re responsible for the beautiful part, Rachel. The

only thing he got from me was his balls.”

She laughs. She laughs hard. “Oh, my God, I know,” she says.

“They’re so big.”

We both laugh at our son’s big balls.

She sighs.

“Rest,” I tell her. “You haven’t slept in two days.”

I see her smile in the rearview mirror. “But I can’t stop staring

at him,” she whispers.

I can’t stop staring at you, Rachel.

But I do stop, because the oncoming traffic is brighter than it

should be.

My hands grip the steering wheel.

Too bright.

I’ve always heard your life flashes before your eyes in the

moments before you die.

In a sense, that’s true.

However, it doesn’t come at you in sequence or even in

random order.

It’s just one picture that

STICKS

in your head and becomes everything you feel and everything

you see.

It’s not your actual life that flashes before your eyes.

What flashes before your eyes are the people who are your life.

Rachel and Clayton.

All I see is the two of them—my whole life—flash before my

eyes.

The sound becomes everything.

Everything.

Inside me, outside me, through me, under me, over me.

RACHEL, RACHEL, RACHEL.

I can’t find her.

CLAYTON, CLAYTON, CLAYTON.

I’m wet. It’s cold. My head hurts. My arms hurt.

I can’t see her, I can’t see her, I can’t see her, I can’t see him.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

DEAFENING SILENCE.

“Miles!”

I open my eyes.

It’s wet, it’s wet, there’s water, it’s wet.

Water is in the car.

I unbuckle my seat belt and turn around. Her hands are on his

car seat. “Miles, help me! It’s stuck!”

I try.

I try again.

But she needs to get out, too.

She needs to get out, too.

I kick my window and break the glass. I saw it in a movie once.

Make sure there’s a way out before there’s too much pressure on the

windows.

“Rachel, get out! I’ve got him!”

She tells me no. She won’t stop trying to get him out.

I’ll get him, Rachel.

She can’t get out. Her seat belt is stuck. It’s too tight.

I let go of the car seat and reach for her seat belt. My hands are

underwater when I find it.

She slaps at my arms and attempts to push me away from her.

“Get him first!” she screams. “Get him out first!”

I can’t.

They’re both stuck.

You’re stuck, Rachel.

Oh, God.

I’m scared.

Rachel is scared.

The water is everywhere. I can’t see him anymore.

I can’t see her.

I can’t hear him.

I reach for her seat belt again.

I get it off her.

I grab her hands. Her window isn’t broken.

Mine is.

I pull her forward. She’s fighting me.

She’s fighting me.

She stops fighting me.

Fight me, Rachel.

Fight me.

Move.

Someone is reaching in through my window.

“Give me her hand!” I hear him yell.

The water is coming in through my window now.

The entire backseat is water.

Everything is water.

I give him Rachel’s hand. He helps me get her out.

Everything is water.

I try to find him.

I can’t breathe.

I try to find him.

I can’t breathe.

I try to save him.

I want to be his hero.

I can’t breathe.

So I just stop.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

DEAFENING SCREAM.

I cover my ears with my hands.

I cover my heart with armor.

I cough until I can breathe again.

I open my eyes. We’re in a boat.

I look around. We’re on a lake.

I bring my hand up to my jaw.

My hand is red.

Covered in blood as red as Rachel’s hair.

Rachel.

I find Rachel.

Clayton.

I don’t find Clayton.

I push up on my hands and move to the edge of the boat.

I need to find him.

Someone stops me. Someone pulls me back.

Someone won’t let me.

Someone is telling me it’s too late.

Someone tells me he’s sorry.

Someone tells me we can’t get to him.

Someone tells me we went over the bridge after the impact.

Someone tells me he’s so sorry.

I move to Rachel, instead.

I try to hold her, but she won’t let me. She’s screaming.

Sobbing. CRYING. WAILING.

She hits me.

She kicks me.

She says I should have saved him instead.

But I tried to save you both, Rachel.

“You should have saved him, Miles!” she cries.

You should have saved him.

You should have saved him.

I should have saved HIM.

She’s screaming.

Sobbing. CRYING. WAILING.

I hold her anyway.

I let her hit me.

I let her hate me.

Rachel hates me.

I hold her anyway.

Rachel cries, but she’s quiet. She’s crying so hard her throat can’t even make a sound. Her body is crying, but her voice is not.

Ruined.

Ruined.

RUINED.

I cry with her. I cry and I cry and I cry and I cry and we cry and we cry and we cry.

Ruined.

The water is everything now.

I look at Rachel. I only see water.

I close my eyes. I only see water.

I look up at the sky. I only see water.

It hurts so much. I never knew a heart could hold the weight of the entire world.

I don’t make Rachel’s life better anymore.

I ruined you, Rachel.

My family.

Me and you and Clayton.

RUINED.

You can’t love me after this, Rachel.

Chapter thirty-three

TATE

My hands are on him, rubbing his back, touching his hair. He’s crying, and the only thing I can do is tell him never mind. I want to tell him to forget everything I said tonight. I want to do whatever I can to take this pain away from him, because whatever happened shouldn’t matter. Whatever happened, no one deserves to feel the way he’s feeling right now.

I move his arms from his face, then slide onto his lap. I hold his face in my hands and tilt it to mine. He keeps his eyes closed. “I don’t have to know, Miles.”

His arms wrap around my back, and he buries his face against my chest. His labored breaths come faster as he tries to push back his emotions. My arms are wrapped around his head, and I kiss his hair, then trail kisses down the side of his head until he pulls back and looks up at me.

No amount of armor in the world and no wall no matter how thick could hide the devastation in his eyes right now. It’s so prominent, and there’s so much of it, I have to hold my breath so I don’t cry with him.

What happened to you, Miles?

“I don’t have to know,” I whisper again, shaking my head.

His hands move to the back of my head, and he presses his mouth to mine, hard and painfully. He moves forward until my back is against the floor. His hands pull at my shirt, and he’s kissing me desperately, furiously, filling my mouth with the taste of his tears.

I let him use me to get rid of his pain.

I’ll do whatever he wants me to do as long as he stops hurting like he’s hurting.

He slips his hand beneath my skirt and begins to pull down my underwear at the same time as I hook my thumbs onto the h*ps of his jeans and push them down. My panties make it to my ankles, and I kick them off, just as he takes both my hands and pushes them above my head, pressing them to the floor.

He drops his forehead to mine but doesn’t kiss me. He closes his eyes, but I keep mine open. He wastes no time pushing himself between my legs, spreading them wider. He moves his forehead to the side of my head, then slides into me slowly. When he’s all the way inside me, he exhales, releasing some of his pain. Taking his mind away from whatever horror he just went through.