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“He’s okay. Confused, I guess.”
I nodded. “I lied to you too,” I mumbled.
“Do you want to talk about it? Might make you feel a bit better,” she added sympathetically. “For what it’s worth, I’m not mad at you. I’m worried about both of you. I can see how much he loves you, and even in the short time I’ve known you, I know your feelings are genuine. You can’t fake that.”
It meant a lot to hear her say that. I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. I wasn’t a kid trying to pretend to be older to impress a guy. I’d been a scared child who needed to get out of a bad situation.
“Pete had just died and Mom blamed me. She was about to send me back into care, so I left. I knew a couple of kids from the system who helped me get what I needed. Shelter. Food. I slept in refuges, bus shelters—wherever I needed to.”
“Wow. I can’t even imagine how hard that must’ve been.”
“It was, but it was better than the alternative. I was at the age where no family was going to take me, and I’d most likely have ended up in another group home.”
“So how did you get where you are?”
“Being fourteen, a girl, and on the streets is not good,” I said. “So I did what I needed to change that. It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet,” I added with a wry smile. “Once I had ID saying I was eighteen, things magically became easier. I got a job and a place to live.” I reached for my coffee and took a sip. “It helped that I looked older. People had no reason to doubt me. My ID said I was eighteen. Hell, I got my driver’s license without a problem.”
“Wow, that’s insane,” she muttered. She tucked her blonde hair back behind her ears. “I actually admire you, Micah. I think what you did took guts. You took control of a situation and made things better for yourself. If you ask me, you’re more mature than a lot of people our age.” She giggled suddenly. “Hey, I’m older than you,” she grinned.
I smiled. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”
“That’s the thing. I’ve always gravitated toward people older than myself. Most of my friends are in their mid-twenties. I think what happened to me, and with Sax being in trouble, kind of made me realize how fragile life can be.” She paused. “He loves you. I can tell.”
I smiled sadly. “But none of that matters if Sax can’t get past my age.”
Music was always the only thing I cared about. The funny thing was, I didn’t give a shit if I never sang again. The thought of never feeling his touch or his kiss was enough to break me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sax
“What do you want?” Harry mumbled.
I stood in the doorway of his bedroom, my arms crossed over my chest. He looked like shit. His face looked worse today. The swelling had doubled so that the whole side of his head was swollen. I imagined I didn’t look much better.
“And who the fuck let you in, anyway?”
“Liam did. Now get up. You and I need to talk.”
He rolled over, ignoring my comment. Fuck this. I wasn’t here to play games. I stalked over to his bed and yanked the covers off.
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“Hey! What the hell, man?” He sat up, rubbing his head, his face creased in anger. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“What do you think it is, Harry? Once and for all, we’re going to sort this out. Now get dressed, or I swear to God I’ll call Mission Statement and cancel your gig.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” he spat back.
“Yeah? Try me.” I turned around and walked out, slamming the door.
It took him five minutes before he finally followed me into the living room, dressed.
“Okay, I’m dressed. So talk.” He sat down on the arm of the chair closest to him and scowled at me.
“Did you go to the hospital?” I asked, surveying his face.
“You dropped me off there, dipshit.”
