Micah

by Jo Raven

  Okay, that’s a lie. The sadness that hits me is terrible. Unbearable. I’m amazed that my feet keep moving, my stick keeps hitting the concrete of the sidewalk.

  Micah isn’t there.

  Maybe I left work earlier, I think as I continue to the bus stop. Or maybe he had to work later today. Or something happened to him. Maybe he’s sick. I remember the way he coughed, and I feel cold. Another face surfaces in my memory—of that young homeless man I lost, his sunken eyes and long stringy hair, coughing as if dying.

  I almost turn back and walk into the tattoo shop to see Micah, make sure he’s okay. Almost. But instead I continue to the bus stop, thankful I don’t see Blake anywhere on the way.

  I catch my bus and return home, my thoughts churning. When did this happen? When did I turn into an ‘almost’ kind of person?

  As I unlock the door and enter the familiar hall, I realize I’m angry at myself. I’ve chickened out. I’m a coward. Blake scared me, but that excuse isn’t good enough. He’s just throwing threats about. He wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t dare.

  I used to trust my instincts, my feelings. It’s as if the accident broke more than bones; it broke my faith in me. The girl I was a few months ago wouldn’t have hesitated to walk into that shop and make sure Micah was okay.

  It’s not getting into trouble. Not talking to homeless people. Not even saving the world. But it’s the least I can do.

  ***

  Next day drags, probably because I can’t stop thinking of my plans to talk to Micah. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I think my heart is on overdrive, but the excitement is pleasant. Cassie sends me questioning glances, and I realize I have a smile on my face.

  I need to calm down. This is stupid. He may even be outside when I pass on my way to the bus stop, and I won’t even need to do or say anything because I’ll know he’s okay.

  But the butterflies remain, doing crazy flips in my insides as I bring shoes from the storeroom and help the customers try them on and as I hang the clothes back at their proper places.

  A guy watches me from the door of the shoe shop across the street. I frown. Is everyone watching me these days, or am I going crazy? I turn my back on him and do my best to ignore him.

  “What’s up, girl?” Cassie nudges me with her elbow. “Did something happen?”

  I steal a moment when the boss isn’t looking and tell her quickly about Micah and our brief encounter.

  “No shit!” she says, her mouth open, and I laugh.

  The boss sends us a stern look, and we go back to work, tidying up and hiding grins. God, this work day will never end, and it’s only part-time. As I get ready to leave, Cassie turns her back to the boss and makes signs at me to call her afterward to talk.

  I’d love to have a friend like that, to chat on the phone and laugh. Only I don’t think there will be anything more to talk about. My life is boring, and as for Micah... I’m just going to say hi to him, that’s all.

  Boom go the butterflies in my stomach, exploding all over the place, making me feel slightly sick. Maybe I’m getting the flu or something. This can’t be normal.

  I redo my ponytail, then check my face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes look too bright, my cheeks are flushed. I look feverish. Crap.

  The day is gray, and a light drizzle falls as I hurry down the street. People give me and my walking stick curious looks, but I ignore them. I’m buzzing with nerves. A homeless young woman is crouched in an alley behind a dumpster, and my steps falter. She looks at me, her face thin and sad.

  Mentally, I make a note to come back tomorrow and see how I can help her.

  Keep out of trouble, Joel’s voice hisses in my head. Blake’s face flashes in my mind, dark with anger. Not your responsibility, Evie. Let them be.

  If I see you talk to them, even look at them, I’ll bust their legs.

  Jesus. I frown and pick up my pace, my knee twinging in protest. I shouldn’t be afraid of Blake. He’s a jerk, not dangerous. He’s all talk and nothing more.

  Doesn’t change the fact he’s a jerk—patronizing and arrogant. He most certainly drinks—in fact, I’ve had to put up with his drunken ass more than once—and I’m pretty sure he does hard drugs, too. Why is it any safer being alone with him than with the people on the streets? At least on the street I’m not alone.

  And as for Joel’s concerns, I am careful. Christ. It’s not as if I go out at night and hang around dark places where I may get jumped. If possible, I ask about the person before approaching them. Not everyone on the street is a junkie. Not everyone is aggressive. Besides, I have pepper spray in case I need it. I’ve never needed it so far. I keep away from those who drink or seem high on drugs.

  I halt. Look back toward the alley where the woman crouched in filth.

  This isn’t me. Finding excuses. Cowering. Letting a jerk’s words stop me. I can do something small, like forego my coffee and donut today and give her that money instead. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

  As I turn and head back the way I came, I realize I’m smiling. I almost feel like myself again. Almost there.

  I’m at the mouth of the alley, already searching one-handed in my bag for my wallet, when someone grabs my arm from behind and spins me around.

  “You just won’t listen,” Blake growls.

  My heart stops, then starts again, pounding against my ribs. I try to pull away. “Let me go.”

  “Do you know I’ve marked in my memory every single loser you’ve tried to help on the street? I know their faces. Every single one you chose over me.”

  Holy shit.

  He nods at the alley. “I saw you looking at her as you passed. You thought I was joking when I said not to go anywhere near these scumbags?”

  I twist in his hold, but his fingers clamp harder around my arm. “I’ll call the police.”

  “Really? On the guy who saved your life after the accident?” He makes a dramatic face.

  Oh God, he’s really crazy. “Damn you. Let me go.” I twist my arm again, and he releases me.

  “I won’t say it again,” he hisses. “Stay away from the streets. My girlfriend keeps better company than that.”

  His girlfriend. The guy is a psychopath. I watch him as he walks to a sleek black car, climbs in and speeds away.

  Shit. Will Joel believe me if I tell him what happened?

  ***

  After the scare Blake gave me, I just give up and go home. I’m jittery and need to talk to someone about him.

  I look for my brother, but he isn’t home. Out with his buddies, my mom says. Dad’s still at work.

  Not many options there. Mom it is.

  “Mom...” I sit next to her on the sofa and try to think what to say not to stress her. I don’t want to have my family freaking out over Blake and forcing me to stay indoors. I spent enough time at home these past months to last me a lifetime, thank you very much.

  Mom is a pretty woman with her dark brown hair and blue eyes. Joel looks like her a lot. She’s absorbed in a fitness program on TV and cuts me an annoyed look.

  “What is it, honey?” she mutters. “Can’t it wait?”

  “It’s about Blake.”

  She sighs. “Is the crisis over? Are you two back together?”

  “What? No.” My hands writhe in my lap as if they don’t belong to me. “No, we’re not. Mom, Blake is sick.”

  She frowns, glances at the TV, then back at me. “Sick?”

  “His mind is twisted.”

  “Don’t be theatrical, Evie. What do you mean?”

  “He’s following me around. Says he doesn’t want me talking to people on the street.”

  Unbelievably, Mom’s gaze softens. “Oh, honey, he’s looking after you. Can’t you see he wants to be with you? He’s—”

  “He’s crazy, Mom. He threatened to hurt any person on the street I talk to.”

  “He’s joking, Evie... You know he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Do I? “How do you know he won’t?”

&nbs
p; “He’d never hurt you. Has he ever done anything to you?”

  “No, but he was there! He told me I shouldn’t talk to the homeless and then—”

  “See? He’s looking out for you. He brought you to the hospital after your accident. He cares for you.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. Both she and Dad, not to mention Joel, think Blake is a saint. “I’m telling you, Mom. Something’s off with that guy.”

  “Just stop going to dangerous places, honey.” Her attention is back on her TV program. “Blake is right. You could get hurt.”

  ***

  I won’t let Blake destroy my life. I won’t live in fear. I need to be myself again.

  Yet when I see a man rolled up in a sleeping bag lying on a bench, I hurry past, an itch between my shoulder blades. Is Blake watching me?

  Christ.

  The morning flies at work. I stash the walking stick away again, and the boss says nothing. Cassie and I exchange hurried words as customers go in and out.

  Well, Blake’s threats won’t stop me from seeing Micah. I’m worried about him. Blake wouldn’t dare touch him. Micah isn’t one of the homeless he marked.

  Then why am I still scared? Shaken.

  My boss manages to keep me later than the end of my shift, and I say nothing, hoping to keep my job. As soon as I’m allowed to go, I grab my walking stick and my bag and hurry out and down the street.

  The tattoo shop comes into view, and I slow down.

  Damage Control. What an odd name for a shop. I swallow hard as I cross the street and stand in front of its narrow facade with the colorful tattoo designs stuck inside the glass and the neon blue sign over the door.

  I wipe my palms on my pants and suck in a deep breath. Letting it out, I push the door and enter. Bells jingle overhead, startling me. The door clicks behind me, shutting out the noise of the street.

  Soft ambient music and the buzzing of tattoo guns fill the air. A thin Goth girl with long black hair sits in an orange armchair, flipping through a magazine. The chains on her boots clink as she swings her leg up and down.

  There’s a tall desk, manned by a muscular, dark-haired guy. He looks up at me expectantly, his handsome face illuminated by the glow of his computer screen.

  “How may I help you?” he asks, and I suddenly feel eyes on me from every direction. When I glance around, sure enough I see heads poking over booth walls to see who walked in.

  Self-consciously I lean on my stick and wish I’d left it outside when the eyes swivel to focus on it.

  “I, um.” I clear my throat. “I’m looking for Micah?”

  The guy behind the desk lifts a dark brow. “Are you?”

  “What?” I blink, confused.

  “Are you asking me if you’re looking for Micah?”

  I blink again. Is he serious?

  Then a corner of the guy’s mouth lifts, and I relax. Right. Very funny.

  “I think he works here.” I glance around again, searching for him, but the curious eyes have disappeared back inside the booths. “Or maybe you know where he might be?”

  The guy clucks his tongue and chuckles. “Micah!” he calls. “A pretty girl here to see you.”

  My mouth falls open. Fire licks my throat and cheeks. Now the guy is laughing out loud, a hand on his side. Why is he so keen on seeing me self-combust? Do I have ‘easy-to-tease’ stamped on my face?

  But then Micah comes around the desk, his cheeks flushed, too, and I realize the teasing is probably meant for him. Typical guy thing.

  “Cut it out, Tyler,” he says, then stops in his tracks, his blue eyes bright.

  My mouth runs dry. My mind blanks out. God. My memory is faulty. I didn’t remember him quite so handsome. His smoothly-shaved jaw is strong and square, offset by a soft mouth and long-lashed eyes. His short hair glints like metal, and his thin gray T-shirt stretches over his muscled chest and broad shoulders. Faded jeans hang low on his narrow hips, and I can’t help but stare at his package. Impressive is the word that springs to mind.

  He tilts his head to the side and hurriedly I look away. I think the skin on my cheeks must be blistering by now.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice low and a little hoarse. “Is everything okay?”

  That makes me look up again. Now he looks concerned. He probably never saw a flush so dark before. “Yeah.” Funny he’s asking me that, though, because... “Are you okay?”

  His brows draw together. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You were coughing and then...” I grimace. And then what, you stopped stalking me? “I just wanted to check on you,” I finish lamely.

  His blue eyes widen.

  This was a bad idea. Scratch that, it was a terrible idea. I’m suddenly aware that the guy behind the desk is still observing us, curiosity lighting up his dark eyes.

  “I should go,” I say. “I mean, I see you’re fine, so now I know. I’m glad you’re well. Really glad.” I tighten my grip on my walking stick. Stop blabbing, Ev. “It was good seeing you.” And I mean it.

  “Wait.” He takes a step toward me, reaching out. “You came to check on me?”

  “Yes.” Is that so weird?

  He’s still staring at me as if I’m from another planet. Colors shift in his eyes, shades of blue, from the hue of a cloudless sky to the turquoise of the lakes and the dark blue of the ocean. Emotions—shock, doubt, anger, then a tiny flare of hope.

  It’s as if he doesn’t trust my words. As if he doesn’t think I’d care enough to check on him, and the thought makes my heart ache.

  Micah touches my cheek, his fingertips trailing on my jaw. A faint smile curves his lips. “Come with me.” He takes my hand and tugs me toward the exit.

  The guy behind the desk whistles, and there are a few more catcalls from the booths. A fresh wave of heat goes through me—but it’s mostly from the feel of his strong hand around mine, the heat of his skin piercing me like a flash of lightning.

  As we leave the carpeted area of the shop, my stick taps on the floor, and Micah turns to look at it.

  His smile fades and he stops. “What the hell happened?”

  I shrug. “Twisted my knee a little. It’s still not entirely healed from the accident, so...”

  “My fault,” he whispers. “You ran to get away from me, and then this happened.”

  “No.” God, no. “Not your fault.”

  His jaw works. “We can talk another time. This—”

  “Have coffee with me?” I didn’t plan this, and have no idea what makes me so bold—but I don’t want to leave, not yet. His closeness is like the summer sun, warming me.

  He hesitates, his hand still around mine, strong but gentle. A strong emotion darkens his sky-blue gaze, but it’s one I can’t name. “But can you walk? Can you—

  “I’ve been on my feet all day. The stick is just to help my knee heal faster.” Christ, Blake was right. Who will want a cripple like me?

  His jaw clenches. “You’re not a cripple. Who’s Blake?”

  Oh God, did I say that out loud? Crap. I did. “Nobody.” I want to clap a hand over my mouth, to keep any more words from spilling out, but Micah has my fingers gripped tightly in his and doesn’t let go when I try to pull away.

  “Come.” He tugs on my hand again, and I follow him outside, not even looking up.

  My stomach is like a stone. Only I could screw up like that with the hottest guy I’ve ever met up close.

  And it shouldn’t matter. I didn’t know why he was watching me before, but now I think I have a good idea. That fleeting emotion in his eyes I couldn’t identify before?

  I’m pretty sure it’s pity.

  Chapter Five

  Micah

  Fury heats my chest and clogs my throat as I draw her out of Damage Control and onto the street. A cripple? Who’s this asshole who thinks he can tell her such a thing? As if it should matter to anyone that she limps. Besides, she’ll heal.

  I’ll take care of her.

  And whoa, where did that thoug
ht come from? I think I’m losing my mind with this girl, and I don’t even know her name yet for sure. Can’t even be certain it’s the one I dream about.

  Well, at least that’s easy to fix.

  I want to go faster, get off the street, find some place quiet and ask her. But she’s slow, hampered by her walking stick, and she seems lost in thought. I take the time to study her heart-shaped face, the long sweep of her lashes over her bright eyes, the elegant arc of her neck and her pouting upper lip...

  Oh fuck. She’s so sexy. I try to look away, but my gaze is drawn to the swell of her breasts under the stretchy cloth of her hoodie, and my body tightens. What would her lips feel like, pressed on mine, and how would she taste? How would her naked body fit against mine?

  I shiver and force my mind on other things, like the honking of the cars, the pigeons fluttering on a roof, the shape of her small hand in mine...

  Fuck, why can’t I control myself? My jeans feel a size too small right now, my aching dick trapped sideways against the seam. I grit my teeth.

  Thankfully, the cafe I have in mind is just around the corner. Then we can talk. Then I will know who she is, and then she will know who I am, as well.

  Even if it’s her, she probably doesn’t remember me. We never spoke to each other. Except for that fateful night, I only watched her from afar, much as I did the past week, doing her rounds, checking on the homeless.

  And when I came out of hospital and slowly got on with life, she wasn’t anywhere to be found.

  A drop hits my face, and I glance up at the heavy clouds. Before I can even blink, another falls on my mouth, and I lick it off my lips. I lift my hand and more splash on my palm. They patter on the street and sidewalk, the parked cars and the benches.

  “Is it far?” she asks, and I squeeze her hand. “Maybe we should head back.”

  “Not far,” I say. “Trust me.”

  The rain falls harder now, soaking through my hair, frigid rivulets running down my neck. She looks up at me, her gaze distant, and nods, letting me pull her along faster.

  Not fast enough. From one moment to the next, the skies open, and water falls in buckets. In seconds we’re soaking wet. We hurry down the street, the sound of our footfalls muffled by the downpour.