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“Hey,” Micah said, shaking the guy’s hand, taking a quick picture, and the guy moved on. But they were gathering attention.
“Is there someplace we can go and we can talk?” he asked. “Please?”
She nodded and led him over to the area behind the stage where there weren’t any people. There was a narrow tract of grass just before the tree line and it was quiet.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said. “I wanted to. But it just…it just kept being the thing that if I told you it would change everything and I liked the way things were.”
“Because you were using me,” she said.
“I was inspired by you. Trust me,” he sighed. “Trust me, I know it sounds like bullshit but I’m inspired by you constantly, by your bravery—”
“I’m more than the shitty thing that happened to me, Micah.”
He stepped closer. “I’m inspired by the way you touch me. And kiss me. The way you feel and taste.”
“I’m more than that, too,” she snapped, proud of herself for being firm in front of that little onslaught. He grinned, like he knew it. “I just don’t know what was real!” she snapped, and for the first time he looked stricken.
“Everything was real, Helen. Every minute. Every thought and touch…”
“Then walk me through it,” she said. “You read the article, absolutely plagiarized my words.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll be paying Haven House for the privilege of taking those words.” His lip quirked but she scowled, unwilling to be charmed, and he stopped grinning.
“At the beginning of lockdown,” he said, “I know I wasn’t special and that a lot of people had it worse, but I was struggling. I was alone and isolated and my demons were right there, constantly. And I had stopped drinking, but I had some beer delivered and I put it on my counter and just looked at it, waiting for the minute I would break. And then I read that article in the New York Times and it was you—the same girl who sat next to me when I was so scared, and it was like you’d come to me when I needed you most. Twice. It felt like fucking fate, Helen.
“I got rid of the beer and I wrote the songs, inspired by what you’d done and yes, what you’d said. The whole time remembering what you’d done for me when I was a kid. And at first they were just words. You’ve seen me, I just write shit down. Half of it is nothing. But then I met Danny and he could turn nothing into something amazing, and when he was done with them I had songs. Great songs. Like, the best songs I’d ever written. Songs inspired by you. And I felt…guilty, yeah. But also so fucking lucky that you walked into my life, and then we had that moment in the closet and I knew. Helen, I knew if I let you walk out of my life, I’d be a fucking fool. And I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to trust me. I wanted you to stay.”
She didn’t know how to process any of this. Partly because she wanted so badly for everything to be true.
“I have to go,” she whispered.
“I understand,” he said. “But I want you to know, all the money I make from the record sales is going into a trust fund for Bea.”
She looked up at him, shocked.
“I know she’s got a lot of love. And people. And you would never leave her unless…God forbid.”
“Don’t even say that.”
“But we both know shit happens. And love and people are great. But money doesn’t hurt.”
“How much…” She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Money was the least of all these things.
“Currently eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god,” she breathed.
He shrugged like it was ordering coffee to be delivered. Like it was writing a great song on a napkin, like it was all just part of life. And for a moment, bright and hot, she loved him so much. So hard.
“You told me you loved me Helen, and I have loved you for so long.”
Chapter Thirty-One
She stepped back, got poked by a pine tree and then, without another word, turned and walked away. Do I believe this? she wondered. How do I believe this?
As fast as she could, she walked away from that place, her head down, her whole body working on staying upright. The first person she ran into was Jonah.
“Honey,” he breathed, and she shook her head and shrugged and shook her head again and tried not to cry. “I saw him arrive. Are you all right?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” she whispered.
“Tell me.”
“He says he loves me.”
“I believe that.” She looked up at him, wide-eyed and slightly betrayed. “You do?
