Chapter 18 #2
Micah ripped off his soggy tie, wiped his mouth, and flushed the toilet. He gargled with the tap water, splashed some on his face, and scrubbed off his tie, then wrapped it in a wad of paper towels and stuffed it in his pocket.
Now that he was part of a gallery, he’d have to attend receptions and art fairs and charity events.
If he was able to draw Simone, other people would commission him for the same.
He’d have to let them inside the studio to draw them.
Fixing his career wasn’t quite incentive enough to ask for help.
After all, he’d spent the past nine months hiding away at home while his life spiraled down the drain, and it wouldn’t be hard to do that again.
But the idea of failure reflecting negatively on Cosmo meant Micah had to pull himself together.
Cosmo had promised to slip into Micah’s apartment and be a “ghost” for him, but he hadn’t done it yet, and they were running out of time to practice.
Micah needed a therapist.
The urge to vomit rose again, but he clenched his stomach and called Everett.
Keyboard clacks filled the speaker. Everett looked at the screen and frowned. “Jesus, you look like shit.”
“I feel like shit.”
“What’s going on? You sick?”
“I need a therapist. I need you to call one of the ones from that list for me. Please. Set up some appointments for as soon as you can.”
Everett blinked like he hadn’t heard Micah correctly. “Uh, yeah. Of course.” He laughed uncertainly. “You’re sure? I mean, you are, right? You’re really going to go?”
“Yes, I’ll go.”
“Okay. I’ll do it right now. Call you back when it’s set up. Hang in there.”
Micah drew in a deep breath, wiped off his smeared glasses, and left the bathroom.
Cosmo drifted through a hallway, and despite his queasiness, Micah’s stomach fluttered in a good way.
He took a few steadying breaths, enchanted by the cut of Cosmo’s silhouette against a huge Bauhaus-inspired painting on the wall behind him.
Cosmo stopped to inspect a shoe scuff on the baseboard. He rubbed at it, frowning.
Stopping beside him, Micah said, “Do they have you spit-shining this–”
Cosmo shrieked and fell into the wall, a hand clutched to his heart. He stared at Micah, his chest heaving, then threw his arms around him. “Oh, you scared my soul straight out of my body.”
It was tempting to make a joke, but Micah’s queasy stomach coupled with Cosmo’s tremble pushed the urge away. He rubbed Cosmo’s goose-bumped arms. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Cosmo pulled away, brushing hair from his eyes. “Just a little on edge.”
“Why?”
“Good god, you look atrocious. Simone didn’t reject your portfolio, did she?”
“No. I signed the contract and agreed to the event. I’m just very nervous.”
“Oh.”
The concern didn’t leave Cosmo’s face, so Micah added, “But I’m excited. I’m part of a gallery again! Thank you so much for your help. You didn’t need to put yourself on the line like that.”
“Simone was the one who brought you up. I didn’t even know you’d submitted your portfolio here. But the idea to have you draw her was mine.” He smiled and leaned in for a kiss.
Micah was not about to kiss Cosmo with puke on his breath. He dodged Cosmo’s lips, pressed his hand against the small of Cosmo’s back, and pecked at his neck.
Cosmo let out a small gasp. “You are positively naughty today. After work, do you want to help me pick out something fun with the gift you got me?”
The only thing that sounded fun right now was lying on the floor. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“You mean you don’t own anything even for your own… mm, personal aid?”
“I have a vibrator with dead batteries.”
Cosmo laughed. “Poor baby. I’ll find something.”
“I bought that certificate for you to use, not me. Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing’s wrong?”
“You know how jumpy I get sometimes.” He waved his hand like Micah’s concern was obstructing his vision, then gave him a light peck on the lips before Micah could stop him. “You should go celebrate. I’m so happy for you.”
“I’d hope that my art speaks for itself, but I appreciate any arm-twisting you did on my behalf. Thank you.” His phone vibrated, and he pulled it out. “My brother. I should take this.”
Cosmo nodded, but continued to stare at Micah. “Of course. Talk to you soon?”
“Yeah. See you later.” The phone continued to ring. Micah bit his lip, then cupped Cosmo’s cheek and caressed the edge of his jaw.
Cosmo sighed, his eyelids fluttering, and leaned into the touch. “I must get back to work now.” But even as he said it, he took a step forward and gripped the lapels of Micah’s suit jacket.
The phone stopped ringing, then started again. Micah reluctantly pulled back and whispered goodbye, leaving Cosmo with a dazed dreaminess in his expression.
He answered the call as he headed through the lobby and pushed through the front doors. “Hi.”
Everett held his phone properly, fluorescent office lighting crowning his hair. “All done. You’ve got an appointment with Dr. Yoshioka on November twentieth at ten am. That’s the soonest I could get you in.”
His stomach plummeted. That was weeks away.
It would help in the long run, but was too late for the event.
Shit. Not that one or two sessions probably would have helped enough to keep him from panicking at the reception, but now he’d have to find some other way to practice.
Baby steps weren’t going to cut it. “Thanks for doing that.”
“You bet. Do you need me to call you that day to keep you accountable so you actually go?”
“That’s probably not a bad idea.”
“Will do.” Everett’s smile wavered. He set down his phone, blew his nose, and picked it back up. “I’m so proud of you, little brother.”
“You better not be crying.”
“Who’s crying? Nobody’s crying.” Everett’s voice broke on the last syllable. “Talk to you later. Love you.”
“Love you too.” The call ended, and Micah put away his phone. The tie in his pocket was starting to dampen his shirt; he pulled his suit lapel away and rubbed at the wet spot.
A car drove through the parking lot, slowing as it went past Cosmo’s sedan. It parked, and a white man in a leather jacket and sunglasses climbed out. Why did he look familiar?
Adrenaline surged through Micah’s limbs. It was Zedd. He was wearing that leather jacket in the profile photo of that Flashbulb account that had been leaving Cosmo nasty comments.
Zedd pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket as he strode toward the gallery. He tried to pull out a cigarette, then dropped the pack. Picking it up, he managed to get one out and light it, but his hands shook, and two of his fingers were in metal splints.
He strode up to the doors, but Micah blocked his path. Zedd took a step back, smoke curling from his nostrils. He looked Micah up and down, then said, “Right,” and flicked his cigarette onto the sidewalk. “No smoking, huh.”
“You’re not coming in.”
Zedd pushed up his sunglasses. He had a black eye, the flesh beneath his eye swollen and purple. “Excuse me?”
“You want both your eyes to match? If not, I suggest you turn around and get back in your car.” Micah was not going to let this douche harass Cosmo today.
And standing up to Zedd gave Micah extra satisfaction because it would be a direct incident of Zedd not scaring Micah away the way he did with Cosmo’s past partners.
Narrowing his gaze, Zedd said, “And who are you supposed to be, random man? This art gallery needs a bouncer? Get the hell out of my way.”
“Is there room for two in your grave, Zedd?”
The color drained from Zedd’s face. He stared at Micah, wide-eyed, his throat working.
He stepped back, stumbling, then turned and ran.
When he reached his car, he jumped inside and peeled out of the parking lot.
Someone laid on their horn as he cut them off.
The light turned red, and Zedd ran straight through.