Chapter 22 Micah
Micah
I wake up the next morning curled up against Kellan's chest, my good arm draped across his waist and my face pressed against his collarbone.
The scent of sweet rum surrounds me, mixed with sweat and sex and something uniquely us.
My body aches in ways I haven't experienced before, muscles sore from exertion and positions I didn't know I was flexible enough to achieve.
I run my fingers through Kellan's hair, the strands soft and tangled from sleep and from me gripping it during the long night we just had.
Satisfying Kellan's rut was definitely an impulsive decision, one made in the moment when he looked at me with those desperate eyes and asked if I was sure.
I'd been sure then, watching him struggle with something his body demanded he couldn't control on his own.
But now, in the quiet morning light filtering through the curtains, I feel even more attached to Kellan than I did before.
The physical intimacy deepened something that was already becoming too real, too complicated.
We haven't had a conversation about what any of this means beyond the label's requirements, if it even can mean anything beyond the contract that has an expiration date built in.
Kellan stirs slightly under my touch but doesn't wake, his breathing deep and even. His face looks peaceful in sleep, younger somehow without the tension he carries when awake. I take a moment to just study him, memorizing the details I might not get to keep once this arrangement ends.
The tattoos that cover his arms and creep up his neck, each one probably holding meaning he's never shared.
The piercings that glint in the morning light, small rebellions against whatever expectations were placed on him growing up.
The strong jaw that clenches when he's frustrated, now relaxed and soft.
The lips that kissed me through the night with increasing desperation until the rut finally broke and he collapsed into exhausted sleep.
I carefully extract myself from his embrace, trying not to wake him.
He needs the rest after what his body just put him through.
My ribs protest the movement but it's manageable, just a dull ache rather than the sharp pain from weeks ago.
My cast bumps awkwardly against the mattress as I push myself up, a constant reminder of the fall and everything that came after.
I stretch, working out the kinks in my back and legs.
My thighs burn slightly, muscles unused to the activity they got last night.
There are marks on my skin, hickeys and bite marks that Kellan left in the throes of his rut.
Evidence of possession that probably shouldn't make me feel as satisfied as it does.
I head for the guest bedroom and take a quick shower, careful to keep my cast dry with the garbage bag and rubber band system I've perfected.
The hot water soothes my aching muscles, washing away the sweat and other evidence of the night.
I scrub at the marks on my neck and chest but they don't fade, will probably be visible for days.
I'll need to wear high-necked shirts if we do any public appearances.
After drying off, I get changed into clean clothes from the bag I packed yesterday. The normalcy of the routine grounds me, reminds me that life continues even after nights that feel world-shifting. Jeans, a t-shirt, socks. Simple and comfortable.
I come out to find Kellan already awake and at the kitchen table, chugging a Dr Pepper like his life depends on it.
He's shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants that hang low on his hips.
His hair sticks up in every direction and there are pillow creases on his face.
He looks rumpled and tired and somehow even more attractive than usual.
I glare at him, crossing my arms. "Really? First thing in the morning?"
Kellan pauses mid-chug, guilt flashing across his face. "Fuck, I thought I could get one in before you were done in the shower."
I snort, moving to the fridge to see what actual food options exist. "Does it hurt so much to actually eat something other than carbonated bubbles? Your body just went through a rut. It needs nutrients, not sugar and caffeine."
Kellan shrugs, setting the can down but keeping it within easy reach. "I picked at the fruit while you were showering. Happy?"
I pull out the container of cut cantaloupe and check how much is left. He ate maybe three pieces, barely making a dent. "Mildly."
I grab the container and a fork, bringing both to the table. I stab a piece of cantaloupe and hold it out to him. Kellan grins but opens his mouth, letting me feed him. The intimacy of the gesture feels natural after last night, just another way we take care of each other.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, feeding him another piece before taking one for myself.
"Better than yesterday." Kellan reaches out to run his hand along my forearm, his touch light and warm. "There's still that irritability beneath the surface, that restless energy. But I don't feel like I need to bend you over the counter and fuck you right now, so that's progress."
Heat floods my face at the casual way he says it, the image his words conjure. Kellan raises an eyebrow, clearly noticing my reaction.
"Oh, is that something you're into?" His voice drops lower, takes on that rough quality that does things to me. "Fast, hard, and dirty?"
"Isn't that what everyone is into?" I deflect, eating another piece of cantaloupe to avoid looking at him.
Kellan laughs, the sound genuine and relaxed. "Touché." He finishes his Dr Pepper and sets the empty can aside. "I don't have practice until this afternoon. What are you up to today?"
"I have a physical therapy appointment at ten." I check the time on my phone. It's just past eight, giving me a couple hours. "But that's it. Should only take an hour or so."
"Is everything okay?" Kellan's expression shifts to concern. "With your injuries, I mean. Nothing got worse from last night?"
"Yeah, it's just the healing part." I flex my broken arm carefully, testing the range of motion. "Figuring out if I can move out of the cast and into a brace. The ribs are healing on schedule according to the doctor. The scar tissue is forming properly."
I study Kellan's face, taking in the dark circles under his eyes that suggest he's not sleeping well even beyond the rut. "Wait, what do you usually do on your days off? You don't hang with the band and stuff?"
Kellan shakes his head, his expression shifting to something more guarded.
"We used to hang more before they got packed up.
Weekly movie nights, going out for drinks, just normal friend stuff.
But then it was harder to make time once everyone had mates and pack responsibilities.
And then I just kind of started feeling like an outsider, like the grumpy uncle who hadn't found a family of his own yet. "
He traces patterns on the table with his finger, not meeting my eyes. "So we don't really hang out unless it's a scheduled activity or band-related stuff. Practice, recording sessions, promotional events. The friendship part kind of died somewhere along the way."
"That's wild." I can't imagine losing that closeness with people you've worked with for years. "You spend so much time together, you'd think you'd be closer."
"I think I kind of broke things," Kellan admits quietly. "My attitude, my constant complaints about Tom and the direction we were going. I became difficult to be around. But they didn't rush in to help keep us together either. It was easier to let me drift away than deal with my problems."
He finally looks up at me. "My contract is up in three months and I just... I don't know if I'm going to renew."
The words hang in the air between us. "You'd leave the label? Leave the band?"
"Fuck, I've never really talked about this out loud.
" Kellan runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.
"And I guess after your accident, after everything that's happened, it all just kind of came to a head.
It's not fun anymore. It's not about the music for them.
It's about the product, the image, the money.
And while I get that money is a big factor in any business, I want more.
I want that dream I started with, the one where making music mattered more than making profit. "
"What would you do afterwards?" I lean forward, genuinely curious. "If you leave the band, what's next?"
Kellan shrugs, but there's tension in his shoulders that suggests this question weighs on him.
"I don't know. I'd have a chunk of change to help me figure it out, assuming Tom doesn't find some way to claim most of it.
Maybe do something on my own? Solo work, or find musicians who actually care about art instead of just paychecks. "
"And what about the others?" I ask carefully. "Rex, Liam, and Jordan? What about their careers if you leave?"
"Fuck, I didn't expect to have a therapy appointment of my own this morning." Kellan lets out a nervous laugh, the sound strained. "They'd probably be fine. Find another drummer, keep going. Maybe they'd be better off without me dragging down the mood all the time."
He takes a breath, his expression pained. "We're not the family we used to be and I keep waiting for it to get better. But there's a point when if it's not getting better, you have to let it go. Stop holding onto something that's already dead and pretend it can be resurrected."
"Maybe this album will make it better?" I suggest, trying to find some hope in the situation.
"Bring you guys together? It's all about love and relationships.
After our stunt in a few weeks, after the PR cycle dies down, it'll be easier to lean on them maybe.
Remember why you started making music together in the first place. "
Kellan clears his throat, his gaze intense on mine. "Are you planning on leaving after the contract ends?"
The question catches me off guard. "Did you not read the contract?
I skimmed through parts of it after Tom explained what I'd actually signed.
There's a clause that says I'm not to stick around afterwards.
Clean break, no contact, back to our separate lives.
I go back to my world and you go back to yours. "
Kellan frowns, something dark crossing his expression. "I'm not sure I like that."
My heart pounds harder, hope and fear mixing in my chest. I step closer, moving to stand between his legs where he sits at the table. "Tell me what part of that you don't like. I need to hear it."
Kellan reaches up, his hand gently gripping the front of my throat. Not threatening, not possessive in a bad way. Just holding me there, his thumb pressing against my pulse point where he can feel my heartbeat racing.
"I don't think I like the part where in three weeks, this is all over." His voice is rough, honest in a way that makes my chest ache. "I don't even know what this is between us, can't define it or explain it. But I like you more than I should for a fake arrangement. I don't want this to end."
He pulls me down into a kiss, his lips warm and soft against mine. The kiss is sweet and unhurried, nothing like the desperate claiming from last night. This is about connection, about communication beyond words. His hand stays on my throat, feeling every breath and swallow.
I pull back slightly, just enough to speak. "Then maybe we can figure out a way around it. The contract, the label, all of it. Maybe there's a loophole or a clause that lets us keep seeing each other after the arrangement ends officially."
"Fuck, I hope so." Kellan kisses me again, deeper this time.