He sighs, and I stay in his arms, safe from seeing his expression—safe from him seeing mine.
“No one sees you as anything less than wonderful, as long as you let us in.”
“Maggie.”
The sound of my name is hoarse and pained, and though I’m in Miles’s arms, it’s another voice I hear, coupled with a roaring of wind.
I look to the door, and there stands Griffin, brown eyes glossy with what can only be the effect of a drink too many. But his cheeks burn red from the cold, and his whole body shakes.
“Oh my God, Griffin. Where’s your coat? How long were you out there?”
I break free of Miles’s warmth and move toward him, forgetting for the moment how this night was supposed to go and how very differently it went instead.
“You’re freezing,” I say, as I raise my palm to his wind-burned cheek. No sooner does my skin meet his than he flinches away.
“I’m fine. I don’t feel anything.”
I see the anger and hurt and inebriation burning in his glassy eyes. The first two tear at my heart. I did this to him. But seeing him in this state fuels my anger as well. He has a choice, to self-destruct or not.
“You’re drunk, too,” I say, taking a step back. “Damn it, Griffin. I thought you were done with this crap.”
“I thought you were going to show up tonight. I guess we both get a gold star for disappointment.” Despite his intoxication, his words are clear, his voice calm. But the underlying ache breaks me. I can’t do this. We can’t do this, be the constant source of each other’s disappointment. Griffin hasn’t been drunk the entire time I’ve known him. I won’t be the reason he falls back into these habits, not when he is finally turning things around.
Miles strides up next to me, placing a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. “I’m okay,” I tell him, doing everything in my power to mirror the evenness of Griffin’s voice, to mask my pain better than his. “We have to do this.”
A clean break. No bad feelings. We just walk away. We’re too far gone for that, aren’t we? I’ll have to make him believe I’m not. I can’t be the one to send him back down this road.
“I texted you,” he says. “I even called over here when your phone went to voicemail. I thought something had happened to you.” He breathes in a ragged breath, and I want to tell him I’m sorry. That it’s my fault he’s hurting. I should tell him I’m not ready for this, that I need help, that I’m not okay on my own yet. But his pity will kill me even more than his hurt. So I say nothing to make this easier on him in the short-term. He’s better off hurting now before things get too far. Before I admit how much I’ve already fallen for him.
“I was with Miles.” Miles stands only a foot or so behind me, leaning on the counter, and I can feel the tension seeping off his skin. He’ll get over his anger at what I’m doing. Griffin will, too. We all will. That’s what I keep telling myself. Eventually, I’ll believe it.
“I know,” Griffin says, his voice low. His body still trembles, and it takes everything in me not to go to him, to throw my arms around him.
“Griffin, you’re shaking. Let me get you some coffee or tea. I think I have your Minnesota sweatshirt in the back.”
“I don’t want a sweatshirt, Maggie.” Anger tinges his voice now. Frustration. “I want to know why. Why let it go on this long? Why come to Chicago? Why let me believe…”
“Griffin, I don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t…”
“You knew,” he says. “You knew what tonight meant to me—to us. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not enough of an asshole to promise you something I have no intention of actually delivering.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Because knowing this has to end, that neither of us are ready for the other, I can’t bear him thinking the last few weeks meant nothing.
“I should have called,” I say, hating the taste of the lie.
His hands rake through his hair, gripping the waves tight before dropping to his sides. It’s then I notice his sandy waves are darker than normal. They’re damp, as is his shirt. When I look past him, out the window, I note the flurries that must have started after Miles and I got inside.
“So this wasn’t your way of teaching me some sort of lesson?” he asks. “Because obviously I failed, right? I mean, look at me. I’m exactly where I was a month ago. Hell, I’m exactly where I was two years ago, falling for the wrong person, trusting when I should have known better. Did you lie about him, too? Because things look pretty cozy. He does get to take you home, right?”