He hesitated and then, “I want to.”
The door buzzer broke the tense moment and Micah sat up, scowling. “Who’s that?”
“It’ll be Brandon.”
“Don’t let him up.”
I stared incredulously at him. “Micah, he flew over five thousand miles to see me.”
“You and I aren’t done talking.”
I was right. He still didn’t get it. “It isn’t always about you and me, Micah.”
The petulant look on his face as I walked out to let Brandon in made me question if Micah had changed much after all. There was silence from the sitting room as I waited on Brandon coming up the elevator. It was a different feeling entirely anticipating his arrival. With Micah, I felt sick. With Brandon, I wanted to throw my arms around him as soon as I saw him.
When he appeared, so tall, all bearded, purplish circles under his eyes that told me he was jet-lagged, I rushed him.
And he caught me.
He lifted me up in a bear hug and as he whispered my name, the sob burst out of me before I could stop it.
Because it felt like coming home.
* * *
IT WAS HARD TO TAKE my eyes off Brandon. He was like a bright light that captured my attention and wouldn’t let go. I realized as all three of us sat in my apartment and talked that he held me captivated because I had no bad memories attached to our relationship.
When we were on tour and I was tired and lonely, he’d snuggle up with me to watch a movie on the tour bus, or he would take me out for dinner so we could unwind and pretend we were ordinary people grabbing a bite to eat. He was the one who kept Micah at bay when I’d had enough.
He was the big brother who protected me.
He was the one thing that tethered me to sanity during the craziness that was our lives.
Of course, I loved Austin too, but he was more like the little brother who made me laugh and annoyed the hell out of me.
It was different.
“Heather’s pregnant.” My eyes widened as Brandon shared this news. “You’re going to be an aunt.”
That he would offer me that made tears well in my eyes. “An aunt! That is so cool. Congratulations. Tell Heather congrats too.”
“I will.” He grinned. “She’s been worried about you.”
“We all have,” Micah said sullenly. He was standing at the French doors looking out over the Clyde and had been the entire time Brandon caught me up with his life. “It’s been almost two years of worrying. Fuck. Two years. Who can believe that?”
Sobered by the raw pain in his voice, I offered, “If I’d been in a better frame of mind, it never would’ve gotten to that point. It makes me feel sick that I left it this long.”
“You’ve apologized enough,” Brandon said, scowling at Micah’s back. “You’re here and you’re healthy and that’s all that matters.”
“Oh?” Micah whirled around. “Is it? A couple of apologies and we’re okay?”
Brandon narrowed his gaze. “Three days ago, you would’ve given anything to hear from Skylar and know she was okay. Remember that.”
“Brandon, it’s fine,” I soothed. “There’s no way in hell I expect any of you to forgive me so quickly.”
“Well, I have.”
I loved him. “That’s because you’re an angel. The rest of us are just tellurian.”
He grinned at my joke.
Micah huffed, “I’m starved,” and strode into the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge, perused it, and cursed under his breath. “Still a health nut, I see.” He slammed the door closed and turned to me. “Got any real food?”
I shrugged. “We could order takeout.”
So that’s what we did. While we waited, we talked about Austin and Selina, about Gayle, about friends in the music business. We did not touch on Macy and the band, as if we were all afraid to mention it.
And then my cell rang. It was Killian. “I need to take this,” I told the guys before disappearing into my bedroom.
“Hey,” I answered once I’d closed the door.
“Hi, I’m just checking in.”
Despite my warm, mushy feelings for Brandon, I hadn’t realized how tense I was until I heard Killian’s voice. It was almost as if I could feel the solid heat of him at my back. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to telling him about Micah. “We ordered some food. We’re easing into it. Catching up.”
“Was he glad to see you?”
“Very. It’s wonderful to see him again. I’ve missed him.”
“I know. I’m happy for you.”
The soft, loving way he said that made it difficult to tell him the next part. “Micah is here too. I didn’t know he was coming.”
Killian was quiet on the other end.
“Killian?”
“I’m here.”
“Well?”
“You’d have to face him sooner or later. At least it’s happening in the privacy of the flat with Brandon there.”
Then why did he sound so pissed?
“So, you’re okay? We’re okay?”
“Fine. I have a meeting. We’ll talk later.”
And he hung up, taking all my good feelings with him.
The worst of it was that I couldn’t even be mad at him. I’d acted like a jealous idiot over some one-night stand while he had valid reasons for being jealous of Micah.
“Shit,” I murmured under my breath.
I had to brace myself to go back out to the boys.
“Food arrived,” Brandon said, taking cartons out of a carrier bag.
“I didn’t even hear the buzzer.”
“They didn’t buzz up. They just appeared at the door,” Micah said, studying me. “We paid.”
“Oh, someone must have let them in while they were going out. Thanks.” I walked into the kitchen, my stomach rumbling to life at the smell of the Thai food.
“Who was on the phone?” Micah asked as I helped Brandon put out plates and cutlery.
I didn’t respond at first, waiting until we were standing around the island, digging into the food. Finally, I said, “It was Killian.”
“The guy who signed you to the record deal here?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah.”
“He a good guy?”
“How can he be?” Micah stabbed a piece of pork like he was imagining it was something or someone else. “Gayle said he signed you to his label after you’d gotten attacked by street thugs who stole your guitar. He used how messed up you were against you.”
I squirmed, supremely uncomfortable with his version of events. “That’s not true. It’s complicated.”
“There’s nothing complicated about it. You told us you were leaving the band because this life, the fame, made you miserable. But you sign a record deal with this guy and we’re supposed to believe you did that of your own volition?”
Angry, I glared at him. “You weren’t here, Micah. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Hey!” Brandon waved a fork at us. “Cut it out. We’re not going to do this. Eat your food and enjoy the fact that we’re all alive and bar one of us who is probably getting bit by a snake as we speak, we’re all together. Let’s enjoy that.”
Micah and I shared a look, and then nodded to Brandon. However, a wealth of anger simmered beneath the surface.
SITTING WITH MY BACK AGAINST the chair, I stared across the room at Micah in the dim light. It was midnight. Brandon had checked their luggage at the hotel before coming after Micah, so their rooms were waiting for them. But Brandon had barely been able to keep his eyes open with the jet lag so I’d helped him into my bedroom where he’d collapsed on the bed, out within seconds.
The apartment was dark except for lights under the kitchen cabinets and baseboards. Still, I could feel Micah looking at me from his sprawled position on the couch. We hadn’t said a word to each other in what felt like forever.
“It’s a miracle you’re still awake,” I whispere
d.
“I slept on the plane,” he whispered back. “Brandon was too anxious about seeing you to sleep.”
The thought made me smile.
“You don’t deserve him, you know.”
Hurt pierced me. “What?”
“Brandon. You don’t deserve him. Neither do I. He’ll love us until the end of time, no matter what shit we pull. He deserves better friends than us.”
“I’m going to make it up to him. I’ll never treat him like that again,” I vowed.
He scoffed. “You don’t know that. Let’s face it, Sky—you and I are two of the most selfish, self-absorbed bastards on the planet. That’s why we love each other. No one else would put up with us.”
Anger burned in my gut. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“I know you left. I know you run. That’s who you are.”
“I’m not running now.”
He shrugged. “So you say. Look, I’m not judging you. I’m not perfect either. I can admit that. And I’m not looking for perfect from you. I don’t expect that. I never have.”
“You’re still angry with me.”
“Of course I am. I made love to you and you skipped town the next day. For almost two years.”
“As wrong as I was to do that, you get why, right?” I leaned forward, my eyes narrowed, waiting for him to show me he wasn’t completely oblivious.
“Because you’ve always been afraid of your feelings for me.”
His arrogance made me feel like I’d been punched in the stomach. “You think I left because we slept together?”
“Well, you did leave right after it.”
“Yes. I did. Because I never meant for that to happen. Because it was too much to deal with on top of what I was really dealing with.” I realized I was almost shouting and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I spent most of our fame avoiding my mother because I didn’t want her to know that she’d spent all of her time and money, nearly wrecking her relationship, on a dream that as it turned out, I didn’t want. And that sounds stupid now, but back then, it felt huge. I was a kid. And I wasted all that time avoiding her. All that time I can’t get back because two masked gunmen broke into the house I bought her and they murdered her for a fucking painting. And two days before you and I slept together, the cops told me that although they’d keep looking, their leads had gone cold.
“Finding them,” I bit out, the rage that still burned deep in my guts curdling my words, “was the only thing that kept me going when she died. And then that justice slipped out of my hands. I had nothing but my grief. I wish I could’ve been stronger, as strong as I feel now, but I wasn’t then. I just wanted to disappear. I wanted to exist in a world where I wasn’t Skylar Finch, the pop-rock princess whose mother had been shot in the head. So, no, Micah, I didn’t leave because of you.”
Hearing the disdain in my voice, he sat up. He looked haggard as he stared at the floor.
Silence pressed upon us but I couldn’t bear to speak another word. I’d missed Micah, but perhaps I’d missed him through rose-tinted spectacles. Or maybe, finally, I was free of whatever spell he’d had me under and I could see him for who he really was. He wasn’t a bad person. He’d been hurt a lot in his young life. But his aloneness, his need for self-protection, had also made him incredibly selfish and self-involved.
If he thought we were the same, then I had a lot of work ahead of me to make sure I lived my life as a better person.
“You’re not in love with me anymore,” he suddenly said.
My stomach flipped at the words, hating that being honest in this case was going to be painful. The last thing I wanted was to be another person who rejected and disappointed Micah. “I care about you.”
“But you aren’t in love with me.”
I exhaled slowly, the sound shuddering in the quiet dark of the apartment. “No, I’m not. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you never were.”
“I loved you. I was attracted to you. But I think . . . sometimes I think we were more addicted to the longing than to the loving.”
“How do you mean?”
“As long as we were pining for each other, we didn’t give ourselves a chance to be in an actual relationship where we could disappoint and hurt each other until there was no coming back. Instead we got to hold onto fantasizing about each other. The angst was more powerful than the love.”
He grunted. “Or maybe it’s simply that there’s someone else for you now.”
God, he was asking me to hurt him. “Micah—”
“Is there someone else?”
I couldn’t tell him about Killian, but again, I didn’t want to lie to him. “Yes.”
He blew out a shaky breath. “The friend you were talking about?”
“Yes.”
“And you love him? It is a him, right?”
“Yes, it’s a him. And yes, I am in love with him.” I sat forward as he turned his face toward the light so I saw the pain slash across it. “Micah, I’m not all those things you said. I refuse to be. And the fact that you think that of me . . . Love isn’t tearing someone down to bring them to your level. Love is seeing in the person you love,” my voice cracked on the emotion as I thought about Killian’s belief in me, “the best possible version of who they can be.”
His jaw clenched but he nodded, tears shimmering in his eyes.
“You know I’m right.”
He kept nodding, swallowing hard as if trying to swallow his emotions.
“If you came here for me for yourself or for the band, I’m not going home with you.”
Micah finally looked at me. “So, you’re never coming home?”
I gave him a sad smile. “I am home.”
“Shit,” he exhaled shakily, drawing a hand through his hair. “I need a drink.”
Concern prickled over me like a chill had blown through the room. “Don’t say that.”
He grimaced. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to. I just . . . I have triggers, you know.”
I was almost afraid to ask. “I . . . I’m a trigger?”
Micah didn’t reply, but his expression spoke for him. Worry gnawed at me and as the night wore on, I forced myself to stay awake, to watch him, until jet lag finally dragged Micah down with it. Convinced he was out and there was no way he’d leave to find that drink, I crashed out beside Brandon on my bed, so exhausted not even his snoring could keep me awake.
* * *
“SKY.” MY BODY WAS GENTLY shaken, leading me up out of dream world. “Sky, wake up.”
I grumbled and reluctantly opened my eyes. It was still dark outside. “What time is it?” I mumbled.
Brandon’s head appeared above mine. His hair was sleep-tousled but his eyes were no longer bloodshot with exhaustion. “It’s seven forty-five. We’re making breakfast.”
“Some things do change.” I watched as he strolled out of the room. “I’ll be right out.” I rolled over and reached for my phone on the bedside table. I’d put it on silent last night so as not to be disturbed with the guys, and I’d forgotten to switch it back on. I expected a message or a missed call from Killian but there was nothing. I did have a text from Autumn.
Killian said Micah and Brandon have come to visit. Hope all is okay? xx
I sat up and quickly texted her back.
They slept here becoz we talked so long . . . I think we’ll be ok.
And I did. Brandon didn’t know how to hold a grudge, even though I’d changed his life (something I still intended to face and discuss with them) and Micah . . .
I think eventually Micah would come around.
I shuffled into the kitchen to find Micah making—“Holy crap, are you actually making us frittata?”
He gave me a boyish, pleased grin. “Yep.”
“It smells amazing.” I slid onto the stool across from him while Brandon puttered around making coffee. “Since when do you cook?”
He shrugged. “I helped out in the kitchen at the rehab facility. I liked it. It stuck.”
“Well, you should,” I said. “You know how important it is to put the right stuff in your body for touring. You need energy.”
They shared a look, something nostalgic and sad passing between them, and I realized that I used to say that all the time, lecturing them on the crap they put in their bodies.
Deciding it was now or never, I said, “How is Macy doing?”
They shared another look, this one a little more unreadable, and Micah plated the frittata. Brandon spoke first. “She’s having a hard time. With the album not doing so great, she feels the fans are coming down on her for it.”
“But she didn’t write the album,” Micah grimaced. “Austin and I did.” I hesitated to say what I wanted, but Micah read my expression. “Just say it.”
“Well, I had a listen to the album the other day.”
“And?” Brandon asked.
“It sounds like you were trying to write songs you thought I might write.”
“It sounds like that because it’s true. We were trying not to piss off any more fans,” Micah huffed, shoving a plate across the island to me.
“Thanks,” I said. “Look, Tellurian is now Tellurian 2.0. It has to be different but as long as it’s authentic, the fans won’t care. If they do, you’ll get new fans. Micah, you need to write the songs that mean something to you. And on that note, if Macy is capable, she should be involved in the writing process. She is singing the songs.”
“You don’t feel weird talking about her?” Brandon asked between bites.
I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t want to know anything about her or the band when I first took off. However, I realized when I was checking up on you guys that I’m glad you picked her. She was always nice and she has a great voice.”
“It’s not your voice though,” Micah grumbled.
“No, it’s hers. And you can make that work for you. Side note, does Macy really want the rainbow hair or was that Gayle’s idea?”
“Gayle’s idea,” they said in unison.
“Then scrap it. Macy isn’t me and she shouldn’t be forced into trying to be me. That’s part of the pressure she’ll be feeling. Let her be herself. In every way.”
As Dust Dances Page 29