Chapter 15
Fifteen
I t’s a long, wearisome day—I work eight hours at the salon then head straight to Original Joe’s to hostess, arriving in time to scarf a plate of spaghetti and meatballs before starting my shift.
It turns out, my answer is sitting in my driveway in a blue Mustang fastback.
My heart leaps in elation, then sinks with dread.
Calming my whirring insides, I pull alongside Mick and kill the engine. I can’t see him well; the streetlight casts us both in shadow. But as we exit our cars and I draw near, I’m startled by his bloodshot eyes. Has he been crying?
What happened?
I wrap him in my arms. He offers no words, but clings to me like a life preserver.
We part and I stare into those gray eyes. “Are you?—”
“Let’s go inside,” he murmurs .
I open the door to the condo, grateful my roommates are still in Oakland for a few more days. Mick throws the deadbolt as I kick off my shoes, drop my purse, and practically bite my tongue waiting for him to speak. I’m in unfamiliar territory, and it physically hurts to see him so plainly hurting.
He slips his arms around my waist from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder, then lets loose an audible breath followed by a hitch. I hear the torment in it.
My head whips. “Mick, what hap?—”
“Baby, I’m fucking exhausted, and…” A heavy pause stretches out. “What I need is to hold you close and crash. Can we do that? I know you have questions. I just… tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything.”
His cheek nestles against mine, rough from not shaving, his ocean scent faintly present, his arms so familiar around my waist. It calms me, settles me.
“Please,” he rasps.
“Okay,” I whisper, swiveling in his grasp to kiss him tenderly.
I lead him by the hand to my bedroom, and we shrug off our clothes and spoon our naked bodies together underneath the covers.
Mick’s arm binds me closer. His breathing soon evens out, my distraught prince succumbing to temporary peace.
An anxious undercurrent churns through my bloodstream, but before long, exhaustion drags me under.