Chapter Thirty
Micah had no idea what time it was when she woke up. Without any glimpse of the sun outside, it was impossible to tell. It might be early afternoon already, although her internal clock told her it was still the middle of the night.
What she did know was that she awoke feeling warm and cozy and secure, and it was only when she reached her arm over to the other side of the bed that she realized it was empty. “John?”
His name came out as barely a whisper, so it was no wonder that he didn’t hear her.
He was sitting on the edge of a chair in the corner, partially lit only by his phone resting on top of a small amp, which she could see was on from the red glowing light.
He had his electric guitar plugged in, headphones on as he played through what she could tell was the lead line for “If Only.”
He’d spent so much time today making sure that she felt comfortable with her part, and then working on his vocals, that it hadn’t even occurred to her that maybe he’d be insecure about the fact that he was also taking on a new guitar part he didn’t normally play.
And John had always been a bit of a perfectionist—it drove him crazy when he missed a note live or if he didn’t get the tone he was going for in a recording.
“John?” she said again, her voice cracking a little. She sat up, and it was that motion that caught his attention. He lifted one of the padded sides of the headphones away from his ear.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said.
“You didn’t.”
“I don’t want to fuck up.”
“You won’t.”
In the shadows, she didn’t know how much of her he could make out, but she felt like he could see everything as his eyes swept over where her hair was tangled and still slightly damp down to her bare breasts over the rumpled covers of the bed. Her nipples tightened even from that one look.
“Come on, Johnny,” she said. “Come back to bed.”
He leaned the guitar against the wall, reaching over to switch off the amp and turn his phone light off.
He’d dressed in his Batman pajama pants again, which she really did find ridiculously cute, but hadn’t bothered with a shirt.
She ran her hands over his chest as he crawled up her body, stopping to brace himself over her.
“We never got to go to our prom,” he said.
It was true. By the time their senior prom rolled around, they’d already been fully committed on a national tour to support their album. She tried to remember what city they’d been in on that date, sure that they would’ve marked it somehow, but it was a blur.
“I would’ve asked you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t have needed to be asked,” she said. “I would’ve assumed we were going together.”
He smoothed the hair off her forehead. “Unless you were dating someone at the time,” he said. “Then you would’ve gone with them.”
She wanted to deny that. It was impossible to believe now that she would’ve wanted to spend that night with anyone other than John, even if it was just in the capacity of friends.
But she knew that was revisionist history.
If she’d been dating someone else, of course it would’ve been a foregone conclusion that they’d be her prom date.
The only part she was absolutely confident about was that there was no way she would’ve had more fun than if she’d spent the night with John, however they’d needed to do it.
“Where would you have taken me to dinner beforehand?”
“Taco Bell,” he said, and she burst out a surprised laugh that she could tell made him smile, even in the dark. “I’m just keeping it real. Plus you loved the Crunchwrap Supreme.”
“It’s the superior Taco Bell order, and I’ll die on that hill. It has the soft tortilla, the bit of crunch, the cheese, the sour cream…a truly perfect culinary delight.”
“What would you have worn?” he asked.
She thought about that, casting back to remember her style sense then.
“Maybe a ballerina pink dress with a floaty skirt, paired with my combat boots so you knew I was still punk. I would’ve made sure you knew the pink was ironic , because I didn’t know how to admit back then that I just liked the color.
And I would’ve tried to get you to wear a white suit like Elvis from the ’68 comeback special, but I know you would’ve gone with black. ”
“I would’ve worn whatever you wanted me to.”
“Probably ill-advised to eat a Crunchwrap Supreme in a white suit,” she said.
“I don’t know that I would’ve had much of an appetite. I would’ve been nervous at the idea of dancing with you later.”
“You’re a very good dancer,” she said.
“That’s not why I would’ve been nervous.
” She could hear him swallowing in the dark, and his voice sounded a little ragged, like maybe he was nervous even now.
She thought about waking up to find him practicing that song, wanting to make sure every tiny thing was right, and she squeezed his forearms, trying to let him know that it would be okay.
“What’s the song we would’ve slow-danced to? ”
“Well, it would have to be Elvis, if you were wearing the suit.” She took a minute before she answered, like she had to think about it, but it was just for show. She’d known the song the minute he’d asked the question. “?‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’?”
He stroked her cheek. “Ah, Micah. I’m no fool, and I never rush into anything. I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve years old.”
Her entire chest felt tight. Her first instinct was to deny his words, wanting to tell him all the ways that wasn’t possible.
He only thought he was in love with her.
He loved her as a friend, maybe, which was no revelation—there had always been love between them.
She knew he’d had a crush on her at various points, she’d crushed on him at other points, but it had never gone beyond that because they knew it couldn’t.
Not without risking the friendship, which Micah would protect at all costs. It was too important.
But she also knew immediately that he meant what he’d said, that it was the truest thing he’d ever said to her. Hearing him speak the words aloud felt simultaneously like the biggest surprise and like the most beautiful, inevitable thing.
“Micah Presley, no relation,” he said. “I think I was half-gone for you the minute you introduced yourself. And then sometimes I think I fell the rest of the way two weeks later, when I finally got up the nerve to talk to you and you just rolled with it like no time had passed at all in between. You’ve always known yourself in this really special way, in this way that invites other people in.
You’re so brave, and you make me brave.”
She shook her head, wanting to refute all of that. Hadn’t he been listening? She’d spent the past few years hiding out, licking her wounds, making fucking bracelets instead of making music, not wanting to face anyone, least of all him. She was the opposite of brave.
“You are,” he said, his hands warm and strong on either side of her face.
“I know it’s been hard, since the band broke up.
And I know that everything that came afterward did a number on you.
But I have no doubt that, when you’re ready, you can do whatever the fuck you want.
You’ve always been able to. And I have no doubt that whatever that is, it’s going to be great.
You have such power, in the way you feel things, in the way you can make other people feel them, too—with your lyrics, with your voice, with who you are. ”
It was a good thing it was so dark, because Micah thought that was the only thing saving her from completely losing it, from wanting to hide her face or run away, not wanting to let John hold her and tell her all these things she felt she didn’t deserve to hear. That she needed to hear.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand trailing down her jaw.
“That’s why the world fell in love with you in ElectricOh!
,” he said. “But I fell in love with you before that, because you’ve always been the person I most want to talk to, I most want to make laugh, who can make me laugh, who makes me feel like no matter what else happens there’s always a safe place to go back to, and that safe place is you. ”
She had so much she wanted to say, so much that his words stirred up. But there was a lump in her throat and no matter what he’d said, she didn’t know that she was brave enough to say any of it. She didn’t know that she knew how.
So instead she tugged him down to her, pressing a hard kiss to his mouth that was a little clumsy, starting somewhere closer to his chin before he tilted his face to meet her.
She felt a sob rising up, but she swallowed it back down, her hands greedy as she clutched the bunched muscles at his shoulders.
The action caused a slight throb in her injured knuckles, but she ignored it, not wanting to stop touching him.
His hand was on her breast then, giving it a squeeze, dragging his fingertips over the tight bud of her nipple.
It seemed like a waste, that they hadn’t been touching each other like this all those years.
“John,” she said. “John.”
She was asking for something, but she didn’t even know what it was. She didn’t know what more he could give her than he’d already given.
He reached down, his hand between her legs as he found that pulse that was begging for its own release. He rubbed her clit in slow, patient circles, his breath hot on her cheek as he kissed her jaw.
“You have no idea what this does to me,” he said. “Just touching you like this, making you come apart like this.”
She wanted to come apart, could feel her body inching toward it, but then every time she got close he backed off, stroking another part of her until she was angling her hips toward him, trying to get him to touch her in the way she most craved.