Chapter Twelve
When Micah woke up, it took a minute for her to orient herself to her surroundings. For one thing, it was dark . For another, there was a strange sound in the air, almost more an absence of sound than a sound itself. It was like being inside an echo.
But the main thing was that she’d woken up next to a man. And not just any man, she realized as everything came rushing back to her at once— John . Her onetime best friend, her bandmate, her biggest regret. She’d shared a bed with John last night.
And this morning, he had an arm casually draped over her shoulder, his hand palming her bare breast.
She could control the amount of touch just by breathing. Inhale, and she swelled to fit his hand, the contact warm and all-encompassing, feeling like he meant it. Exhale, and it was barely a tickle, her nipple hard and wanting against his palm, begging for more.
And speaking of hard and wanting…she could feel him against the back of her, the ridge of his erection unmistakable where it pressed against her ass through the thin fabric of his pajamas, her underwear.
She wanted to press back, to push against him just to see what would happen.
She wanted to take his hand and close it around her breast, give it a decisive squeeze that said Yes, this is real .
But she knew that none of that was a good idea. If John woke up now, no doubt he’d be mortified to be caught in this kind of position—it wasn’t like he wanted it. They’d just drifted toward each other while sleeping, and then his body had taken over…
God, his body could take her all the way over. She suddenly wanted John to fuck her with a desperation that was almost painful.
This was John she was having these thoughts about.
It had to just be the shock of being near him again, after all those years, the way he felt like the same boy she’d always known and like a man who was a complete stranger to her.
Even the weight of his arm felt different, the ridges of veins over the muscle of his forearm, the light dusting of dark hair.
She wasn’t meant to be noticing all of these new details about him.
She had to get out of his room. She had to get out of his bed .
Micah slid out from underneath his arm, listening to hear if she’d woken him.
But he was still breathing the heavy, deep rhythm that told her he was out.
She felt along the carpet next to the bed until she came across her bra, then shuffled carefully forward until she was able to grab the rest of her clothes and disappear into the bathroom to freshen up.
He’d helpfully looped her bag on the handle of the door leading back out to the hallway, and she double-checked to make sure it had everything inside, including her phone, before opening the door to make her escape.
The strip of light from the hallway illuminated John on the bed, his tousled black curls spread out over his pillow, the covers pushed down to where she could see the back of his elbow.
She wondered if he’d notice that she’d left, if there was a chance he’d been dreaming of her.
All fanciful thoughts, and she shut the door before she could get lost too far down a labyrinth of them.
—
By the time Micah was due to the Starlight Theater for rehearsals, she’d gotten herself back under control.
She’d found someone to let her into her room—to locate her room in the first place.
She’d showered, changed into new clothes, and sat out on her balcony with a cup of tea just in time to watch the sun rise.
It really was incredible, that this time yesterday she’d been sleeping in a Miami hotel and now here she was, on a ship in the middle of the ocean watching the first light of day come over the horizon.
The ship seemed to have stabilized from the night before, which she was grateful for, and although it was still a little chilly, it had been pleasant enough for her to enjoy the balcony with her cardigan on.
She felt like she could still feel the weight of John’s hand on her breast this morning, was conscious when she breathed of her bra abrading against her nipple in a way that reminded her of his palm.
It was so stupid, to have thoughts like that, and she had to figure out a way to put it out of her mind before she faced everyone at rehearsals.
But overall she was feeling good. She and John seemed better now—more like the friends they’d always been.
And if she’d briefly entertained more than friends –type thoughts about him, well, he didn’t have to know that.
The extra sleep really had helped her, and she was feeling like maybe there was a chance they could perform well on this cruise.
More than that, maybe they could have some fun.
She was sitting in one of the folding chairs set up on the Starlight’s stage alongside all their instruments and equipment, chatting with Frankie, when John walked in. He did a bit of a double take when he saw her, almost like he didn’t expect that she’d already be there.
“Putting the punk in punctuality ,” she said, grinning at him.
He made his way over to his guitar, not bothering to sit down as he lifted the strap over his neck and plugged in, pressing one of his pedals down with the toe of his Converse while he started tuning up.
“I stole that,” he said after a minute. He hadn’t been looking at her when he said it, so she couldn’t tell at first that he was talking to her.
“What?”
“From Henry Rollins,” he said. “I think I read it in some interview.”
Micah’s jaw literally dropped open. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All those years, she’d thought he’d come up with that phrase. “You let me believe it was yours.”
“I know,” John said. “You thought it was so clever.”
“So why—”
He did glance up at her then, and there was something almost shy around his eyes.
For a minute, she thought maybe he’d been semiconscious that morning after all, that he was thinking of his hand on her bare skin the way she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
But that was impossible. He had definitely been sleeping.
The problem was that she’d been wide awake, and now it was hard to watch his hand as it wrapped around the neck of his guitar, his fingers easily fretting a chord that she could tell he wasn’t even thinking about. He could play me like that , she thought, and then had to look away.
What the fuck was wrong with her?
The doors to the theater burst open, and Steve and Ryder entered in such a performatively noisy way it was like they were trying to kill the mood.
Which was fine, obviously. There wasn’t any mood.
Micah busied herself messing with the microphone, humming a few notes into it before holding it farther away to sing a line from “If Only.” She had already done her usual vocal warm-ups in the shower, and as shitty as he’d been in the way he’d said it, Ryder wasn’t wrong—she didn’t have nearly as much to do as the rest of them, since she didn’t play an instrument onstage.
To get ready for a full tour, she’d had an entire workout regime—she had a small trampoline in her apartment, and she would jump on it for hours, practicing belting out her biggest notes without getting out of breath.
The old man who’d lived downstairs had eventually asked her, very nicely, if she wouldn’t mind doing that only from the hours of ten to two o’clock.
She’d been happy to oblige, and after that he would sometimes bring her up a steaming bowl of noodle soup, claiming it was good for the vocal cords.
It had always made her feel warm and cared for, and she swore her voice got stronger, her pitch more precise.
As far as she was concerned, that soup had been magic.
“All right,” Ryder said once he had his guitar, like he was calling a meeting to order. “We can start with ‘Sunflares,’ since it’s a little faster, and then ‘Open Mouth,’ and close out with ‘Anesthesia.’ That also makes sense because—”
“We’re playing ‘If Only’ as one of the three,” Micah said.
Ryder shot her an impatient look, glancing at Steve and rolling his eyes as though they’d been over this. Micah had been feeling pretty good about this gig only a few minutes ago, and now she was already having her doubts. Surely Ryder couldn’t have turned Steve against her that soon?
Or should she have said turned against her again ? Maybe still.
“?‘Sunflares,’ ‘Open Mouth,’ and then close with ‘If Only,’?” Micah said firmly.
“We’re already playing that fucking song on prom night,” Ryder said. “We have to show we’re not just some one-hit wonder—”
“On this cruise, we are a one-hit wonder,” Frankie cut in. “Micah’s right. They’re here to hear that song. We should play it every chance we get. And prom night will be acoustic, whereas this one will be electric. It’ll feel different enough.”
Ryder slapped his guitar so hard the sound buzzed through his amp. “ No , it won’t—”
“We have to play ‘If Only’ both times,” John said. “It’s in the contract.”
Micah had barely read the contract, if she was being honest. She’d skimmed it enough to get the gist, had checked to make sure there was nothing in there about having to spend any alone time with Ryder, and then had signed on the bottom line.
But if she trusted anyone to have read the entire thing from top to bottom, it was John.
Ryder looked ready to argue, but John just kept tuning his guitar, strumming a chord until he apparently liked what he heard. “I have a copy of the contract in my room,” he said. “I can get it, if you want.”
“Let’s just run through ‘Sunflares,’?” Ryder muttered, and Micah bit back a grin.