"And?"
"And that was it. I wrote a song about it. I felt a little better. Every time I wanted to hit someone, I wrote a song instead."
"But then..." I pull my hands away and hug my chest. "How did you start doing drugs?"
"He had cancer. In his pancreas. The prognosis was bad. I freaked. Ran from it. Started as a few drinks to numb the pain. Then it was anything I could get my hands on. I only stopped because Tom threatened to kick me out of the band, and I didn't want my uncle to die thinking I was that same stupid kid who kept running away."
My heart pounds against my chest. Miles went through so much. There's still a lingering pain in his eyes.
Be brave, live.
This isn't the kind of pain that goes away with a few hugs and kisses. I can't take away his. He can't take away mine. We're both stuck until we find our way out.
"I was in rehab when he died. That was the part that hurt the most, that he was alone because I was kept stewing in self-pity."
"But you weren't stewing anymore," I say. "You were confronting it head on."
"Yeah. Maybe." He slides a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about my recovery. I knew it would be a big deal to you, and I didn't want to lose whatever it was we had."
I hug myself a little tighter. "Okay."
"It's not a good excuse. I was wrong. And I really am sorry."
"Thank you." I stare into Miles's eyes, at all the pain I can't take away. At this point, I'm not sure that sorry is good enough.
"I like you, Meg. I really do. And I'm pretty sure you like me, too."
"I do, but..."
"No but." He takes my hands, unwraps them, and pulls my body into his. "That's all we need to know."
He's so warm, and it does feel damn good pressed against him. But that tension is still in my chest. "I'm sorry. I understand why you lied, but I still can't trust you."
He steps back. "Could you?"
"I don't know. But, Miles, I want to be with someone who loves me, who wants to share his feelings with me because he loves me and trusts me, and not because it's the only way he can win me over."
He studies my words like they're poetry. "I can do that."
"Maybe. But it doesn't feel like it to me." I pull the jacket tight around my chest. "I'm sure you have good intentions, but I'm not going to be 'some girl,' and I'm not going to be lied to." I turn. The neighboring street is wide and clean and completely empty. "Can you take me home?"
"Yeah." He presses his palm into the small of my back. "I really am sorry."
"Me too."
In more ways than one.
***
Miles still has my suitcase in his trunk. He brings it all the way to my apartment door.
"I'd like to come in," he says.
I shake my head. "I'm not up for that...any of that right now." I fiddle with my key. "Finals start Monday. I've got to turn everything off so I can study."
He nods. "When are you done?"
"The twelfth."
"I'll see you on the twelfth."
He slides his hands around my waist, pulls my body into his, and kisses me. Heat floods my body. It's sweet and hot, and delicate all at once.
"Bye, Meg."
I nod. I don't manage to catch my breath until I hear the elevator doors shut behind him.
***
Finals fly by in a sticky mess of anxiety. After our last test, Kara and I crash on her couch and take turns picking movies to marathon. Some time around midnight, I turn my phone on.
It's been a week since I've seen anything but my school email.
The screen flashes on. Those little bars appear next to the connection icon. Notifications pop up—a dozen mixed text messages and one voicemail.
I check the texts. Mostly little things—one from my mom about vacation, one from Kara, a bunch from the people in my study group.
The voicemail is from Miles.
Kara can read the look on my face. "Put it on speaker?"
"Okay." I'm going to need someone to talk me down.
I tap the play button. There's a burst of static, then it's Miles.
"Hey, Meg. I know you asked me, well screamed at me as you were rushing out of the house, not to write any more songs about you. But I couldn't abide by those terms. The single is dropping Thursday, so you're not going to be able to escape from this thing. This is the acoustic version, but you'll get the idea."
My heart collects in my throat. A song. He wrote another song about me.
It's what he does when he doesn't want to run away from his feelings.
There's the strum of a guitar. It's a pleasant melody, but it stirs up something inside of me. Something uncomfortable. I go to delete the message, but Kara grabs the phone.
"No chance in hell." She climbs on top of the couch to hold the phone over my head.
It's all over.
I'm ga-ga out of my head,
one of those idiots
I always made fun of.
Everyone said, “boy can't you see
that girl is crazy about you.”
Just shook my head.
“No way, not her, she's even
as the number two.”
His voice is heavy, but there's something sweet about it, too.
It's all over.
That flutter in my chest.
Love, funny word,
what the hell does it mean?
Everyone said, “boy can't you see
that girl is crazy about you.”
Just shook my head
“No way, not her, she's even
as the number two.”
Air escapes my lungs. It's perfect.
It's all over.
I surrender.
First time I ever have.
"Holy shit." Kara's jaw drops. "I was waiting to show you this." She jumps to her computer and pulls up the page on some gossip site. "In case you never wanted to hear another word about him."
She turns the screen so it's facing me. Sinful Serenade Singer Gets Hot New Tattoo. There's a picture of Miles beneath it, shirtless, of course, and right above his chest, opposite Be Brave, Live, reads Megara.
Holy shit.
I try a deep breath. Nothing is happening. My stomach flip-flops. I'm queasy all over. He got my name as a tattoo. He got my name as a tattoo. My. Name. Tattoo.
"There's more." Kara points to the middle of the article.
When reached for comment, Miles Webb had one of his trademarked cheeky replies.
"I made a deal with this friend of mine, that if I ever fell in love with someone, I'd get her name tattooed on my chest. What can I say? I'm a man of my word."
We asked how he felt this would affect his reputation for extracurricular activities (let's face it—the man is a slut!) he laughed right in our faces, well, right into our cell phones.
"I doubt it will be any harder to take home women. I mean, look at me. But I don't care about other women. The only woman I want is Meg. If she won't have me, then I'll be alone. No one else could ever compare to her."
Kara grabs my shoulders, turning me so we're face to face. "You okay? You want me to beat him up and smash every computer that ever saw a fragment of the MP3?"
I shake my head.
"Talk to me, sweetie."
"He loves me."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he does," she says.
"He's so...how the hell do I respond to this?"
She smiles. "I have an idea."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kara presses her phone to her ear. She paces around the apartment shaking her head. She's totally frantic.
"How are you not freaking out?" she asks.
"It's a lot to take in. I'm not sure how I feel."
She shakes her head and throws her phone onto the couch. "Drew isn't picking up. But they're probably at the house."
"It's almost one a.m."
"And the guy you love sent you a declaration. This is no time to wait!" She grabs her backpack
and nearly tears it apart in search of her keys and wallet. "You okay wearing that?"
I look at my finals outfit. It's jeans and a t-shirt, not the thing of romantic declarations. I should throw on a princess dress and heels, something that would look as dramatic as this feels.
"Fuck it, wear that or I'm dressing you. You have five seconds to decide," she says.
"Will it be slutty?"
"Three seconds."
"Okay, dress me. No. It doesn't matter. Let's just go."
"Good thinking." She lunges for her phone, wraps her hand around my wrist, and nearly drags me outside. "I wish you could drive stick. I'm so nervous for you."
My heart thuds against my chest. My head is still swimming. Miles loves me. He trusts me. He respects me. This is everything I want.
"I'm so nervous for me," I say.
She fumbles with the lock. Checks the door twice. Then she drags me to her car.
Kara drives like a maniac. She breezes through yellow lights on her way to the freeway. She's at seventy, eighty, almost ninety.
"I'd rather get there alive," I say.
She slows down, but her fingers are tight around the wheel. She's almost more nervous than I am, but I don't think that's technically possible. My stomach is tied up in knots. My heart is thumping against my chest like it's the freaking Jaws theme. And my breath—it's technically impossible, but I'm pretty sure I haven't taken a breath since I heard the song.
Kara pulls off the freeway. The Sinful mansion is way up in the Hollywood Hills. It's still another ten minutes to their place. Breathing would go a long way toward arriving alive.
I force myself to inhale, but it only heightens the tingling sensation in my body. The song might not mean he wants me. It might be an apology or an admission that ends in sorry, but it's over.
I close my eyes and force myself to exhale. Kara is here. Whatever happens, I'll survive.
But I'd much rather survive with Miles.
We turn onto one of the local streets, and we drive up, up, up the winding roads into the hills. The lights are on in the house, and Miles's car is in the driveway. His bike is there, too.
He must be here.
Kara parks and jumps out of the car. She's back to bouncing around, ready to knock down anything in her way. She's on my side this time. Thank God. I need the ally.
I climb out of the car. My feet feel wobbly. I'm in sneakers, but I can barely stand. Jelly. My legs are jelly. I press my palm against the car to stay upright.
What if he asks me to get lost? What if I misinterpreted everything?
"Come on." Kara grabs my hand and pulls me up the stone steps.
Somehow, I don't slip. I make it all the way to the oversized front door. Knock. I need to knock. I curl my fingers into a fist and tap it against the door. It barely makes a sound.
"I think I'm going to faint," I whisper.
Kara shakes her head. "You've got this." She presses the doorbell.
Ding. Dong. It really does make that sound, like the game we played when we were kids where we’d press the neighbor's doorbell, run away, and watch to see if they came out.
Ding Dong Ditch. And it sounds like a fantastic idea. Run away, never face Miles, never get the crushing news that he doesn't love me.
The door opens. Damn. That means we lose the game. It's Tom, and he's halfway undressed. Jeans. No t-shirt, no shoes. There's giggling in the background. Some girl. His conquest of the day.
Or Miles's conquest of the day.
My heart thuds. If it keeps beating this fast and hard, it's going to burst right out of my chest.
"Jesus, what did he do now?" Tom asks.
Kara sticks her tongue out. She presses the door open. Tom stumbles back. He almost falls on his ass, but somehow manages to recover.
"Come in, please." He rolls his eyes. "Should I call him? I don't even know where to start—if you're here for Drew or Miles or some sick group sex."
"Sad you're not invited?" Kara asks.
Tom points to the kitchen. There's a petite blond on the table, and she's down to her bra and panties. Good for him, I guess.
"So, yes?" Kara rolls her eyes. "I'm more than happy to storm up to Miles's room and drag him down here."
"Give me a minute," Tom says. He makes some kind of signal to the half-naked woman. His lips purse and he exhales in a dramatic sigh. "He's fucking devastated, you know."
"Just get him," I say.
"You want to tell me what this is about?"
"Meg needs to speak with Miles. Get him or I will," Kara says.
"What do they need to speak about?"
She glares at him like he's the source of all evil in the universe. "They're in love."
Tom raises an eyebrow. He looks at me as if to ask is this shit true? I nod. As far as I know.
He finally drops the pout. "I hope you're right. But, I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way." He pulls out his phone and dials Miles.
There's the faint sound of a ring. A door opens. Footsteps
Miles appears at the top of the stairs. "You can't walk one fucking flight, Tom?" His eyes find mine, and the irritated scowl drops off his face.
He looks nervous. Miles, the rock star sex god, is nervous because of me.
"Meg. Hey." He clutches the banister on his way down the stairs. "Everything okay?"
I open my mouth, but no sounds come out. It's too sticky. Deep breath. "I heard your song."
His lips curl into the tiniest smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I press my fingers against my hips. "That one about me, too?"
He reaches the bottom of the stairs. "I haven't fallen in love with any other girls this year."
My breath catches in my throat. He said...he must mean...he must...
I'm dizzy. My legs are wobbly. "You, um, did you mean what you said?"
"Every word." He takes a step towards me. "Though, technically, I sang them."
"Technically."
Miles sends Tom the evil eye. "A little privacy, maybe?"
"Hell no." He raises his voice. "Drew, Pete, you fuckers here to see this?"
"It's okay," I say. "They can stay."
Miles is five feet away. "I usually write songs to avoid these kinds of declarations."
"You're screwed now. You have an audience and expectations."
He smirks. "If there's anything I know how to do, it's put on a show."
"All I want is the truth."
One more step. He's six inches from me. He brushes a hair behind my ear. "I love you, Meg. I had something perfect right under my nose, and it took me forever to realize it. But I realize it now."
Tom's jaw drops. "YOU FUCKERS ARE MISSING OUT!"
A bedroom door slams and Pete appears at the top of the stairs. He spots Miles. "He's out of his room?"
Miles shakes his head. "They're really ruining the moment."
"No, it's perfect."
He slides his hand around my waist. "I'm not good at this relationship thing, but I want to do it with you."
"You sure?"
"Positive." He pulls me closer. "If you're willing to forgive me for being an utter idiot."
"Yeah." I lean into him. "The biggest idiot."
"I'll take that as a yes."
He presses his lips into mine. All of our other kisses were amazing. All of our other kisses set my body on fire. But this one is on another level. It's like every bit of need in him is pouring into me, like he's prying himself open for me and showing me all the ways he hurts.
The kiss breaks, and I pull back. I stare into his gorgeous eyes. "I love you, too."
And, I swear to God, he melts.
The world is spinning around me. There's clapping. It's Tom, I think. Then it's Kara, and Pete. I look around the room, and Drew is there, too.
They're clapping, but it's not like this is silly. It's like they mean it.
Miles leans a little closer. "Assholes were convinced I'd die miserable and alone."
"Utter assholes."
"I'd say let's give them a free show, but I want you all to myself."
He presses his lips against mine again. It's as sweet as the first kiss, but it's hotter. It's so hot, I'm pretty sure I'm going to ignite.
"Okay, I think that's my cue," Kara says. "You're taking her home tomorrow."
"Stay," Pete calls out. "We're going to have to blast a movie if we want to hear anything besides Miles screaming in ecstasy." He laughs. "Though, Meg, you're free to make as much noise as you want."
"That's my girlfriend, asshole," Miles says. "If that's okay with you."
My body fills with warmth. "Absolutely."
"Yeah, well, your girlfriend sounds hot," Pete says.
"You're lucky I'm preoccupied, or I'd kick your ass." Miles leads me up the stairs. "Tom, berate Pete about the loud phone sex."
"Anytime." Tom sends us a salute.
We pass Drew and Pete. My cheeks burn, and I mouth thank you. Pete winks at me. I'm pretty sure Miles sees it, but I don't think he cares.
We're going to be preoccupied for the rest of the night.
EPILOGUE
Miles squeezes my hand. "You ready?"
Deep breath. Almost. Yeah. I think I am. No, I absolutely am. I nod. "Yes."
"Do the honors." He takes my hand and places it on the computer mouse.
Eyes open. The cursor hovers over "Submit Application." Okay. I can do this. I press my finger down until the mouse clicks.
Submitting...
Thank you for submitting to Harvard Medical School. Check your email for a submission confirmation.
I let out something suspiciously close to a scream. "Oh my God." I throw my arms around Miles and kiss him like the Goddamn ship is going down.
His body relaxes into mine. He digs his hands into my hair and pulls our lips apart. "Honey, you have six of these to go. I can't take the blue balls if you do this every time."
"Too bad."
"Your parents will hear."
"Too bad for them."
"Oh yeah?" He slides his hand under my wool skirt and runs his fingers over the seam of my tights. "Better get these off."
"Okay, point taken." I navigate to the next page. Yale. Aim high, right? I squeeze Miles with one hand and with the other...
Click!
Submitting...
Thank you for submitting to Yale Medical School.
Sing Your Heart Out Page 22