Chapter 7 Kaylee
SEVEN
KAYLEE
Ithought I’d known what to expect, walking into Micah’s apartment for the first time. After all, we’d lived together for years, first in a cramped apartment and then later in a sprawling mansion. I knew the guy inside out.
Or so I thought.
Instead of sparse, clean lines with black and white furniture and an open concept living space, I was treated to a warm, cozy atmosphere.
His bevy of floor and desk lamps emitted light with a yellowish tinge, not in a dingy way but in a welcoming, almost hobbit-hole kind of way.
His furniture was dark brown and cream, with plush cushions.
The picture frames on the wall were mahogany and held photos of his parents and the band throughout the years.
I caught a glimpse of my eleven-year-old self, big grin, frizzy hair and all.
Walking into the place gave me the same sensation as wrapping myself up in a fleece blanket in front of the fireplace with a cup of hot cocoa on a snowy day.
“You look surprised,” Micah said as he took out two mugs for coffee from the galley kitchen. I wasn’t a coffee addict like Anya, but I did need my twice daily caffeine boost.
“What happened to your Nordic sense of minimalism?” I demanded.
“I was only into minimalism because we had no money,” he said, chuckling.
“What about your room at the mansion?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It didn’t seem worth the effort to decorate one room when I had the entire place to hang out in. I only went to my bedroom to sleep.”
I continued to look around the living room, taking it all in. As comfy as the place made me feel, an itchy, uncomfortable sensation welled up in my chest. Did I not know Micah as well as I thought I did? What other unexpected aspects of his personality had I missed over the years?
“The place is cute,” I said.
Micah turned around from filling the mugs with coffee.
“Cute?” he repeated.
“Homey, then,” I rolled my eyes.
I wandered around the living room, inspecting all the little knick-knacks and tchotchkes I remembered from throughout the years. I hadn’t realized he’d kept them all. Some of them had fond memories attached to them. I picked up a small miniature of a bull that Finn had given him as a gag gift.
“Remember that week when you kept saying take the bull by the horns over and over again?” I asked.
Micah chuckled. “I know, you all hate it when I use clichés.”
“Get a thesaurus, that’s all I’m saying,” I replied.
There was a pause.
“I heard you told Chris the same thing,” he said.
There was a tightness in Micah’s voice. I knew exactly what it was. The guy might try to play it cool all the time, but I’d learned to see right through him.
“Chris is just as bad at lyrics as you,” I replied easily as I examined his bookshelf. “I think he has potential, though.”
“You liked working with him, then?” Micah asked.
“I sure did,” I said. “He’s not a raging egomaniac who thinks everyone should go along with everything he says.”
“I’m not—” Micah began to protest.
“Don’t worry,” I cut in. “I learned to shut that down ages ago.” I threw him a cheeky grin over my shoulder. “Now you’re only a slight egomaniac.”
“Gee, thanks,” Micah mumbled.
It was just teasing, really. Micah was one of the few members of the band who didn’t have an overinflated sense of self.
He was the steady one, the one with his head firmly on his shoulders.
Maybe that was why we’d always got along so well.
He was the counterpoint to my fanciful enthusiasm and chipper attitude.
“I’ve got a few things I want to work on.
” I went to the sofa and sank down into the soft cushions, tucking my legs underneath me after pulling my notebook and pencil out of my bag.
“You know that thing we were working on a while ago?” More than six months ago, but I left it unsaid.
“The one with the key change at the end and the sick bass line?”
Micah nodded. “I remember. I showed it to Finn and he got all cranky that we’d come up with something that cool and he hadn’t.”
“Well, I was never really happy with the melody,” I said, getting excited as I explained my vision. “It didn’t seem to fit the lyrics. And if I have to choose between changing the sound and changing the words…”
“I know, you’ll keep the words any day,” he chuckled.
“Exactly!” I said with a grin.
Micah brought the two mugs and set them down on the coffee table. He was wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt, his tattooed arms on display. Even though I’d been there while he’d gotten some of them, the sight still made my heart quicken.
Micah wasn’t jacked like Chris, who spent all his free time in our home gym, but his forearms were toned and his fingers were long and deft.
My mind swiftly went to a dozen dirty places, places that I wished I could explore within in the confines of my own daydreams, but I didn’t appreciate the wayward thoughts right then.
Micah took a seat on the opposite side of the sofa, leaving my notebook and his laptop resting on the middle cushion.
It put some distance between us, more distance than usual.
There was a time when we would have crowded together as we bent over his laptop, hip to hip and heads bowed toward one another.
That was then, I had to remind myself. This was now. Things were different. We were different. Micah was keeping his distance, emotionally and physically. Things wouldn’t be the same as before, but maybe there was a way we could move forward together, in a different way.
Micah opened the project file in his music producing software and I pulled the laptop closer to me so I could mess around with the tracks.
I was so involved with the work that I barely noticed that he had gone silent. I looked up from the laptop.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Not feeling the song?”
“It’s not that,” he said tightly.
Micah turned on the sofa, facing me. Our knees touched, pressing together. With one leg under me and the other dangling over the edge of the sofa, Micah’s leg ended up pressed right against mine. If he moved a few inches over we could have played footsies with our socked feet.
I refused to think that butterflies were fluttering in my stomach, because that was the kind of trite nonsense Micah would say, but there was definitely some kind of fluttering down there.
I found myself looking into adoring brown eyes. Then his gaze lowered to stare at my lips. His breathing turned shallow, pupils dilating. I held still, not wanting to move and break whatever spell had been cast over us.
Micah moved in slightly, getting closer. His face was mere inches from mine. I held my breath, not daring to break the moment. His gaze lifted from my lips to my eyes, soulful brown staring into rich green. The spark of hunger I saw there made the fluttering swell up in a flurry.
I let out a shaky breath, almost a gasp.
The spell broke. The hunger turned panicked. Micah backed up until he was squished into the far corner of the sofa.
“Shit,” he cursed quietly to himself. Then he roughly scrubbed his hand over his face and cursed again, groaning into his palm. “Shit.” Then, without looking up, he said, “Kay, I think you should go home now.”
The confused mess of emotions swirling in my gut was hard to decipher. Along with disappointment there were definitely shades of disbelief, but, underneath all that was simply a feeling of grief. Of loss.
“Do you really want me to leave?” I asked, not showing any intention of getting up. “Or do you just think I should leave?”
“That’s the same thing,” he said dully into his palm.
“It really isn’t.”
“Kaylee,” Micah started, halting. “It’s time we address—”
“If you say, address the elephant in the room, I’m going to scream,” I cut in.
“Kay…” He inhaled deeply and tipped his head back to stare at a spot above my head. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But we can’t. You’re too young.”
“Bullshit,” I called him out without hesitation.
“You’re barely legal,” he pressed.
“I’m nineteen, and I have been for half a year now,” I said. “Soon I’m going to be twenty and you’re going to have to come up with another excuse.” I held up my hand as soon as he opened his mouth to protest. “Because I know it’s an excuse, Micah.”
“It’s not an excuse!” he insisted. “You’re young.”
“And you’re scared.”
Micah flinched like I’d slapped him in the face.
“I know you have feelings for me,” I stated bluntly. “Anyone can see it. Everyone can see it.”
He grimaced.
“That’s why you started avoiding me,” I said.
“That’s why you were running away. But you don’t have to be scared.
” My heartbeat sped up and my whole body felt like it was vibrating, an odd sort of excited tension running through me now that we were finally speaking openly with each other.
“You don’t have to be scared, not of this. Not of us.”
He ran a hand through his hair again, dropping his head and mumbling something under his breath, too low for me to hear.
“I can’t read minds, Micah,” I said, pleading. “Stop shutting me out. Talk to me. Use your words.”
“You’re right,” he bit out, as if it had been forced from him. He ran a hand over his face, his lips parting as he took in a shuddering breath. “You’re right.”
His eyes were wide and lost. A stab of pain shot through my chest at that look.
“I’m scared because we’d be messing with our friendship,” he said without looking up.
“I’m scared because we could end up ruining the band.
I’m scared you’ll end up feeling pressured.
I’m scared because people are going to say shitty things about us.
I’m scared because I already—” He cut himself off with a choked grunt.
I took his hand in mine, pulling it away from where he’d been hiding his face in it.
“You already what?” I urged.
He lifted his head to stare at me, wild and frenzied.
“I’m scared because I’m already in love with you,” he said desperately.
If my emotions had been a confused mess before, they were a wreck now. How could he say something like that while sounding both reverent and anguished at the same time?
“Then it’s too late,” I said with a waning smile. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”
His gaze shot up to meet mine, devotion and despair warring in his eyes.
“And denying it is what’s going to mess up our friendship,” I continued. “That’s what going to ruin the band. You told me you would stop avoiding me, and here you are telling me to leave. Eventually you’re going to have to deal with your feelings. Your fear.”
He flung his hands away from mine and jumped up from the sofa.
“Aren’t you scared?” he asked insistently. “You can’t tell me you’re not scared of all the things that could go wrong.”
“I’m willing to risk the consequences for the things that could go right,” I said stubbornly, staring him down. “Are you?”
“I—” His mouth opened and closed, a look of defeat on his face. “You shouldn’t have to—” He cut himself off.
“I’m not going to force you into a relationship,” I said, standing back up to face him on equal footing. “But I want you to think about this carefully.”
I waited until he met my eyes.
“What are you willing to risk for me?”