13. Micah
MICAH
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I wasn't alone.
I laid there for a moment, staring at my ceiling while Robin slept beside me, one arm stretched across me and one leg hitched up against my own.
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed and illuminating her dark curls.
I carefully moved her arm and got out of bed. The house was still quiet as I moved around the kitchen. Coffee brewed while I mixed pancake batter. Music played softly from my phone propped against the toaster.
It felt domestic. I was halfway through flipping the first pancake when I heard footsteps in the hallway. I glanced up, and the sight nearly robbed me of my breath. Robin stood in the doorway rubbing sleep from her eyes. She was wearing one of my old band shirts.
The shirt had fit very differently on me. I was a fairly average-sized man. Robin was a gorgeous plus-sized woman. The shirt stretched across her chest while the hem hit just above the swell of her delicious ass that was covered only by her black panties.
For one very long second, I completely forgot how pancakes worked.
Robin yawned.
I looked away before I did something stupid like stare. Unfortunately looking away didn't help, because now I was imagining looking, which had me no less hard.
"Morning," she said sleepily.
"Morning." My voice came out a little rougher than intended.
Robin wandered toward the kitchen island and snagged a banana from the bowl sitting there. God. I liked her here. She stopped beside the stove and leaned in for a kiss. It was the kind that felt like a habit, like we have been waking up just like this for years instead of weeks.
"Everything smells like campfire,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind."
“Not even a little, you can wear my clothes anytime,” I said before pulling her in for a quick kiss. “I can wash your clothes if you like."
Robin blinked. "You don't have to do that."
I shrugged and flipped another pancake. "It's one load."
For a second she looked like she was going to argue. Then something softened in her expression. "Okay."
The word shouldn't have made me nearly as happy as it did.
This meant she would stay for at least a few more hours.
A lazy morning with her, complete with coffee and pancakes, was just what I wanted.
Especially if it meant she was going to be wandering around my house in just that t-shirt and underwear.
I poured another pancake onto the griddle while Robin climbed onto one of the bar stools and watched me cook.
"What?" I asked.
She smiled into her coffee mug. "Nothing."
"Liar." I pointed the spatula at her. "You're staring."
Robin's grin widened, but she nabbed a piece of bacon from the cooling plate. I shook my head and returned to the pancakes while her laughter filled the kitchen.
After breakfast, I carried Robin's campfire-scented clothes down to the laundry room. The washing machine rumbled to life, and when I returned upstairs, I found her standing in front of my game shelf.
Robin turned with a controller already in her hand.
"You have Smash Bros."
I narrowed my eyes. "Why do I feel like I'm being challenged?"
Her only answer was a grin. Twenty minutes later, I was being destroyed.
"I don't understand," I said, staring at the screen in disbelief.
Robin's character launched mine into oblivion for what felt like the fiftieth time.
"You keep doing the same move," she said.
"Because it should work."
"Clearly it doesn't."
I groaned. Robin laughed so hard she nearly dropped her controller. The sound echoed through the living room, warm and bright and entirely too satisfying. Somewhere during the last few weeks, I'd become addicted to making her laugh. It was probably unhealthy.
I selected a new character. Robin selected the same one she'd been using all morning. A woman who apparently existed solely to ruin my self-esteem.
"You play video games like you do roller derby."
She glanced over. "What does that mean?"
"You're ruthless."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
She sent my character flying off the edge of the map.
I sighed. Robin cackled, and the game continued.
Somewhere in the middle of getting thoroughly humbled, I realized how much I was enjoying this. I enjoyed the game, the company, and the way Robin had completely taken over my couch like she'd always belonged there.
The conversation drifted naturally between matches.
Neither of us seemed in a hurry to be anywhere else.
Robin tucked her feet beneath herself and stole half my blanket.
At some point, she wandered into the kitchen for more coffee and returned with snacks she hadn't asked permission to take. She’d already made herself at home.
By early afternoon, the laundry buzzer sounded from downstairs.
Robin paused the game. "Aw."
The disappointment in her voice made me smile.
"You can stay."
She looked over. For a second, something soft flashed across her face.
Then the sarcasm returned. "Careful there, Micah. You're starting to sound attached."
If only she knew.
I headed downstairs to retrieve her clothes. Robin pulled a warm hoodie from the basket and buried her face in it.
"Much better."
"No more campfire?"
"No more campfire."
She folded the last shirt before looking over at me.
"You know..."
The expression immediately made me suspicious. "What?"
"I have a bout tonight."
My answer came before she finished the sentence.
"Yes."
Robin blinked. "You don't even know what I was going to ask."
"You were going to ask if I wanted to come."
Her smile appeared immediately. "And?"
"Obviously, I'm coming."
She laughed. "You're a derby groupie now."
"I was already a fan."
The truth was, I'd been watching the Grimm Reapers long before Robin and I ever spoke.
But now? Now I got to cheer for someone specific.
Someone whose laugh still echoed through my house.
Someone who'd spent the morning kicking my ass in Smash Bros.
Someone who had somehow worked her way into every corner of my life in a matter of weeks.
I followed her back upstairs, where we promptly started another game. And even though she absolutely annihilated me for the next two hours, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a better Saturday.
By late afternoon, Robin had finally taken mercy on me and agreed to stop humiliating me in video games. I took her home to get ready for the bout.
I was upstairs changing shirts when my phone buzzed. I snatched it up to check it, hoping it was Robin.
I was wrong. Mom. I stared at the screen. Nobody in my family called unless they wanted something. I answered anyway.
"Hey, Mom."
"Micah, thank goodness."
The greeting alone was enough to make my stomach sink.
I sat down on the edge of my bed. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." Which meant something was definitely wrong. Mom sighed dramatically. "We've had a situation."
There it was. I rubbed a hand over my face.
"What kind of situation?"
"Ryan's grandmother passed away."
I was failing to connect the dots. "Oh?"
"He left for Cincinnati this afternoon."
The dots connected and I got it. That explained the emergency tone. Ryan had taken over guitar duties for the worship team months ago.
Which meant… "No."
Mom hadn't even asked yet. There was a brief silence.
"Micah."
"No."
"Sweetheart—"
"I have plans tomorrow."
"You can move your plans."
I laughed, the sound coming out sharper than intended. "No."
"Micah."
"I already told you I was done."
The disappointed silence that followed felt familiar. The kind that had existed in my family my entire life.
"You've always helped when the church needed you. The family needs you."
There it was, time to give guilt a try. My mother was an expert with wielding guilt.
And the worst part was she wasn’t wrong.
For the most part I did as I was told. I went to church, did what my family needed me to do, and then went on with the rest of my life.
It was as if I had a double life, one of familial obligations and beliefs I didn’t share, and one where I truly got to be myself with friends who understood me as much as I allowed them to.
Guilt was the key that kept me locked in my cage.
But it would seem that hanging out with Robin was making me brave enough to rattle the cage a little.
I stood and started pacing.
"Mom."
"It would just be one Sunday."
"It's never one Sunday." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Mom spoke carefully. "Your father is counting on you."
I closed my eyes. Of course, he was. My father always counted on everyone. That's what happened when your life was built around an entire congregation of people trained to support your dreams with their pocketbooks.
"I'm not part of the worship team anymore."
"You're part of this family." The words landed hard. I leaned against the wall. "That makes you part of this ministry whether you like it or not."
This is what they all thought. I’d been born into this role, and I was expected to perform it without complaint.
For a moment I almost fought harder, but then years of conditioning kicked in. For years I kept the peace, avoided conflict, and been the easy son. I was the one who showed up with a smile. I played my music and did what I was told.
I exhaled slowly. "What time?"
Mom's relief was immediate. “Nine-thirty rehearsal.”
One sentence.
And just like that, the battle was over.
A few minutes later the call ended. I stood there, staring at my phone.
I thought about Robin, and guilt hit me so hard it nearly took my breath away.
I needed to tell her. Not tomorrow. Not next week.
Tonight. I would tell her tonight. I couldn't keep sitting across from her while she talked about Ascension and have her not know who I was and the family I was a part of.
She deserved better than that. She deserved the truth.
The problem was that after last night's conversation, the truth felt infinitely more complicated.
Because Robin didn't just hate Ascension. The church had failed her in an unimaginable way. I knew the moment I told her who I was, everything would change. The only question left was whether we would survive it.
I was still thinking about the phone call when I pulled into the parking lot outside the rink.
That was the thing about family. Even when they weren't physically present, they somehow occupied space in your head.
Expectations had a way of doing that. The constant pressure to become the version of yourself someone else had already imagined.
By the time I stepped inside, I was carrying all of it. But then the music hit me, followed by the crowd, the wheels, the whistles, and so much laughter. This was what was missing in my life. Here you could be messy, loud, unapologetic. No one cared, they just accepted you.
Immediately, some of the weight eased. I found Nate in the bleachers and dropped into the seat beside him while the teams finished warm-ups.
In front of us, the Grimm Reapers circled the track. Robin skated alongside Belle near the inside line, both of them moving with a confidence that still fascinated me.
The whistle blew and the bout began. The first jam exploded into motion. Robin sprinted through the pack while blockers slammed together in a wall of hips, shoulders, and determination.
It was hard to follow what exactly was going on sometimes, but I sure did love to watch her with the determined look on her face.