“Maybe you will be.” And god, that would be the dream. I’d stepped into Micah’s world, but if he let me pull him into mine, just for a bit—just every now and then—I wasn’t sure I’d survive having that much joy.
But I would sure as hell try.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MICAH
“Alright, that’s it.”
I lifted my head from the squashed couch pillow and turned my ear toward Caleb’s voice. “What am I doing to piss you off now?” Besides fucking Vanya, which Caleb figured out, and he was a little sore about it.
Mostly because he wasn’t used to being turned down.
“If you’re going to literally rot on my couch for all your scratched days, you have to tell me why.”
“Fuck off.”
The couch shuddered as he dropped his ass on the back, and his hand swiped out until it smacked the side of my head. “I’m being serious. You can’t go home, but you won’t tell me why. You don’t go impose yourself on your other friends or Jonah, but you won’t talk about that either. You act like the fucking boogeyman is after you every time your phone rings. Explain yourself.”
My stomach twisted. “Caleb, will you just…”
The doorbell rang loudly, cutting me off, and Caleb hopped off the chair and shuffled down the hall. It was probably some dickhead buying his ugly sculptures or jewelry. Not something I had to deal with, so I buried my face back in the pillow and tried not to suffocate on my carbon dioxide exhale.
Monoxide?
Whatever non-oxygen thing humans produced. I had never been good at biology.
I could hear voices in the hallway, and I bristled. Caleb rarely let his customers into the house, so if there were people here, that meant?—
“There he fuckin’ is!”
Tucker. Grand. Absolutely fucking fantastic.
“Dude, we thought you were dead.”
Ah. And there was Ford. I had to assume Killian was with him, and probably Amedeo. Hugo would probably sit this out if it were an intervention, which meant Boden would too.
But there was a good chance that…
“Where the fuck is he?”
Yep. Jonah had tagged along.
“The gang’s all here,” Caleb said loudly. “Sit your raggedy, unshowered ass up because you’re going to either come clean, or we’re going to beat it out of you.”
I felt like throwing up on my feet, which would be disgusting since I had socks on, but I really wasn’t sure I was going to be able to hold down the Diet Coke I’d managed to drink half an hour ago.
“Um…guys. He looks pale.” That was Amedeo. Quiet and sweet and very pragmatic. The couch shifted, and I was pretty sure he was the one sitting next to me. “Are you okay?”
“Nope. So you all can fuck off?—”
“It’s my house. If anyone’s fucking off,” Caleb said, “it’s you. But actually—” His voice softened. “—we’re all worried, okay? You look like shit, you’re not sleeping, you’re not eating. Something obviously happened, and whatever it is, it’s not getting better.”
I wanted to cry. Or scream. Maybe punch someone.
The bigger part of me was sick and tired of this mess, and I really just wanted to unload this goddamn burden. But not like this. Not in front of a fucking crowd.
“Micah.” That was Jonah. I hadn’t heard him move, but he was next to me now. “Take a walk with me.”
