When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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It's not until we're sitting opposite each other on the mattress once I've finished cleaning, disinfecting, and bandaging Preston's cut that he says anything to me. What he says is probably the least surprising thing he ever has, his voice barely audible.
'I'm sorry, Mia.'
'What for?' I question, despite knowing the answer moments after waking up this morning.
'I didn't think.' He's shaking his head with a frown, his eyes darting down to his hands. 'I wasn't thinking straight and maybe I had too much to drink, I don't know, but I shouldn't have–Last night was my fault, and I'm really sorry, but it's–Fuck. Fuck, it's your birthday, and I've ruined–'
'It's okay,' I interrupt, but he's shaking his head harder.
'I've ruined your day and I've fucked everything up between us because I can't–We can't ever be anything, and I shouldn't have–I can't lose you. I don't want to lose–'
'Preston, listen to me,' I interrupt in the most commanding voice I can muster up. 'It's okay. You've not ruined anything, and it's okay.'
I reach for his hand and gesuture my head downwards to force his eyes into mine.
'We're okay,' I say slowly, 'I promise we're okay.'
He doesn't argue this time, but his chest is rising and falling at an unnaturally quick rate. I keep his hand in mine as I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly: a wordless instruction he knows to follow as he repeats the action.
'Nothing's changed. Nothing has to change,' I continue, then repeat, 'we're okay.'
'I'm sorry,' he repeats as he releases my hand, his voice quiet.
'Don't be,' I murmur. 'It was nice.'
He looks down again, his brow furrowed as he plays with his hands. I can practically see his mind racing, but I've got no idea of what he's thinking. I give him time to gather his thoughts, to line them up and make sense of them. A minute passes, maybe two.
'What if it happens again?'
He doesn't lift his head as he speaks, just continues looking at his hands. I know what the right answer is. I know I should tell him it won't happen again, that we won't let it, that we'll be more careful from now on. I know that's the right answer.
What I say, though, is 'then it happens again. And we'll be okay again, just like we are now, and just like we were the first time.'
His expression hardens as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. I anticipate his rebuttal–another shake of his head, maybe even some kind of stunned accusation. Instead, he returns his eyes to mine, then as small as it is quick, nods.
'Although, caveat,' I say lightly, then gesture my head towards his bandaged finger before waving my arms in the general direction of his room's mess. 'You can't do this next time it happens.'
