Chapter 13 Micah
Micah
I'm finally dressed in something that fits me better.
Kellan dug through his closet and found an old pair of jeans that are still a bit snug on my thighs but workable, and a plain black t-shirt that doesn't hang off me like the clothes from last night.
It feels good to be in clothes that don't make me look like I'm drowning in fabric or about to split seams.
Kellan mentioned there's a shop a street over, some local market that has good produce and meat.
We head down to the main lobby of his apartment building, and I notice the stares immediately.
A few residents pause their conversations to watch us pass.
An older woman by the mailboxes does a double-take, her eyes widening with recognition.
I feel unsure about all of this. The attention, the scrutiny, being seen with Kellan in public. This is real now, not just a contract signed in an office. These are actual people noticing us, probably already connecting dots from the social media post Tom made last night.
We move toward the underground parking lot, footsteps echoing in the concrete space. Kellan's car sits in its designated spot, that beat-up jeep that somehow makes him more human. I stop walking, an idea forming.
"Why don't we just walk? It's only a street over, right?"
Kellan sighs, his hand pausing on the car door. "When you're used to getting recognized, you always make sure you have an escape plan. Walking means getting stopped every few feet. Means being trapped in conversations you don't want to have with no way out."
"I would have thought you liked all of the attention." I lean against a concrete pillar, studying his expression.
"I do, at times." Kellan unlocks the car.
"But I got into this because I fucking loved music.
The drums, the rhythm, the way sound can make you feel things you can't put into words.
The fans were an added bonus at first. Then they became the whole point, according to Tom.
" He stops, shaking his head. "Why am I even telling you this? "
I search Kellan's features, taking in the tension around his eyes, the way his jaw tightens when he mentions Tom.
"Probably because you don't have anyone else to tell.
You spend your entire day with your bandmates and Tom and whoever else.
They all work for the same goal, part of the same machine.
You saying that you're just in it for the music, that you miss what it used to be.
.." I trail off, not sure how to finish.
Kellan opens the passenger door for me and I slide in.
He moves around to the driver's side, starting the engine.
The radio comes on automatically, some pop song I don't recognize.
He immediately turns it off. "How are you so wise about show business?
" Kellan pulls out of the parking spot, navigating toward the exit.
I shake my head. "I'm not. It's just from what I've seen.
From watching that press conference you did, from meeting Tom, from being backstage last night.
It's more about the product than the person.
Even my backstage tour felt more like a feature than an experience.
Like I was being shown the exhibit rather than meeting actual people. "
Kellan snorts, a sound somewhere between amused and bitter. "You looked really out of your element back there."
"I was." The admission comes easily. "I don't know much about music beyond what sounds good to my ears. I loved their enthusiasm as they spoke about their instruments, don't get me wrong. But..." I sigh, trying to find the right words. "Rex was a lot."
Kellan makes a sound, something choked and strangled as his hands tighten on the steering wheel.
I frown as the car comes to a stop at a red light. "Wait, what is that? You don't like him?"
"You're right, he is a lot." Kellan's voice is carefully neutral. "Let's get inside the shop, okay?"
I laugh at Kellan's obvious attempt to change the subject.
Just the last twelve or so hours with this man and I'm already seeing him as adorable.
An Alpha, mysterious and tattooed and supposedly this bad boy drummer, and I'm finding him adorable.
The contrast between the image and the reality makes me smile.
The tattooed, grumpy, mysterious drummer from the posters and the press conferences is nothing like the real man sitting next to me.
The real Kellan drinks Dr Pepper for breakfast and gets flustered when asked about his bandmates and tried to get me out of a contract even though he needed me to sign it.
We pull into a small parking lot next to a market that looks family-owned. The sign above the door is hand-painted, faded but charming. Kellan parks and we head inside, the automatic doors sliding open with a cheerful chime.
The market is busy but not packed. Saturday morning shoppers push carts through aisles, examining produce and comparing prices.
Kellan grabs a small cart and we start with the fruits and vegetables.
I point out what we need for the recipe I have in mind, nothing fancy, just a simple pasta dish with fresh ingredients.
"I'm surprised you don't have a service for all of this." I pick up a tomato, checking for firmness. "Grocery delivery or a personal shopper or something."
Kellan shrugs, placing the tomato in the cart. "I used to. But it always gets leaked and then everyone is in your business."
"What do you mean leaked?" I grab a few more tomatoes, some basil, and an onion.
"Everyone is out for themselves in this business.
" Kellan's voice drops lower, aware of the people around us.
"When people found out they were shopping for me, they would post my orders online.
Screenshots of the shopping lists, photos of the delivery person at my door.
I'd either get ridiculed for what I bought, or people would feel bad for me because of what I didn't order, or they would start fantasizing about what I'd make. "
"There's no way they did all of that." I stare at him, sure he's exaggerating.
Kellan snorts. "You'd be surprised what happens when the label makes you into something to obsess over. Every detail of your life becomes content. What you eat, what you wear, who you talk to. So I just get my own shit now. At least this way I control what information gets out."
I nod, processing that. The level of invasion he's describing sounds exhausting. No privacy, no anonymity, every action analyzed and discussed by strangers.
We move to the meat section and I'm scanning the options when I ask, "Do you have any allergies or whatever? I don't want to accidentally poison you on our first home-cooked meal."
Giggling interrupts before Kellan can answer. Then the unmistakable sound of a phone camera shutter, several in quick succession. I twist around and see two Omegas standing a few feet away, phones pointed at us, whispering to each other with barely contained excitement.
I just frown and turn back to ask Kellan again, but the question dies in my throat. A small crowd has gathered at the end of the aisle, at least a dozen people pointing and whispering. More phones come out, more cameras pointed in our direction.
I swallow nervously, looking between the growing crowd and Kellan. The market suddenly feels too small, the aisle too narrow. I'm cornered, trapped between shelves of packaged meat and an audience I didn't ask for.
Someone breaks away from the crowd, a young Alpha in a band t-shirt. He approaches with the kind of confidence that suggests he's done this before, that approaching celebrities in public is something normal to him.
"Is that you, Kellan? Oh my god, I can't believe we're here on like your first public appearance with your boyfriend!" The words tumble out rapid-fire, enthusiasm bleeding through every syllable. "Can I get your autograph? My girlfriend will never believe me!"
He shoves a pen and a crumpled receipt at Kellan, bouncing slightly on his feet. More people start moving closer, emboldened by the first fan's approach.
I step back instinctively, my shoulders hitting the shelves behind me. My heart races, ribs protesting each rapid breath. This is too much, too fast. I wasn't prepared for this level of attention.
Kellan goes rigid beside me. His jaw tightens and something shutters in his expression, the easy openness from moments ago replaced by a careful mask. He takes the pen and signs the receipt with quick, practiced movements.
"Excuse me," Kellan says, his voice polite but firm. "We'd like a little privacy."
He reaches back to grab my hand before guiding me out of the aisle, navigating around the growing crowd with the efficiency of someone who's done this countless times. We head straight for self-checkout, scanning our few items as quickly as possible.
More phones follow us. More whispers. I catch fragments of conversation.
"That's definitely him."
"Who's the Beta?"
"The boyfriend from Instagram."
"He's not what I expected."
"Take another picture."
My skin crawls with the attention. Every eye feels like a physical weight, pressing down on me from all directions. Kellan pays and we practically run to the car, his hand never leaving mine until we're both inside with the doors locked.
"I'm so sorry." Kellan's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "I should have thought that through better. Should have realized that after Tom's post, people would be looking for us."
"It's fine." My voice comes out shakier than I intend. "I just have to brace myself for the next few weeks. Get used to being stared at and photographed."
"But I don't like how uncomfortable that makes you." Kellan pulls out of the parking spot, his movements jerky with agitation. "I don't even know why. No, I do know why but I didn't think I would be this affected by seeing someone make you uncomfortable."
He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, then closes it. We drive in silence for a few minutes, the bags of groceries in the backseat. The city passes by outside the windows, buildings and people and normal life happening around us while I try to calm my racing heart.
Kellan mutters "fuck" under his breath and makes a sudden turn, deviating from what I assume is the route back to his apartment.
I look around, trying to orient myself. We're heading away from the dense urban area, toward what looks like a more residential neighborhood.
Then the buildings thin out and I see water ahead, a large lake with a walking path around it.
Cute shops line one side, the kind of local businesses that have been there for decades.
"What is this?" I ask as Kellan pulls into a small parking lot overlooking the lake.
"I come here when I need a minute." Kellan stares out the windshield at the water. "But I didn't even know where I was going. My body just drove here on autopilot." He shakes his head. "Fuck, let's just go back to the house. This was a stupid idea."
"Or we could get lunch and just breathe for a minute?" I suggest, not ready to go back yet. "The last almost day has been a lot. Contract signing, meeting your bandmates, Tom showing up this morning, getting almost mobbed in a grocery store. Maybe we both need a minute."
Kellan turns to look at me, his expression full of uncertainty. "You don't mind? You're not ready to just go home and hide from all of this?"
I shrug. "There's nothing else for me to do. Can't work, can't go to my usual bar, can't hang out with Jamie without lying about why I'm suddenly dating a rockstar. Might as well sit by a lake with you and figure out how to navigate this mess we're in."
Kellan shoots me a soft smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Okay. Yeah. Let's do that."