Chapter 16 Micah
Micah
On the way to the company, I feel more like myself dressed in my
own clothes. The jeans fit properly, worn and comfortable from years of use.
The flannel shirt is soft and familiar, one of my favorites that I keep in my
truck for emergencies. Even my work boots feel grounding after two days in
Kellan's too-big sneakers.
I park at the back of the company lot where Kellan suggested, finding a spot that won't block anyone important.
The building looms ahead, all glass and steel and modern architecture that screams money.
This is where Lunar Ransom creates their music, where Tom orchestrates his PR campaigns, where my fake boyfriend spends most of his time.
Kellan comes to me as I'm climbing out of my truck, and I notice immediately that something's off. His scent is much stronger than usual, sweet rum so potent it almost makes my head spin. It wraps around me like a physical thing, clinging to my clothes and filling my lungs.
He also seems feverish. There's a flush to his cheeks and a brightness to his eyes that wasn't there this morning. Sweat beads at his temples even though the morning air is cool.
"What's wrong?" I close the truck door, studying his face with concern.
"Nothing, just nerves?" Kellan's voice is uncertain, like he doesn't believe his own explanation. "I'm not sure. Haven't felt like this before. Maybe coming down with something."
He runs a hand through his hair, the movement agitated. "Let me show you where to be to stay out of all the chaos. Tom will want to manufacture some kind of photo shoot at some point so brace for that. If anyone asks you to do something, say no. You're not here to work, you're just visiting."
"I'm still not sure what made me say yes." I follow him toward the building, my ribs protesting at the fast pace he's setting. "This is a wild plan. Fake dating a rockstar to sell albums. It sounds insane when I say it out loud."
Kellan grins despite whatever's making him feel off. "Yeah, it is. But you're here now, so might as well make the best of it."
We enter through a side door, bypassing what looks like a main lobby. The interior is just as modern as the exterior, all clean lines and expensive fixtures. Kellan navigates the hallways with practiced ease, greeting staff members who pass us with distracted nods.
He leads me to a lounge area on the second floor, a comfortable space with couches and a TV and a small kitchenette. "You can hang out here. There's food and drinks in the fridge, help yourself to whatever. I should be done with rehearsal in a few hours."
"A few hours?" I raise an eyebrow. "That's a long practice."
"Tom likes us to be perfect." Kellan's jaw tightens. "Which means drilling the same songs over and over until we're all sick of them. But yeah, a few hours minimum. Sometimes longer if someone's off or Tom's in a mood."
He leans in for a quick kiss, his lips hot against mine. The fever concern comes back immediately but he pulls away before I can ask about it again.
"I'll text you when we're done. Just... stay out of trouble, okay?" Kellan's grin is teasing but there's real concern underneath.
"What trouble could I possibly get into?" I gesture around the empty lounge.
"With Tom, you never know." Kellan heads for the door, throwing one last look over his shoulder before disappearing into the hallway.
I settle onto one of the couches, pulling out my phone to check messages. Jamie texted asking how things are going. My boss at Henderson Construction sent well-wishes and a reminder that my job is waiting when I'm healed. A few other messages from coworkers and neighbors, all supportive and kind.
One of the managers walks in about twenty minutes later, a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and sharper business attire. She introduces herself as Linda, part of the PR team working on Lunar Ransom's image.
"Micah, perfect. I wanted to chat with you about a few things." Linda sits in the chair across from me, pulling out a tablet. "We're working on softening Kellan's image, making him more approachable to mainstream audiences. You're a huge part of that strategy."
I nod, not sure what to say.
"We've compiled a list of things you can try to enhance the relationship narrative," Linda continues, swiping through her tablet.
"Social media posts showing domestic moments, candid photos that look unscripted but are actually carefully staged, quotes about how he's changed your life. That sort of thing."
She talks for another ten minutes about optics and brand management and target demographics. I absorb about half of it, the rest washing over me like white noise. This is the business side of what Kellan does, the machinery that turns art into product.
Tom appears in the doorway, his presence immediately making the room feel smaller. Linda glances up and stands, excusing herself quickly. Tom takes her seat, that familiar calculating expression on his face.
"Micah. Settling in okay?" He doesn't wait for an answer.
"Just remember this isn't real and not to get attached.
This is a business arrangement with a predetermined end date.
The pictures we've gotten already are fantastic, by the way.
You two have natural chemistry which makes our job much easier. "
The words hit me like cold water. Pictures. They've been taking pictures of us.
"The lake yesterday was perfect," Tom continues, scrolling through his phone.
"Very romantic, very genuine-looking. The grocery store incident was a bonus, showed how protective Kellan is of you. Even this morning, the kiss outside? A+. Chef’s kiss.
" He actually makes the gesture. "We have cameras set up around a lot of places. "
I realize with dawning horror that I'm being watched. That none of those moments were secret or private. Every time I step out of the apartment, I’m on someone’s camera. All of it captured and catalogued and analyzed for its marketing potential.
"Don't look so shocked." Tom's tone is almost kind, which makes it worse.
"It's in the contract you signed. Standard procedure for publicity relationships.
How else would we generate content?" He stands, pocketing his phone.
"Anyway, Linda will follow up with you later about the photo shoot we're planning.
Something outdoors, maybe near that lake since it photographed so well. We'll let you know the details."
Tom leaves and I sit there feeling violated and overwhelmed. Every moment with Kellan, every touch and kiss and laugh, has been observed and evaluated. Nothing was just for us. Nothing was private.
I need to move, need to do something besides sit here spiraling. I stand and start poking around the lounge, opening cabinets in the kitchenette area. Someone's stocked it well, probably for the band's use. Snacks and drinks and—
Tootsie Rolls. A whole bowl of them sitting on the counter.
Excitement rushes through me. I grab a handful and return to the couch, struggling with the wrapper before popping it in my mouth. The familiar chocolate flavor grounds me, reminds me that some things are still simple and good even when everything else feels complicated.
I pull out my phone and scroll through social media, curiosity getting the better of me. Searching my own name feels weird but I do it anyway. The results are overwhelming. Hundreds of posts and comments, all discussing the mysterious Beta dating Kellan Hayes.
"Who is he?"
"He's so normal looking, not what I expected."
"Construction worker? That's actually kind of hot."
"Love that Kellan's dating a working-class Beta instead of some Instagram model."
"He better treat Kellan right or the fans will end him."
The last comment makes my stomach turn. I exit the app and call Jamie instead, needing to hear a familiar voice.
"Hey! How's the rockstar life treating you?" Jamie answers on the second ring, his enthusiasm immediate.
"It's overwhelming." I unwrap another Tootsie Roll. "But interesting. Different."
"I bet. You're living in his place, right? What's his apartment like?" Jamie's tone is curious, not judgmental.
"Nice. Modern. Lots of music equipment everywhere." I graze over the personal touches Kellan added to the place. "I taught him to cook yesterday. It was a group effort."
Jamie laughs. "Domestic already. I love it. When are you coming home?"
"Maybe this weekend?" I hadn't thought about it until now. "I need to grab more clothes and check on the house. Make sure nothing's fallen apart while I've been gone."
"Everything's fine here. I checked on your place yesterday, watered your plants, grabbed your mail." Jamie pauses. "You guys started off strong. Most people don't move in together immediately."
"Yeah, well. It's complicated." That's the understatement of the century.
We chat for a few more minutes before Jamie has to go, something about his mom needing help with yard work. I hang up feeling a little better, a little more grounded. Jamie's normalcy helps balance out the weirdness of my current situation.
But I still feel antsy and hot, like my skin doesn't fit right. The lounge suddenly feels too small, too confining. I need to move around, see more of this building that Kellan spends so much time in.
A young Beta woman pokes her head into the lounge, her expression friendly. "Micah? Tom asked me to give you a tour if you're interested. Show you around the facility."
"Sure." I stand, grateful for the distraction. "That'd be great."
She introduces herself as Amber, an assistant who's been working here for about a year. Her enthusiasm is immediate and overwhelming as we start walking, her voice filling the hallway with constant chatter.
"The band is incredible," Amber gushes as we pass through corridors.
"I've been a fan for years. Got this job specifically to be near them.
Jordan's voice is amazing live, have you heard him without all the studio production?
And Rex is so talented, he can play like six instruments. Liam's great too, very professional."
She pauses at a door, her expression shifting to something almost envious. "I'm so jealous, honestly. Kellan was the only one not taken but now you're all packed up together. All four of them in relationships. It's like the end of an era for fans."
I tune her out mostly, unwrapping another Tootsie Roll and letting her words wash over me without really absorbing them.
We walk past practice rooms, recording studios, offices filled with people working on laptops.
The building is bigger than I expected, a maze of hallways and rooms all dedicated to creating and selling music.
"Those are the worst candies," Amber comments, noticing my Tootsie Roll. "Way too sticky. I'll make sure they stock something better in the lounge. Maybe some of those fancy chocolates or something."
"I like them," I say, maybe more defensively than necessary.
Amber launches into explaining all the practice rooms as we pass them, pointing out which bands use which spaces, dropping names I don't recognize. Then we pass a room where I can see through the small window in the door, and I stop walking.
Kellan sits behind his drum kit, sticks in hand, completely absorbed in what he's doing. Rex and Liam stand with their guitars, working through something. Jordan's at the microphone, his posture relaxed. They're not playing a full song, just sections, stopping and starting as they work out details.
Kellan seems lighter as he plays than he did on stage. His shoulders are loose, his expression focused but not tense. This is him doing what he loves, without the pressure of an audience or the weight of Tom's expectations. Just four musicians working together to create something.
I smile, watching through the window. This is what he was describing yesterday at the lake, the joy of just making music without all the other bullshit attached to it.
"Come on, there's so many other things to see." Amber tugs at my good arm, breaking my concentration.
I follow reluctantly, throwing one last look at Kellan before we turn a corner.
Amber continues her tour, showing me administrative offices and storage areas and the cafeteria where staff eat lunch.
Then we head up a few steps to what looks like a storage level, dimmer and dustier than the pristine floors below.
"This is where they keep old set decorations and equipment," Amber explains, pointing at various items covered in sheets. "Some of it's from their first tour. It's like a museum up here."
She weaves between prop pieces and band equipment, clearly comfortable in the space. I follow more carefully, my ribs protesting the stairs we just climbed. The cast on my arm makes navigating the cluttered space awkward.
Amber stops near the back wall and crouches down, pulling open a small door in the floor I didn't even notice. "And this is the secret passageway! Leads down to the backstage area. It's super cool, bands used to use it for surprise entrances."
She climbs down a ladder that appears beyond the door, her movements quick and confident. The ladder wobbles slightly under her weight, the metal creaking.
I stare at it, frozen.
The wobbling ladder. The sound of metal groaning.
Images flood my mind. Derek and Colt at the bottom, shaking the ladder.
The sickening moment when it started to lean.
The terror of falling, of knowing you're about to hit the ground hard.
The jagged metal tearing through my skin.
The impact that stole my breath and broke my bones.
"Come on, it's not that hard!" Amber's voice echoes up from below, but it almost sounds muffled and distant.
I can't move. My feet are rooted to the floor, my good hand gripping the edge of the doorway so hard my knuckles pale. My breath comes faster and shallower, my ribs protesting each rapid inhale. The room tilts and spins, reality blurring with memory.
"Micah?" Amber's voice sounds concerned now. "You okay up there?"
I'm not okay. I'm very much not okay. The fall continues to play out in my mind in perfect, horrible detail. I'm losing myself to the panic in my head, drowning in it, unable to breathe or think or move.