Chapter 23-Sloane #2
“You really didn't have to spend money on me.”
His jaw shifts.
“One thing you need to know about me, Sloane, I’ve got plenty of money.”
“What? You’re not just a working cowboy?”
“I’m that, too, but I've got a strict no-lies policy. I have money. You don’t ever have to worry about that, okay?”
I blink.
“You having money doesn’t mean I do. I can’t afford a new phone, Micah,” I whisper, and yeah, I’m a little embarrassed that everyone can hear me.
“And you didn’t buy one. I did. It’s a gift. Men can still buy women gifts, can’t they?”
My chest feels tight.
“I guess so,” I whisper.
I can’t recall the last time someone bought me a present.
It’s not flowers or jewelry, but it feels big to me.
Very big.
His eyes lock with mine.
“Good. So that’s all this is. A present from me to you, okay?”
It's impossible to argue with his logic.
“You're impossible,” I mumble, though there's no heat behind it.
A corner of his mouth twitches.
“So I've been told.”
“But—”
“No buts.” His voice softens, and he reaches out, his fingertips brushing gently against my wrist before dropping away again, as though he isn't quite sure how much touching is allowed. “Let me do this for you.”
Something in the way he says it makes my throat tighten.
Not demanding. Or controlling. Just certain.
Like helping me is as natural to him as breathing.
Then his expression turns serious again.
“Now,” he says quietly, “have you been worrying about the bar?”
I nod.
“A little.”
“And Patrick.”
That one isn't a question.
Before I can ask what he means—
“You didn't tell her?” Benji blurts from the table.
Micah cuts him a look sharp enough to stop a charging bull.
“Not yet.”
Benji lifts both hands.
“My bad.”
The room goes quiet.
When Micah turns back to me, all the hardness leaves his face.
His voice drops.
“Princess, promise you won't get upset until you've heard everything?”
Well. Shit.
Now I'm definitely upset. My stomach sinks.
“What happened?”
“I had a friend pick your brother up last night.”
I blink.
“What?”
“He's been taken to a rehabilitation center.”
I stare at him.
“Rehab?”
He nods once.
“Yes.”
Silence hangs between us.
Finally he exhales.
“I told you I don't lie. And I won’t. Not to you.”
Something about the way he says it makes me realize he means it.
Not just now.
Always.
“So I'm not going to start.”
He shifts his weight, almost like he's choosing every word before he speaks it.
“Your brother's hooked on some pretty terrible shit, Sloane.”
The words land like a punch.
“He's also gotten himself tangled up with some dangerous people.”
I shake my head automatically.
“No... Patrick wouldn't—”
“You know it’s true. We met them last night.”
His voice isn't cruel.
Or judgmental.
It's steady.
Grounded.
“Before we left last night, I talked to him.”
My eyes snap back to his.
“Patrick admitted it.”
I swallow hard.
“He needs help,” I whispered, feeling so much shame that tears pricked my eyes.
“He does. He needs help, Princess,” Micah says and he reaches for me, steadying me with his immovable strength.
“And that facility? They’ll help him there.”
He nods.
“Yeah, they will. I know the people who run it.”
“You know them?”
“I trust them.”
He says it with such quiet certainty that I find myself believing him before he explains another thing.
“It's secure. He'll detox there.”
My breathing catches.
“What if those men come looking for him?”
“They won't get to him. They’ve got expert surveillance equipment. Mine.”
The answer comes so quickly it's obvious he'd already anticipated the question.
“But he won't have contact with anyone for the first eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks?”
“He needs to focus on getting clean.”
I close my eyes for a moment.
“Is he...”
I can't even finish the sentence.
Micah does it for me.
“He's safe.”
I open my eyes again.
“He was scared, Princess. Has been for a while.”
That surprises me.
“He didn't look scared.”
“He hid it.”
Micah's voice stays low.
“But I saw it.”
I hug my arms around myself.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. Patrick let me down so many times over the years, in so many ways,” I whisper and I feel them now, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“You don't have to figure that out today.”
Micah wipes my tears away and cups my face between his big hands. His gaze never leaves mine.
“You can be angry. You can be relieved. You can love your brother and still hate what he's done.”
He pauses.
“All those things can be true at the same time.”
No one has ever said anything quite like that to me before.
And somehow...
Hearing it from Micah makes me feel like maybe I'm allowed to stop carrying everyone else's burdens for just a little while.
I let out a shaky breath.
“Are you okay?”
I nod.
“Yeah, but what about the bar?”
The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“I still have to get in there and fix what those men broke. I have to call the staff. They'll be wondering where I am.”
Micah reaches up and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
It's so unexpected—and so very him—that my frantic thoughts stumble to a halt.
“Princess.”
Just my nickname.
Quiet.
Steady.
Enough to make me look at him instead of the dozen disasters racing through my head.
“I already took care of it.”
I blink.
“What?”
“I sent a cleanup crew to The Watering Hole.”
“You did what?”
“The damage wasn't nearly as bad as it looked,” he says. “Broken bottles. Some furniture. A couple fixtures.”
He shrugs one shoulder.
“They stayed until everything was cleaned.”
“You mean?”
“My crew finished before sunrise.”
I just stare at him.
“You have a cleanup crew?”
He gives me the smallest nod.
“I know people.”
Benji snorts into his coffee.
“That is the understatement of the century.”
Micah ignores him.
“I also texted your cooks this morning.”
“My cooks?”
“They're already there.”
“What?”
“They've got the smoker going.”
“They don't know what happened last night.”
I shake my head, trying to keep up.
“You... you talked to them?”
“I did.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“As far as they're concerned,” Micah says, “Patrick's taking a leave of absence.”
“Sabbatical,” Benji corrects with a grin.
Micah glances sideways at him.
“That.”
Benji chuckles.
“Sounds fancier.”
Sawyer shakes his head.
“You're impossible.”
“I've been told.”
My eyes stay fixed on Micah.
“You... handled all of that?”
He nods once.
“I didn't want you worrying about your employees. And you didn’t need them gossiping. They've got enough real work to do. I figured you could decide what to tell them later.”
My lips part.
“You figured...”
“I know this seems heavy handed, Princess, and maybe I should have asked first, but you've got enough on your plate already.”
His tone never changes.
No expectation.
No hint that he wants credit.
He's simply telling me what he did, the same way another man might mention he'd picked up milk on the way home.
“Besides I don't like loose ends,” he adds. “They make people anxious.”
Something about that makes my chest ache.
“You thought I'd be anxious.”
“You were already carrying enough. But I’m sorry if I should’ve waited.”
The words are so matter of fact they steal my breath.
He wasn't trying to impress me.
He was trying to lighten my load.
Silence settles over the kitchen.
No one rushes to fill it.
Bit quietly busies herself slicing another bagel. Esme wraps both hands around her coffee mug. Sawyer studies the wood grain in the table like he suddenly finds it fascinating. Even Benji, who usually has something smart to say, keeps his mouth shut.
They're giving me space. And I never realized how rare that was.
My gaze drifts around the room.
To Bit.
To Esme.
To Sawyer.
To Benji.
Then back to Micah.
This incredible, infuriating, quietly wonderful man.
He cleaned up my bar. Protected my brother. Made sure my employees could keep working without walking into yesterday's nightmare. Ordered me a new phone before I'd even realized mine was beyond saving.
He thought through a dozen problems I'd been too overwhelmed to face.
All without asking for recognition.
All without making me feel like I owed him anything in return.
And now, he’s apologizing for overstepping.
My throat tightens until I can barely swallow.
The words won't come.
One question keeps circling through my mind.
Why?
Why would anyone go to so much trouble for me?