16. Micah
16
MICAH
The morning comes too soon, and I realize I’m still in John’s bed. John’s very cozy bed that I don’t want to leave. I came to him, unable to shake my sorrow, knowing he was the only person who could make me feel better. Who would soothe my soul. And now it’s proving difficult to move and get on with my day.
I force myself to sit up and stretch before rolling out of bed.
He cracks open an eye and watches me fumble around for my clothes.
“Thanks for that,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like a one-night stand.
He smirks. “It’s not like I didn’t get something out of it too.”
We share a smile, but I still feel guilty that I leaned on him. Again.
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asks around a yawn. “More fishing?”
“Actually, no. I have some lines to learn for an upcoming audition I really don’t want to miss.”
He sits up on his elbows. “Yeah? What’s it for?”
“Have you heard of the crime drama Cold Blade ?”
“Of course. Who hasn’t?” His tone is sharp, his excitement evident. “You’re auditioning for them?”
I like that he still supports me, but I can also see that glint in his eyes. The idea of Hollywood has a way of making people think it’s glamorous when it’s usually not—maybe with the exception of awards shows and all the gowns and tuxedos.
“It’s for a side character. Not many lines, but if I get the part, it might turn into a recurring role for the most popular show I’ve ever worked on. Good for the résumé.” I wince and look away. I nearly regret telling him because if I don’t get the part, then I’m a failure again.
He smiles. “Then you should definitely get rehearsing. When’s the audition?”
“End of next week. I’ll have to leave town for a couple of days.”
He winks. “We’ll manage fine while you’re gone.”
“Ha-ha,” I lob back, though it stings, and I deserve it.
He sits upright and stretches his arms. “But seriously, Aaron will be fine without you.”
I locate a shoe under the bed, then fish around on the floor for the other one. “Of course, he will. So far, he’s amazing. I only hope he doesn’t need anything while I’m gone.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll go check on him.”
“That would be cool, unless…” I bite my lip, afraid to say what I’m thinking.
He tilts his head. “Unless what?”
I wince, my stomach bottoming out. “Unless you want to come with me?”
I hear his restrained gasp. “To LA?”
“It would only be for twenty-four hours—forty-eight tops.”
“I have a bar to run.”
I expected that reaction, and it makes me regret asking. “I know you do, but unless I’m wrong, you rarely take time off.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, maybe thinking better of making another biting comment about me not being around long enough to know his schedule.
“And if I did take the day off, you think I’d want to go on an all-day road trip?”
“Yeah, you’re right, never mind.” I stand and slip into my shoes.
His hand grips my wrist. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It might be hard for me to see you thriving, but maybe it would also be good.”
I meet his gaze. “How so?”
“I don’t know exactly. But a visit there is long overdue,” he admits, which surprises me. I know he doesn’t enjoy the city, and maybe part of me still wishes he did. “Plenty between us is long overdue,” he adds, likely referencing our separation.
I nod. “We could discuss our divorce while we’re on the road.”
Seeming hesitant, he says, “What is there to discuss?”
“Maybe how to file. And if you feel like you’re ready to go for it, then we can fill out the forms and drop them at the courthouse.”
My chest seizes as I watch him go through a series of emotions, from surprise to sorrow. I reach for him, unable to hold back. I sit and wind our fingers together. I will never not love how our physical connection makes my nervous system respond—soothed and thrilled at the same time.
“I suppose closure is something we need,” John says. “But it still makes me want to resist, and I can’t understand why.”
“ Or ,” I suggest, “we keep being married, fucking like we mean it, and then living without each other.”
He screws his eyes shut and swears under his breath. “Maybe I will come with you. Let me see if I can arrange something.”
Relief floods my system, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
Back at the house, I greet Aaron, who’s standing on a tarp with a roller in hand and paint cans spread around him.
“You look like you had a rough morning—or night?”
I glance at my disheveled clothes, my cheeks heating.
“Sorry, none of my business.” He quickly changes the subject. “Rosie told me you spread Mr. Malone’s ashes yesterday.”
“Yeah, it was a nice send-off.” My gaze darts around the rooms. “Why was Rosie here? Was she looking for me?”
Our final lunch together was nice. We talked more in-depth about Grandpa, and I realized how well she’d gotten to know him. I’m hoping to keep in touch with her after I leave.
“Not exactly. She said she changed her mind about keeping something you offered her?”
“Oh yeah. The angel collection. She really likes those figurines, and I’ll have no use for them.” Besides, it makes me feel good that she’ll cherish something of Grandpa’s.
“He collected angels?” Aaron asks, his gaze swinging to the leftover boxes in the foyer. I get why it surprises him. Most of the hoarding involved paper products, fishing gear, useless tools, and broken trinkets.
“Honestly? I think he did it for her.” Grandpa wasn’t religious in any way, shape, or form, not like Rosie is. “He must’ve known she liked them, so he kept amassing more, displaying them in different rooms so she could see them.”
Aaron smiles sadly. “That was so nice of him.”
“He had his moments.” I swallow roughly. “Well, I’m gonna?—”
“Before you head upstairs, what do you think of this color?”
I glance at the wall he’s recently painted. It’s a cross between beige and tan.
“I like it fine.”
“Just fine, huh?”
Fuck, now I sound ungrateful. I’ve never been much for decor—not like I’ve ever owned a place of my own. Obviously, I’m perfectly fine renting a tiny room in LA.
“Sorry, have a lot on my mind. I’m totally grateful you know what you’re doing and can help me with these decisions.”
“Of course.” When he smiles, I blow out a breath. “Hey, have a drink with me later? I brought some bubbly and put it in the fridge.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“A toast to your grandfather, whom I’ve never met but feel like I have working in his house surrounded by his things.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
He waves a hand. “I get overly sentimental about these things. It’s just… He obviously enjoyed the architecture style and time period, given some of the things he collected.”
His insight catches me by surprise. “What do you mean?”
He dips his head as if embarrassed. “I know it’s silly, but I notice that a lot of the magazines and newspapers he held on to had articles depicting the Renaissance period or Gothic Revival.”
I blink, considering all the stuff we tossed that seemed like pure junk, but I suppose there was a method to the madness. “Holy shit. You’re right.” It also explains why he was so hooked on historical documentaries and shows. If only I’d connected the dots…
Aaron has only been here for a short time, but it’s as if he knows my grandfather better than I do. I suddenly feel guilty for not appreciating his interests or asking more questions to get to know him better.
“Architectural nerd here,” he calls after me as I excuse myself to head upstairs. “Just ignore me.”
I’m actually glad he pointed it out, and I’ll have to thank him again after I gather myself and my emotions. “I’ll be back down in a bit for that toast.”