I look down at my hands unsure what to say.
“He was off at the studio. Dean mentioned it. He’s been distant all week. He’s just scared of how much this matters.” Sadie explains it simply. “Mikey doesn’t know what to do with wanting something like this.”
That hits deeper than I expect.
She takes my hand in hers. “He thinks if he creates space first, it won’t wreck him later.”
I nod slowly. That’s exactly what it felt like. “So, what do I do?”
“You tell him what you want.”
I make a face. You would think as a psychologist I’d be better at confrontation, but I’m not. Sadie chuckles and squeezes my fingers. “Not aggressively. Not dramatically. Just tell him what you’re thinking. Give him the chance to stop running.”
Lily steps out in ivory silk and everything shifts to tears and applause, but my mind stays steady. I know what I need to do now.
The door clicks open and music spills out softly; something low and instrumental. He’s sitting on the couch, elbows on knees, staring at nothing in particular. He looks up immediately when I walk in and all I absorb from him is relief. He tries to hide it by leaning back, stretching his arm across the back of the couch like he wasn’t just watching the door. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I set my purse down and kick off my shoes. He stands like he’s unsure whether to hug me or not. I don’t give him time to decide. I walk up to him and place my hands on his chest. His body goes still. “You don’t have to push me away just because you think I’m leaving.”
There it is. The crack. His breath stutters like I punched something invisible. “I’m not-”
“You are.” I stare up into his golden-brown eyes.
His hands slide to my waist slowly, like he’s bracing himself.
“You’ve been loud. Distant. Careful. Then reckless.” I keep my voice steady. “You’re trying to convince yourself this doesn’t matter.”
His brow furrows. “Because I can’t stand the thought of you leaving.” What he says next bursts out of him raw and unfiltered. “I can’t stand the thought of coming home and not seeing your shoes by the door. Or your stupid little notes. Or you stealing my hoodies and pretending they’re yours.” His voice is shaking now. “I can’t stand the thought of you not being in my bed. I want you there. Every night.”
He steps closer. “I want you reading the dirty parts of your book out loud. I want you complaining that I put too much garlic in everything. I want you falling asleep on the couch while I cook dinner when you pretend you aren’t tired. I want you here when I wake up.” His voice cracks completely. “I didn’t expect you to feel like home. And I don’t know how to go back from that. And that scares the hell out of me.”
Silence fills the space. I slide my hand up to his jaw. “Mikey.” His eyes are glossy but steady. “I didn’t take the apartment.”
I feel his pulse stop under my hand. “What?”
“I didn’t take it.” My voice is softer now. “It didn’t feel right. Not yet.”
His grip on my waist tightens like he needs proof I’m real. “You’re not leaving?”
“Only if you want me to.” My mouth quirks up just a little.
The sound he makes is half laugh, half exhale, half something breaking open as he shakes his head. He pulls me against him so tightly it’s almost desperate. “I’m not good at this.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“I don’t want to be second.”
“You’re not.”
His forehead presses against mine. “I don’t want temporary.”
“Then don’t make it that.”
He closes his eyes. And for the first time all week, he doesn’t look like he’s bracing. He looks relieved.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mikey
