45. Chapter 45
Chapter forty-five
MICAH PRESCOTT
Two months later
The windows are open tonight. Warm ocean air drifts through our apartment while music hums softly from the little speaker sitting near the sink.
The entire place smells like garlic and butter and whatever fruity candle Heather lit an hour ago.
That girl makes me buy her a new candle every single time we go to the store.
Apparently, I owe her for everything that happened in Russia.
I don’t care. I’ll owe her forever. She wakes up every day, still choosing me. So I’ll give her the damn world if she asks.
I stand barefoot in the kitchen holding two plates while she moves around me in one of my old band hoodies and denim shorts, humming absently beneath her breath while she stirs mashed potatoes on the stove.
And for the first time in a very long time, nothing hurts. The bullet wound still aches sometimes if I sleep wrong, and certain movements pull sharply enough to remind me exactly what happened in Moscow. But it’s manageable now. And the nightmares are less frequent, too.
Heather turns suddenly, pointing the spoon toward me. “You’re being weird.”
I blink once before realizing I’ve been frozen in place just watching her. “Sorry,” I mumble automatically.
She smirks with a sexy little wink.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Golden blonde hair falling messily around her shoulders. Pink lips shiny from the sip of wine she stole from me earlier. Bare legs moving across warm hardwood floors while sunset light spills through the windows behind her.
Home.
This is something I always thought I’d die before seeing.
“You okay?” she asks gently, her expression softening now, like she’s genuinely concerned.
I nod quickly. “Yeah.”
She narrows her eyes, like she doesn’t believe me for a second. Then the song changes, fading into “Freakin' Out” by Dexter and the Moonrocks. Her entire face lights up mischievously before she abandons the stove completely and walks straight toward me.
“No,” I warn instantly, already laughing.
“Yes.”
“Heather.”
“You’re dancing with me!”
I barely manage to set the plates onto the counter before she steals my hands and pulls me into the middle of the kitchen.
“We’re about to eat, and I’m fucking hungry,” I argue weakly.
“We can eat in a minute.”
I laugh softly while her arms slide around my neck, my own hands settling automatically against her waist. The movement pulls slightly at my sore side, but nowhere near enough to stop me from pulling her closer.
She sways around to the beat of the song, but still takes it easy on me.
And after a minute of joyful laughing and dancing, she slows against me, the song still playing.
I rest my cheek against her head and close my eyes.
There were so many times when I thought that I’d never wake up.
When I never wanted to. But my best friend kept me alive.
And now, this beautiful, incredible, brave, and kind woman is holding me like I mean the entire world to her. I am absolutely lucky to call her mine.
How did I survive? I could have died, and this could be heaven. Or it could be real and everything we struggled through together brought me to this perfect moment.
Heather pulls back slightly. “Meekah?”
I hadn’t even realized tears were forming until she said my name. I laugh weakly under my breath and wipe quickly at my face, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” Her voice softens instantly. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head once before looking past her toward the open windows where distant summer light glows over Seaside. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not.”
Emotion clogs unexpectedly in my throat. “I just…” I exhale shakily. “I just can’t believe sometimes that we made it out together. Him and I.”
Her entire expression changes.
I swallow hard before continuing quietly. “There were so many times I thought I was going to lose him.”
Heather’s eyes water.
“And now he’s home,” I whisper. “He’s sober. He’s writing music again. He smiles now.” A weak laugh escapes me. “And he’s getting married. Do you know how fucking insane that feels after everything?”
Heather reaches up carefully, brushing tears from beneath my eyes with her thumbs. “I know,” she whispers.
I look at her for a long moment before finally admitting the thing lodged deepest inside my chest. “I think this is the first time in my life I’ve ever actually felt safe.”
The words hang quietly between us.
Heather’s mouth trembles before she pulls me into her arms so tightly I almost laugh again out of sheer awkwardness. I’m still not the best at being vulnerable with anyone except Jude, even when we’re not in survival mode.
“You deserve safe,” she whispers fiercely against my shoulder. “You deserve peace and love and every good thing that exists in this world, Micah. You’ve shown me what it’s like to love someone as much as I watched Emma love Jude for so many years.”
Emotion crashes through me so hard I have to close my eyes. For years, survival was the only thing any of us understood. Now we’re learning how to live afterward. And it feels fucking amazing. I wake every day beside her feeling blessed that I was given another chance.
Heather pulls back just enough to kiss me softly before grinning through watery eyes. “Also, if you cry before dinner at Jude and Emma’s, Kami is going to roast you alive.”
I bark out a laugh. “She absolutely will.”
“And Finnick will pretend to defend you while making it worse somehow.”
“That’s exactly what he’ll do.”
Heather beams triumphantly before stealing another quick kiss. Then her nose wrinkles. “Oh, my god.”
I blink. “What?”
“The garlic bread.”
Smoke curls faintly upward from the oven behind her. She gasps in horror before sprinting toward it while I double over laughing so hard my side starts hurting again. “Don’t laugh!” she shouts while yanking open the oven. “This is your fault!”
I lean against the counter, grinning helplessly while she waves smoke away dramatically with a dish towel. “You’re the one who had to dance with me. You started with the emotions.”
She just rolls her eyes.
I come up behind her just as she sets the towel down.
My hands find her hips, and she turns in my arms. I don’t give her time.
I just kiss her. I kiss her harder than I’ve ever kissed her before.
She immediately melts into me, a little whimper escaping her when my tongue slides over hers.
When I finally pull back, her skin is flushed.
“Wow,” she murmurs with a grin.
I smirk. “I love you so much, blondie.”
She yanks me into another passionate kiss. “I love you, too, Meekah,” she whispers against my lips.
“Thank you for helping to save my life,” I say, cupping her face in my hands.
She swallows. “You’re the one who saved mine.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “You pushed me out of the way. You took a bullet for me. Asshole.”
I sigh, my forehead falling to hers. “And I’d do it all over again if it meant that you were safe.”
And I would. A thousand times over.