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I stared, sure I’d heard wrong. Pop had put Micah—and himself down? “What?” I sputtered.
“You aren’t the only one Pop goes all negative on, Sean. He said it in front of everyone before he and Mom left. Jasmine. Her parents. Fucking asshole. I was tempted to tell him to get the fuck out and never set foot in my house again.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Micah shook his head. “Not your fault.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds as the reality of what I’d always thought to be true crumbled around me. “I wasn’t aware he treated you that way too.”
My brother shrugged. “I’m just better at pleasing him, I guess. Fuck, I wish I had more of your strength to stand up for myself.”
I barked a laugh. “What?”
“You.” Micah waved a hand at me. “How do you just not care? How can you laugh stuff off and walk away with a bounce in your step as though you don’t give a shit what he thinks?”
“It’s all fake.”
“But your smiles aren’t,” Micah said, his stare penetrating. “You’ve got an inner joy that I’ve never had, some secret happiness I’ve always been envious of. But Jasmine—” His voice cut off abruptly, his eyes growing wet. “She’s...yeah. She’s that for me. Every single day.”
Throat tight, I nodded, understanding what she’d gifted him. Fully. “Hey, Micah?”
“Yeah, little shit?” he said, brushing a forearm over his wet eyes.
“You’re gonna be a great dad—and I’m gonna be the best uncle who ever lived. Know why?”
“Why?” He slumped again on my couch.
“Because we recognize what a crap role model is, and both of us make better choices than our sorry excuse for a father.”
He blew out a breath. “You’re right, Sean.”
“Say that again,” I teased, snagging hold of that warmth his words of praise always filled me with.
Micah grabbed one of my throw pillows and whipped it at my head before getting to his feet.
I followed him to my front door where he pulled on his coat.
“Shit…forgot about this.” He pulled an envelope from the inside pocket, handing it to me. “Arrived at the office yesterday.”
“What is it?”
He shrugged, zipping up his coat. “I don’t open your mail, you little shit.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and locked up behind his chuckling ass. He left a lot more confident a man than when he’d arrived.
Me. I’d done that. Sean mother-fucking Fox.
I sat back down on the couch and checked out the envelope—actual fucking stationery-type with vines and flowers on the backside.
The single sheet inside held a few lines of neat cursive…signed by that man of the cloth virgin I’d hooked Zack up with back in early September.
A slow read assured me he wasn’t another Jackson Zerig. Quite the opposite.
He thanked me profusely for making discrete access to sexual gratification possible. For choosing a kind-hearted employee who’d gone above and beyond in showing him that having a sex drive can be a beautiful thing.
Some might see EEMM as “unholy,” he’d written, but he went on to claim that I had taken part in saving him from the pit of hell he’d sunken into from living a lie his entire life. My throat tightened over his words of edification, his assurance of how I’d made an old man’s wishes come true.
I’d been successful. I’d done a good fucking job—without a goddamned degree. My heart swelled to bursting in my chest, a sense of…pride and accomplishment damn near flooring me. I folded up the thank you note, planning to cherish it forever.
