Chapter Two #3
Frankie smiled. Steve was never the problem, and they all knew it. He had the most easygoing personality combined with the most surprising ability to destroy a drum set with how hard he hit it. “Truly humbling. I can promise—”
And just when Micah was wondering again, Where the fuck is John?
, suddenly there he was. She’d turned her seat so she could better face Roberta as she spoke, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him burst through the front door of the building, nodding quickly and saying something to the receptionist, who’d half-risen from her seat.
He’d always had an almost preternatural stillness about him, a way of being able to just be , quietly observing without giving away much of what he was feeling.
It was only onstage that he seemed to vibrate with energy, lost in his own world as he played his guitar, moving with the music.
She felt now like she’d gotten a glimpse of something she wasn’t supposed to, able to see him through the glass as he paused for just a moment before opening the door to the conference room.
He gave his armpit a discreet sniff, which made her smile.
And then he ran his hand through his dark hair—it was still a little unruly after all, the curls grown out enough that they fell over his eyes. John.
She was still smiling a little when he opened the door to the conference room, causing everyone to look up.
The hair was the same, but he was different in so many subtle ways.
He was still lean—he’d been skinnier than she was, when they were kids—but his shoulders were broader, a wiry strength in his forearms and biceps where they strained against the sleeves of his plain white T-shirt.
That was different, too. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him wear a color other than black, but here he was, the surprise of that white shirt so stark it made her suddenly have all kinds of fanciful thoughts, like that he was an actual angel sent to save her.
An angel . Because he’d shown up in a white T-shirt.
It was ridiculous, not least because the closer Micah looked, it was obvious that he hadn’t even bothered to dress up for this occasion.
The shirt looked like one of those that you get out of a pack of five, and there was a smear of something black around the bottom edge.
A smear of something on his gray pants, too, which had a rip in one knee.
His chest was rising and falling quickly, like he was out of breath, and his cheeks were flushed.
Her own lungs felt suddenly tight, which must be a sympathy thing.
“Sorry,” he said, glancing around the room. His gaze skimmed over her so quickly she barely even knew if he’d seen her, and that suddenly annoyed her more than anything else.
He’d shown up almost an hour late, looking like that , and all he had to say for himself was Sorry ?
What about some kind of explanation? What about something more personal, anything , that would give her an idea what he might be thinking, if he’d noticed her at all, if he’d thought about her in the years that had passed?
“We were just discussing whether we were over ourselves,” Frankie said dryly. “How about it, John?”
He’d stopped by the door where the snacks were set up, reaching for a water. “How about what?”
“Are you over yourself?” Frankie said. “We’ve got a full commitment from everyone but you so far.”
John had to pass by Micah to get to his seat, and she turned her head, holding her breath even though she didn’t know why.
Because she was waiting to see how he’d answer?
Because she was overwhelmed by being suddenly in the same room with him, by having him mere inches behind her chair, when for years he’d felt as inaccessible to her as if he’d lived on the moon?
Probably because he was sweaty and she didn’t want to get a whiff. That was all it was.
She let herself exhale when he’d taken his seat, and it was only then that she noticed there was a bottled water sitting right in front of her, where there hadn’t been one before.
She hadn’t seen John place it there, but that was the only explanation.
Her gaze shot up to his face, wanting some confirmation, but his head was tilted back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank down half his own water in a series of gulps.
Look at me , she thought. Goddamn it, look at me.
He finally set the bottle down on the table, his bottom lip still wet when he ran his tongue over it. “Yes,” he said. “One hundred percent.”
He directed his words to Frankie, but then he was catching Steve’s eye, returning a smile.
Ryder was right next to him, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge him in any way, although maybe Micah was reading into that.
He glanced over at Bobbi, seeming to understand by process of elimination that she was the one running the meeting.
He cleared his throat, sliding the papers in front of him closer.
And then, in a suspended moment that sent a shiver down Micah’s spine, even though she’d expected it, even though she’d been trying to will it to happen—he looked right at her.
She felt the years between them in that one look, was somehow able to flash back to the very first time they’d met in seventh-grade homeroom, then through the rest of it—the friendship and the band and the aftermath and the long, lonely years that had unspooled from there, bringing them back to this moment right here.
“I’m over all of it,” John said.