Chapter 8 Micah
Micah
I drag my coat tighter around me, the warmth that comes with the movement doing little to settle my anxiety from sitting alone in this open venue, my mind spiraling in circles that lead nowhere good.
The noise around me feels distant and muffled, people pushing past me to get to their seats, excited chatter filling the air, but I barely register any of it.
I'm not even sure why I came. Jamie couldn't make it, but some part of me needing to come anyway, so here I am, alone in a sea of screaming fans, clutching a ticket to see a band I barely knew existed a month ago.
The only reason I'm here is for a glimpse of a man I met in passing, held together by the memory of flowers that are slowly turning to dust on my kitchen table.
Every morning I wake up and see them there next to the stack of bills that keeps growing. Every morning I lean close and try to catch the faint scent of sweet rum that's almost gone now, faded to nearly nothing. I know it's pathetic. But they're all I have of that moment.
Because outside of that moment, everything has been hell.
It’s been a month of never ending bills and a few days ago, the doctor prescribed a medicine that insurance wouldn't cover, something for the nerve damage in my neck.
Fifteen hundred dollars out of pocket for a three-month supply.
Money I don't have. Money I can't make while I'm stuck at home healing.
Two days after that particular piece of bad news, I found out that Derek and Colt were out on bail.
Walking around free while I'm trapped in my house with bruised ribs and a useless arm.
They frequent Riley's Bar, the place I used to go every Friday night to unwind.
My place. My safe space. Now ruined because those two Alphas decided my rejection was worth violence.
I can't go back there now and I can't risk running into them while I'm still healing. So I've lost that too. Another piece of my normal life stripped away because of what they did.
And then last night, Jamie called to tell me he couldn't come to the concert.
His mom got sick and needed him to drive her to the emergency room.
Nothing serious, just precautionary, but it meant he couldn't make the three-hour drive to the venue.
He offered to sell the tickets, or just get a refund, but I told him to let me have one of them.
I don't know how to feel about any of it.
The world feels like it's slowly closing in, walls getting tighter with each passing day.
The cast on my arm serves as a firm reminder every fucking day about what happened.
I can't shower properly, can't dress myself easily, can't do half the things I used to take for granted.
Every task takes twice as long and hurts twice as much.
I sigh and lean back a little in my seat, trying to get comfortable even though the venue chairs are hard plastic designed for maximum capacity rather than comfort.
Two male Omegas sit on my right, already whooping and hollering even though the show hasn't started yet.
They're dressed in band merchandise, faces painted with the Lunar Ransom logo, clearly superfans who've been following the band for years.
A girl on my left bounces in her seat, her energy infectious even though I can't match it. She keeps checking her phone, texting someone, probably posting on social media about being here. Everyone around me radiates excitement and anticipation. Everyone except me.
The lights dim and the crowd loses their mind.
Screaming erupts from all directions, people jumping to their feet.
I stand too because I can't see anything if I stay seated.
My ribs protest the movement but I ignore them.
I came here for a reason, even if that reason is stupid and impossible and will probably just make everything hurt worse.
The first band member steps onto the stage and the crowd somehow gets louder. He's smaller than I expected for an Alpha. He waves to the crowd, eating up the attention with a genuine smile.
"Yeah, Jordan!" the girl next to me screams, then says something incredibly crude about what she'd like to do to him. I tune her out, my attention already wandering.
Liam comes next, his guitar strapped across his chest. Then Rex, the golden boy, the Alpha stroking his guitar dramatically as the fans go wild.
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for the one person I actually came here to see. The one person whose face has haunted my dreams and whose scent I can't get out of my head no matter how hard I try.
Then Kellan steps onto the stage.
He looks worse than usual. That's my first thought.
The photos online, the press conferences, the carefully curated social media posts all show a bad boy with a controlled edge that must have been curated because the man walking to the drum kit at the back of the stage looks like he's barely holding it together. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight and every step he takes looks like he’s forcing himself through the motions.
He sits down behind his kit and I rub at my chest unconsciously.
The pain that's been growing over the last few weeks flares more prominently, sharp enough to make me catch my breath.
I've been ignoring it, attributing it to stress or anxiety or residual trauma from the fall.
But right now, looking at Kellan under the stage lights, it pulses in time with my heartbeat.
Jamie was right.
I frown when I see Kellan make the same gesture, his hand pressing against his sternum before he picks up his drumsticks. The movement is brief, easily missed if you're not watching closely. But I caught it.
He raises his sticks and hits the cymbal, the crash cutting through the crowd noise. Everyone screams louder and Jordan steps up to the microphone, his voice carrying over the sound system. "Welcome to Lunar Ransom!"
The music starts and the crowd sings along immediately, knowing every word.
But I don't hear any of it. My gaze stays firmly on Kellan, watching how he plays, his concentration firmly planted on his set.
Each movement is precise and controlled but there's anger simmering off him.
I can see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches between songs, the barely contained violence in how hard he hits the drums.
I know I'm obsessed and I know this isn't healthy or normal or anything close to rational.
But I can't help it. I'm enraptured, completely unable to look away.
Every beat he plays resonates in my chest, echoing that pain that won't go away.
Every time he shifts position, I track the movement.
Every time his expression changes, I try to read what he's feeling.
The songs blur together. I don't know any of them so I can't sing along like everyone else.
I'm just standing here in the middle of a crowd of thousands, completely focused on one man who doesn't know I exist. Who probably doesn't even remember saving me.
Who sent flowers through his manager and moved on with his life while mine fell apart.
Then someone jostles me hard, their elbow catching my bad arm. Pain shoots through me and I gasp, turning to tell them to watch it. But everyone around me has gone more wild than usual, jumping and screaming and pointing. At me.
"What?" I look around, confused and slightly panicked.
A spotlight swings over to my seat, nearly blinding me. I shrink back instinctively, my good hand coming up to shield my eyes. I look around wildly, trying to understand what's happening. Did I do something wrong? Am I in trouble?
The Omega next to me grabs my shoulder, shaking me with enthusiasm. "Man, you're so lucky! Do you wanna switch seats? I'll give you a hundred bucks right now to switch!"
"What are you talking about?" I have to shout to be heard over the noise.
My attention gets torn back to the stage where the music has stopped. Tom, the manager I recognize from news coverage, steps up to a microphone with a huge smile on his face, the crowd quieting.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Tom's voice booms through the speakers.
"We have a very special surprise tonight!
One lucky fan in the audience has won a backstage tour with the band of Lunar Ransom!
" The crowd erupts again, everyone screaming and jumping.
I stand frozen, my heart in my throat, as Tom continues.
"Section B, Row 12, Seat 8, come on down! Don’t be shy! !"
That's my seat. That's my fucking seat. The ticket is still clutched in my hand, crumpled and damp with sweat. Section B, Row 12, Seat 8.
The Omega next to me offers to buy my seat again, his voice more desperate now.
The girl on my other side looks devastated that she didn't win.
And I just stand there like an idiot, my legs refusing to move.
This can't be happening. This has to be some kind of mistake.
I can't go up there. I can't be that close to Kellan when I'm barely holding myself together as it is.
But security is already making their way down the aisle toward me. People push me forward, urging me to move. The pressure of hundreds of eyes watching and waiting, makes my skin crawl.
I force my legs to work, to carry me down the aisle toward the stage, a shy smile pulling at my face.
Security meets me at the base of the stage, checking my ticket to verify it matches the winning seat.
Then they help me up the stairs. The stage is bigger than it looked from my seat, full of equipment and cables.
The lights are even more blinding up close, hot enough that I start sweating immediately.
Tom is there, throwing out a hand to shake before realizing which of my arms are in the cast. "Congratulations! What's your name?"
"Micah," I manage, my voice barely audible over the lingering crowd noise.
"Micah! Fantastic!" Tom gestures to the band members who've gathered near the edge of the stage. "Let's get you backstage for that tour, shall we?" Something in his expression morphs into recognition before he fixes it, that fake smile plastered back on his face.
Security ushers me toward the back, away from the crowd and the lights.
My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I can feel it in my throat.
This is insane. This is actually happening.
I'm about to meet Kellan, about to be in the same room as him, and about to find out if what I felt that day was real or just trauma and wishful thinking.
The backstage area is much cooler than the venue but no less chaotic.
Equipment cases line the walls, cables snake across the floor, and crew members rush around preparing for the second half of the show.
Jordan appears first, his features even more striking up close.
His eyes widen slightly as he takes me in.
"I was unaware we attracted fans that look like you," Jordan says, appreciation in his voice. "Damn, you’re hearty for a Beta. Alright, let's get you that tour, yeah?"
Liam steps up beside him, his Alpha presence more pronounced in the smaller space. "Who's your favorite band member?"
I just stand there, quiet and very overwhelmed.
My eyes search the backstage area for Rex and Kellan, needing to see them both before I can fully process what's happening. Answering that I’ve never heard any of their songs before today or that I only know of them because Kellan held me for five minutes seems like the wrong thing to say.
Tom introduces himself properly, though I already knew who he was.
"I'm Tom, the band's manager. We'll get you a little tour of their instruments, show you around backstage, let you meet everyone properly.
" His smile takes on a different quality, something more calculated.
"And then I've got a little extra something that I know you'll be unable to refuse. "
I hate the sound of that but I think I hate the deviant expression on Tom’s face even more.