Chapter 10


Micha


It’s been a few days since Ella and I parted from the wedding, but it feels like months. We talk on the phone several times a day, but it’s not the same between us and I miss being with her.


“Man, I’m so bored,” Ethan complains as he surfs the channels with his boots kicked up on the coffee table. “Can’t we just go do something?”


I’m lying on my bed reading the message over and over again. A text showed up on my phone yesterday from my dad. It said he needed to see me—that he had something he wanted to ask. I’ve been staring at it, deciding if walking down that road with him again is a good idea. We’ve met two times and each one was uncomfortable and painful, but my mind won’t be able to settle until I know what he wants.


“I don’t know… I guess we could go get something to eat.” Sitting up, I swing my legs off the edge of the bed, and text my dad, asking him where he wants to meet up.


He texts me back quicker than I anticipated, asking me if I can meet him at the bakery up on Ninth Street in about an hour. Wavering, I finally text back that I will.


“Never mind. I can’t go out.” I put on a black hoodie and zip it up. “I have to go meet someone.”


He targets me with a condemning look. “A girl someone?”


I scoop up the house keys from off the top of the dresser. “No, it’s just someone I used to know.”


His face twists with confusion. “It’s not Naomi, is it? Because I’d like to advise that you stay away from that—she’s crazy. She basically tried to rape me last night.”


“Like you didn’t like it.”


“Hey, I like my women and everything, but she’s a little too much. She went from the bartender to some dude handing out flyers on the street to me. Besides, she has a thing for you.”


“I know that.” I put my wallet into the back pocket of my jeans. “You weren’t the only one she hit on last night.”


“Wow.” His eyes widen. “And I thought I was bad.”


I stuff my phone into the pocket of my hoodie. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell Dylan or Chase when—if—they show up, that I might not make it to practice?”


He rummages through the very slim selection of food in the fridge. “Do you think they’ll show up? I mean, you haven’t seen anyone but Naomi since you got back and neither of them showed up to practice yesterday.”


“I know that.” I open the front door and notice it’s raining. “But just in case they show, will you tell them?”
He shrugs as he selects a carton of juice out of the fridge. “Yeah, I’ll tell them… but doesn’t it seem like your band’s falling apart?”


“Kind of,” I mutter and shut the door. Pulling my hood over my head, I trot down stairs and out into the rain, splashing through puddles as I march toward the street.


Ever since the little incident with Naomi, things in the band have gotten rocky. It started with her not wanting to be around me, and then Dylan and Chase lost interest when they discovered they could make a lot of money bartending at this club exclusively for women.


Right now, though, I’m more concerned about what I’m about to walk into with my father.


When I arrive at the bakery and see my dad sitting at a table, I almost pussy out. I tap my hand anxiously on my leg, staring at him through the window as rain drips down on me. He’s reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee. Dressed in a gray suit and a red tie with a briefcase next to his feet, he looks like a lawyer. Suddenly, I realize I have no idea what he does or who he is. He’s nothing more than a stranger, like the people passing by me on the sidewalk.


I man up and walk into the bakery. It smells like vanilla and kind of reminds me of Ella. Two of the eight tables are occupied and the cashier girl behind the display, filled with cupcakes and cookies, undresses me with her eyes.


My dad looks up from his coffee and his aqua eyes widen. “Oh, Micha, you showed up.”


I slide out a chair and sit down across from him. “Of course I showed up. When I say I’m going to be somewhere, I always show up. That’s the kind of person I am and you’d know that if you knew me.”


He clears his throat multiple times while smoothing out invisible wrinkles on his tie. “Look, Micha, I’m really sorry for what I’ve done. For being a shitty father and for just not being there.”


My forehead creases as I cross my arms and slump back in the chair. “I don’t get why you’re saying that, because the last two times I saw you, you made it pretty clear that you didn’t really care about me and you wanted nothing to do with me.”


Tearing some packets open, he adds sugar to his coffee with unsteady hands. “Things change… some stuff happened, and… well, I need your help.”


I stare at him expressionlessly. “Is that why you said you were sorry to me? Because you want something from me?”


He discards the empty packets onto the table. “Do you want me to get you something? Do you want some coffee?”


“I want you to continue on with what you want,” I say coldly. “Because I’m really fucking curious where this conversation is going.”


He stirs the coffee and wipes the spoon on the lip of the cup. “I’m not really sure how to start this conversation…” He drops the spoon onto the table. “I was recently diagnosed with aplastic anemia… Do you know what that is?”


“Do I look like a doctor?” I shake my head, annoyed.


“Well, I’ll skip the boring medical terms and get straight to the point. It’s a rare disease and I’ve got a severe case of it.” He stares down at the cracks in the table, with his eyebrows knit, and wrinkles form around his eyes. “I need a blood and marrow transplant and the best thing for that is to get a relative to be the donor.”


“Are you dying?” I eye him over. “You look healthy.”


“No, I’m not dying.” His voice is as cold as ice. “But I’m not healthy either, and this could help me.”


“What about your other kids? Why can’t you ask them?”


“I don’t want to do that to them. They’re too young and… I don’t even want them to know I’m sick.”


I hover over the table, putting my palms flat on the table, burning with anger, and the chair legs grind loudly against the floor. “So let me guess this straight. You want me to do it, even though you haven’t talk to me in years? You bailed on me when I was a child and I still don’t even know why you didn’t at least stay in touch with me.”


“Micha, I said I was sorry.” He reaches across the table like he’s going to pat my hand, but retreats, which is a good thing because I probably would have punched him. “And this is bigger than that—I’m sick.”


I shove away from the table. “I’ll have to think about it.”


He picks up his briefcase and stands up too. “Can you at least go get checked to see if you’ll make a good donor? These things take time.”


Sometimes I wish I could be a douche bag and walk away. “Fine, I’ll go get checked, but it’s not for you. It’s so I don’t have to feel guilty.”


Ella


It’s been almost two weeks since the wedding and I talk to Micha every day on the phone. The conversations are light, except for the occasional dirty comment from him, but that was always normal, even when we were friends before.


I miss him like crazy and think about him an unhealthy amount of hours during the day. He consumes my thoughts, my body, my dreams—he’s what drives me to be better.


It’s midday, the sun is glistening from the blue sky, and the air smells like fresh-cut grass and autumn. I’m walking across the quiet campus yard toward my therapist’s office with the phone up to my ear.


“You did not do that,” I say to Micha with a smile on my face. “You are such a liar.”


“I did,” he argues with humor in his voice. “I threw down my guitar and told them I was out—that I didn’t want any more drama.”


I swing the main entrance door open and step inside the vacant hallway. “So you quit the band—you’re just done, after months on the road with them?”


“It actually happens more than you think,” he replies and I hear Ethan’s voice in the background. “And I quit like a week ago, but I didn’t want to tell you until now.”


My mouth sinks into a frown as I lower myself into a chair outside the therapist’s office. “Why? I wouldn’t have talked you out of it. As long as you’re happy, you can do whatever you want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”


“I am happy. Very, very happy,” he promises me enthusiastically. “But that’s not the reason I didn’t tell you.”


“Okay… what’s the reason?” I hear Ethan’s voice again. “And why is Ethan there. Isn’t he supposed be on his big, adventurous trip, mountain-man style or whatever the hell he calls it?”


“My Mountain Man Journey!” Ethan shouts. “Get the wording right, woman.”


“Am I on speakerphone?” I ask. “Micha, if I am, take me off of it. Please.”


“I can’t. You’ll take this better if you’re on speakerphone.” He blows out a breath. “This way you’ll contain your anger a little bit better, because you know Ethan will be listening and use everything you say against you.”


I glance from left to right, noting no one’s around in the office. “What’s the news?”


He clears his throat, like he’s preparing to make a big speech. “After the whole band breakup went down, I decided I needed a change. And so did Ethan, since he realized he wasn’t as much of a mountain man as he thought.”


“That’s not the real reason,” Ethan objects. “I just felt sorry for your dumb ass because your band broke up.”


“Anyway,” Micha talks over him. “We both decided that it was time for a change and so I started looking around for a permanent thing that wouldn’t require a lot of traveling.”


“I thought you didn’t want to do that kind of stuff.” I drop my bag on the floor and hunch back in the chair. “I thought you wanted to be part of a band and be on the road.”


“Nah, I’m better by myself,” he tells me. “Maybe I’ll keep my eyes open for a new band, but the one I was with was turning into a lost cause. And for now, I’ve found a place to play. Plus I got a side job. The pay is shit, but it works for now and it’s better than going back home.”


“What’s your side job?”


“It’s for this male escort service. I figured it be great. I get to dazzle women all day—which we both know I’m awesome at—and I’ll get paid to do it.”


I roll my eyes, but play along. “Wow, that sounds like a job you’ll be really good at and I’m sure it’ll be a lot of fun. The more I think about it, it’s like your dream job.”


“Yeah, I know, right?” he says cleverly. “Although, I have heard stories about some fetishes guys run into and it sounds like things can get a little awkward, but I’ll do what I gotta do to survive.”


“You’re such a dork.” I shift in my seat, tucking my legs under the chair as the secretary walks by with a stack of papers in her hands. “What are you really doing? Better yet, where are you?”


“Ethan and I got a part-time job in construction, but it’s just an in-between thing.” He pauses and there’s a loud bang. “At night I’ll be playing at The Hook Up.”


“Hey. There’s one of those in Vegas,” I say over the sound of the paper shredder. “I didn’t know it was a national thing, though.”


He hesitates. “It’s not a national thing.”


“You’re in Vegas?” My voice comes out high-pitched and the secretary glares at me through her thick glasses as she feeds papers through the shredder. Turning in the seat, I lower my voice and put my finger to my ear to hear better. “You and Ethan moved to Vegas?”


“Yeah, we’re in Vegas right now as we speak, setting up our stuff in this teeny tiny apartment,” he clarifies. “But it works and I’m happy with it.”


Unsure how to respond I stay quiet, drumming my fingers anxiously on my knee. The front desks phone rings and the secretary answers it.


“Tell me what you’re thinking, pretty girl,” he urges and there’s a beep as he switches it off speakerphone. “Ethan can’t hear you anymore.”
“I’m thinking… I don’t know what I’m thinking…” I drift off as the therapist’s door swings open and she sticks her head out.


“Ella, I’m ready for you.” Widening the doorway, she motions me in.


“I have to call you back,” I tell him. “I’m headed into the therapist’s office right now.” I hang up before he can say anything, collect my bag from off the floor, and take a seat in front of the desk.


Anna sits down in her chair, selects a pen from the cup, and takes her notebook out of the desk drawer. Today, her pantsuit is this bland shade of brown and her hair is pinned back. She puts on her glasses and reads over last visit’s notes.


“That was Micha on the phone,” I explain before she can ask, because she’s going to. “And I just found out he moved here.”


“Oh, I see.” She drops the pen and notebook down on the desk, and scoots her chair forward. “By the way you sound, you’re not happy about this.”


“I’m not sure what I am.” I mull over my feelings. “On the one hand, it’s nice to have him close in case I need him, but I’m trying not to need him, so it could be bad that he’s close. Does that make sense?”


“It makes a lot of sense.” She fans the pages of the notebook. “How long did you say you’ve known Micha?”


“Since forever. I mean, I can remember being four years old and being fascinated with how he sat out in the garage with his dad and worked on cars. Although, I was always too afraid to go over there and talk to him—he actually talked to me first.” A laugh tickles in my throat. “Actually, he bribed me to climb over the fence first, with a juice box and a toy car.”


“Why were you too afraid to talk to him?” she probes.


“I don’t know. I guess maybe I always felt like I was living in some alternate world that no one understood, not even him.” I shrug, picking at my fingernails. “I still feel that way sometimes, like maybe I see things differently than most people.”


She thrums her French-manicured nails on the desk. “I think you worry too much about how you think.”


“But that’s kind of a given,” I say. “I’ve know this for a while, but what I still don’t understand is how to stop worrying.”


“That’s because I don’t think you understand the original cause,” she states. “From what you’ve told me, Ella, your childhood was full of worry.”


“I didn’t worry all the time,” I protest. “There were relaxing… moments and I lived my life the way I needed to in order to survive. If I didn’t worry, then no one would have paid the bills, made sure everyone ate, or had clean clothes.”


“That’s not quite what I mean, but that is part of it.” She removes a photo from the folder and lays it flat on the desk in front of me. “What do you see when you look at this?”


It’s a stock photo of a man, a woman, and little girl, all with the same blue eyes and platinum blond hair. “Umm… that you like to take the inserts from picture frames and keep them in your office.”


“Ella, it’s not good to make jokes to hide your feelings,” she insists. “Just tell me what you see.”


“I see a family, I guess.”


“Do they look happy?”


I study the smiles on their faces. “They seem as happy as anyone else.”


She edges it toward me and taps it with her finger. “Describe the picture to me.”


It’s a strange request, but I do it anyway. “Well, the man’s got his arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulder and he looks like he loves her, although his smile’s a little bit too shiny, if you ask me. The woman’s carrying the little girl and they both look happy too. Although, I don’t get why they’re so damn happy. They’re just getting their damn picture taken.”


She accidentally creases the corners of the photo when she puts it into her folder. “Did your mother or father ever hug you like that? Or do you remember being that happy when you were a kid?”


It’s like she’s asked me a pre-calculus question and my mind muddles at the complexity. “No, but that stuff’s not real. It’s fake, for show purposes to make people feel good when they look at the picture frame.”


“No, Ella, it’s real. Happiness does exist,” she answers sadly. “Now, things aren’t always that way, but families should have their happy moments and children should get hugged and feel loved.”


“I did—do—feel loved.” I massage the sides of my temples, feeling as though a concrete block has been dropped onto my chest. “I’ve been hugged… a few times.”


“A few times in the last twenty years?” she asks, stressing her point. “Because that doesn’t seem like a lot.”


“I’ve been hugged plenty of times,” I say, offended. “Micha hugs me all the time.”


“Again, we go back to Micha. Let’s exclude him from this conversation for a minute and focus on your family.” She scribbles a few notes down in the notebook. “Did your parents ever hug you? Laugh with you? Take family trips?”


“We went to the zoo once when I was six, but my mom was bipolar and couldn’t do a lot with us. And my dad… well, he loved his Jack Daniels.” I pause as anger simmers at the tip of my tongue. “What are you getting at?”


“I’m not trying to get at anything,” she responds kindly, clicking the cap back onto the pen. “I’m just trying to let you see your life.”


“That it’s crazy—that I’m crazy? Because I already knew that, without the recap of my shitty life.” My hands tremble and my palms sweat at harsh memories that make up my life. I begin to hyperventilate and my vision spots.


“Take a deep breath,” she instructs, waving her hand in front of her chest in a cleansing gesture and I obey. “Now, you’re not crazy, Ella. You’ve just had a rough life.”


My brain pounds inside my skull. “Then what does this have to do with anxiety or depression or whatever it is you think’s wrong with me?”


“I think that sometimes you don’t think you deserve to have a good life—that you’re not a good person. That you don’t deserve to be loved.” She shuts a folder, stacks it with a small pile, and overlaps her hands on top of the desk. “And I think that’s why you push people away and what’s causing a lot of the depression and anxiety.”


I flop my head back against the wall. “I’m this way because my mom died and it was my fault. I’m this way because I know my head’s screwed up and I don’t want to drag anyone down with me.”


“All those things you said aren’t true,” she says and I lift my head back up. “And our goal here is to get you to believe that.”


We talk a little bit more about lighter stuff, like how my classes are going and what my plans are for Christmas. When my time’s up I go back to the apartment.


Lila’s not home from class yet and it’s quiet. I grab a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and take the phone out of my pocket, staring at the picture on the screensaver of Micha, Lila, Ethan, and me at the wedding.


“I look happy there,” I say determinedly and then I dial Micha’s number.


“You called back,” he answers after two rings. “Ethan owes me twenty bucks.”


I chew on my thumbnail. “He bet I wasn’t going to call you back?”


“He bet you’d blow me off.” He lets out his fake evil laugh. “That the Stepford Wife Ella had returned.”


“Nope, no Stepford Wife Ella here.” I tap the top of my soda and flip the tab open. “Only a confused one.”


He stops laughing. “Do you want to talk about it?”


“No, not really.” I sigh exhaustedly and swallow a sip of the soda.


He gives a lengthened pause. “Ella, friends can talk to each other about stuff they’re going through.”


“I know that.” I set the soda on the counter and plop down into a barstool. “But I just spent the last hour talking to my therapist about it and I’d rather take a break from my own head, if that makes any sense.”


“It makes perfect sense.” He hesitates momentarily, like he’s deciding if he dares say something. “You should come over and see our new place. It’s just a bunch of boxes right now, but we could go out to dinner or something.”


“I don’t think—” I start.


He cuts me off hastily. “You can bring Lila too.”


I swear the boy has too much insight into my head. “Alright, I’ll see if Lila’s up for it when she gets back from class.”


“Don’t blow me off, Ella May.” He pretends to be stern. “I mean it. I know where you live and I will hunt you down and punish you in the dirtiest ways.”


“I’m not blowing you off. Jeez, relax, you weirdo,” I tease him back. “I’m sure Lila will want to, but I have to check.”


“Good, I’ll see you in a bit.” His voice portrays confidence. “Oh, you know what we should do?”


I spin the can of soda around on the counter, wary to answer. “What?”


“We should have a naked party.” Hilarity laces his voice. “And you can only come in the house if you take off all your clothes. It’ll be like the entry fee. Give me your pants and shirt and you’re allowed to come.”


I frown, even though it sounds interesting. “No naked parties.”


“Hey, I had to try,” he remarks in a tempting tone. “I’ll see you in a bit.”


We hang up and I change into a pair of red corduroy shorts and a black tank top with a heart in the middle. I pull my hair up in a ponytail and put on some eyeliner and lip gloss, then wait on the couch for Lila to show up.


She walks in, waving at Parker, who is backing away from the door. “See you later, maybe.” She shuts the door and sighs, leaning back against it. “God, he’s getting on my nerves. He won’t give it up.”
“Maybe you should stop giving it up to him then.” I hide my smile with the soda can.


“Hey, I have needs too.” She ambles to the kitchen and searches the fridge shelves for a snack. “Not everyone can be committed to that no-sex thing like you.”


“I’m trying to fix myself before I make my life more complicated,” I say, picking the tab off the can. “And so that when… if Micha and I end up together, I can be a person that he won’t resent.”


She grabs an apple and a bottle of water and joins me on the couch, tucking her skirt underneath her legs as she sits down. “You know it’s never going to work, right? There’s no way you two are going to be able to keep your hands off each other for more than, like, a week. Actually I’m betting five days. Ethan went with seven.”


“You made bets on it?” I gape at her. “Wait a minute, did you know they were moving here?”


She shrugs and bites into the apple. “Ethan might have mentioned it a time or two on the phone.”


I tip my head back and suck out the last drop of the soda. “We’re supposed to go over to their new place, if you’re up for it.”


She removes the cap of the bottle of water. “Sure. I don’t have plans, but how are we going to get there? Because I’m still on my bus strike.”


“We can either call Ethan to come get us”—I frown—“or borrow a car. I prefer borrowing so I can leave when I’m ready to. If Ethan comes and gets us, they’ll hold us hostage, trust me.”


“That doesn’t sound that bad.” A piece of apple falls out of her mouth and lands on her lap. “But if you want to borrow a car, then we can. You can ask Blake.”


Remembering how annoyed Micha got over the Mustang, I hesitate.


“Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea, huh?” She retrieves her phone from the pocket of her jeans. “Who else could we call?”


Smashing the middle of the can, I put it on the coffee table. “Parker?”


She shakes her head and one of her curls slips out from underneath the headband in her hair. “No way, then it’ll be even harder to get him to go away. Besides, he’s a weirdo about letting people drive his car.”


“Then I have no idea.” After a few minutes of consideration, I unlock the screen of my phone and send Blake a text.


Me: Hey, I have a huge favor to ask you.


Blake: What’s up?


Me: I need to borrow your car for a few hours.


Blake: Sure, but you’ll have to drop me off at work and pick me up.


Me: That works for me.


Blake: I’ll be out of class in a few minutes. You wanna meet up in the parking lot?


Me: Yeah, be there in 5.


Tucking my phone into my back pocket, I collect my purse off the back of the chair. “I got us a car, but we have to go down to the parking lot right now.”


Her phone rings and she silences it without looking at the screen. “Who did you call?”


I slip my sandals on and check my bag to make sure the house keys are in it. “Blake.”


She springs up and tosses the apple core into the garbage next to the sofa. “You know Micha’s going to be pissed at you for showing up in Blake’s car.”


“He won’t be mad,” I point out, opening the door, and sunlight filters in. “Just a little annoyed and you’re the one who suggested it first.”


“I know I did, but then I realized it’s probably not a good idea.” She sighs as we head down the staircase. “You have a tendency to see things so distorted sometimes. He’s going to be pissed, because you told him you needed to be friends for a while, and then you show up in some other guy’s car.”


I sidestep a tree and then dodge swiftly to my right as a guy playing football comes running in my direction to make a catch. “You drive and we can say that you borrowed it, and then it’ll be all good.”


“All good?” She takes a pack of gum out of her pocket and pops a piece into her mouth. “Yeah, we’ll see how good it is with all that sexual tension you two are going to have.”


She offers me a piece and I take one, knowing she’s right.


Micha


“It smells like a locker room in here.” Ethan wrinkles his nose as he opens the fridge. “Oh God, there’s leftover spaghetti in here.” He picks up a Tupperware bowl filled with red crap and examines it closely. “Nope, I’m not sure what this is.”


“Throw it out, man.” I pick up a heavy box marked “dishes” and carry it into the small kitchen that’s in desperate need of a paint job. There are chips in the green countertops and one of the walls has been spackled in multiple places. “It looks like it’s moving.”


He tosses me the bowl, dry heaving at the horrible smell coming from it. “Your turn. I took the last run of garbage out.”


I shake my head and head downstairs with the bowl out in front of me. The apartment complex is in a noisy area, especially by the playground. Children are on swings, running around, laughing, yelling, crying. It reminds me of everything Ella, Ethan, and I never had.


When I reach the Dumpster, a red Mustang flies into the apartment complex parking lot. It pulls up beside Ethan’s truck underneath the carport and I stroll over, a little annoyed when Ella climbs out of it.


By the look on her face, she knows she’s in trouble. She gives me a tentative wave. “Hi.”


My gaze skims across the shiny hood of the car. “So the Mustang makes a grand return into our lives.”


She gathers some of her auburn hair behind her ear. “Lila borrowed it.”


I press her with an unrelenting look. “I can tell when you’re lying.” When I advance to the passenger side, Lila hops out of the car. “You could have had Ethan or me pick you up.”


“I know I could have.” Ella lollygags toward the curb. “But I wanted to be able to go home when I wanted to.”


“I’m going to go inside,” Lila interrupts, glancing up at the two-story apartment. “Which one is it?”


Without taking my eyes off Ella, I point my finger to the second floor. “Top floor, first door on the right.”


She nods and hurries up the stairs, which creak with the clicks of her high heels.


“The car really doesn’t mean anything, Micha.” Ella scuffs her sandals across the asphalt, avoiding eye contact with me. “And I mean that. It was just a car to borrow.”


“I understand that it might not mean anything to you, but it probably does to Blake,” I assure her, stuffing my hands into my pockets to resist the temptation to run my hands all over her body and try to take claim of her again. “Guys don’t lend cars like this to a girl they have no interest in.”


She sighs and peeks up at me through her eyelashes. “I probably shouldn’t have come over. It’s too weird.”


“It’s weird only if you make it weird.” I start for the staircase and she follows me. “Stop worrying so much, pretty girl.”


“Easier said than done,” she mutters with a frown forming at her lips.


When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I move to the side and signal for her to go ahead. “Ladies first.”


She gives me a tentative smile and trots up the stairs, trailing her hand along the railing. Smiling to myself, I walk behind her with my eyes focused on her backside. She has these little red pair of shorts on that are tight enough that a small sliver of her ass peeks out. I’ve missed that ass a lot.


At the top of the stairway, she glances over her shoulder and catches me eyeballing her. She puts her hands behind her and whirls her back toward the wall. “Did you have me walk up first to check out my butt? I thought we were going to be friends.”


I shrug, not giving a shit that she caught me. “I used to check out your ass all the time before when we were just friends. You just never noticed.”


She combs her fingers through her auburn hair. “You’re going to make this hard, aren’t you?”


“Probably,” I admit to her honestly and her face falls. Quickly, so she can’t stop me, I sweep some of her hair out of her eyes and lightly kiss her cheek, winking at her when I step back. “Relax, though. I won’t rip your clothes off until you ask me to.”


“You’re relentless.” She restrains a grin. “And it’s not going to help me if you keep touching me and looking at me like that. I want to get better for you, but I have to take it easy with complex situations until I learn how to deal with them. Think of it as like when an alcoholic is recovering and they’re told not to get into a relationship until they can handle stuff rationally.”


“Did your therapist say that to you?”


“Yeah.”


Sighing, I shove open the door and hold up a couple of my fingers. “Alright, I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”


She bends my fingers back playfully as she rolls her eyes and then steps into the house. She observes the old leather sofa Ethan stole from his mom’s house, the television on a crate, and the table in the dining room, which is between the kitchen and the living room.


“This is so a guy’s apartment.” She sniffs the air and then flinches, fanning her hand in front of her face. “It even smells like a guy.”


I pinch her ass and she lets out a squeal. “It smells manly.” I strut off to the kitchen before she can get mad at me for my little stunt.


She starts chatting with Lila and Ethan while I peel the tape off the dishes box on the kitchen table and take out a stack of plates. From the counter, my phone rings. It’s the hospital from New York where I took the blood test.


Reluctantly, I answer it. “Hello.”


“Hi,” a woman with a squeaky voice says. “Is this Micha Scott?”


I slant my back against the counter and stare at the wall. “It is.”


“This is Amy, from the NYU Medical Center,” she says. “I called to tell you that your test results confirmed you’re a candidate for the transplant.”
“Okay, thanks for letting me know.” I hang up on her, clutching the phone in my hand. “Fuck.”


Ethan pops his head into the kitchen. “We’re going to go get something to eat. You down… Are you okay? You look weird.”


“I’m fine.” I chuck my phone onto the table and the back pops off. “And yeah, dinner sounds good to me.”


He nods his head at the front door where Ella and Lila are waiting. “Let’s roll then.”


Once he walks out, I sneak quite a few large swigs of vodka from a bottle I dig out of one of the boxes, then stuff a couple of mini bottles into my pocket. The hospital calling is a painful reminder that my father only came to me when he needed something from me. But that’s not the real problem. I’ve accepted that he won’t ever see me as anything more than a person he used to know. What’s getting me riled up is that deep down, I don’t want to do it for him. I want to make him suffer and that feeling is eating away at me.


I don’t want to feel like that, but I can’t turn off the resentment.


Ethan steps back into the kitchen with an irritated expression on his face. “What are you doing? Let’s go. I’m freaking hungry.”


“I’m coming. Jeez, keep your panties on.” I storm for the door. “And we’re not driving in that damn Mustang.”


Ella


Micha’s pissed off about the Mustang and makes a big dramatic speech about how he’s not riding in it. No way in hell. Uh-huh. The more the night goes on, it becomes clear that his anger is from something deeper, and the car is just a cover-up.


When Ethan turns into the parking lot, I decide that karma hates me, because it’s the restaurant we dropped Blake off at earlier—the one he works at.


I scoot forward in the backseat of the truck and fold my arms on top of the console. “I don’t want to eat here.”


“Why not?” Micha glances at the restaurant’s neon signs and flashy decorations hanging from the sloped trimming of the roof. His eyes are bloodshot and he’s pronouncing his words slowly, which usually means he’s either tired or drunk. “It looks good to me.”


“Because the food’s really gross,” Lila chimes in, unlocking her seatbelt. “There’s a place in the middle of town that has really good ribs. It’ll only take us, like, fifteen minutes to get there.”


Micha shakes his head dramatically and I swear he’s being a pain in the butt on purpose. “Nah, I really think this place looks good.”


Lila and I trade a worried look as Micha and Ethan hop out of the car and slam the doors, leaving us alone in the dark cab.


“This is not good,” I mumble, eyeing Micha as he walks around to the back of the truck. He tips his head back and takes a swig from a bottle. “Especially since he’s in such a bad mood.”


“I think he’s drunk,” Lila whispers as I crack the door open. “I thought I smelled booze on his breath.”


I exhale loudly. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is, which means we’re probably walking into a drama pit.”


“Are you sure Blake’s working still?” Lila slides over in the seat so she can climb out on my side.


I nod. “We have to pick him up, remember?”


The four of us walk across the parking lot toward the entryway. It’s dark enough that the stars are speckling the sky, and in the distance, the strip’s lights glimmer in florescent colors. There’s a sway to Micha’s walk and he trips over his own feet when he jumps up to touch the top of the doorway, rolling his ankle when he lands.


“Yep, we’re definitely walking into a drama pit,” I utter under my breath as Ethan swings the door open.


Inside the restaurant the lights are dim and the air is musty. It’s crowded and noisy, but there are a few vacant booths. Little lanterns hang above each table and soft country music flows from the speakers.


Blake is serving shots from behind the bar to a group of rowdy-looking guys. I clear my throat and make eye contact with Lila, nodding my head discretely in Blake’s direction. She tracks my gaze and her expression drops.


“Hold on, I got an idea.” She waltzes up to the hostess, a brunette in a white shirt and black slacks. Lila sneaks her a tip from over the counter and then she comes back with a cheery smile on her face.


“It’s all taken care of,” she says in a quiet voice. “And yes, I know I’m the bestest friend ever.”


“What did you do?” I ask, but she just keeps smiling.


When the hostess leads us to our table, I realize Lila bribed her to take us to a corner booth that is secluded away and out of sight of the bar. I want to hug her, but it would be weird, so I sit down and Lila slides in beside me.


Ethan pauses at the end of the other side of the booth. “No way, I’m not buddying it up with Micha. Lila can sit on my side.”


Lila glances at me. “Is that okay with you?”


My nerves jumble and it shows in the unsteadiness of my voice. “I think I—”


“I don’t give a shit where I sit.” Micha’s eyes stray to the end of the aisle. “In fact, I think I’m going to go hang out at the bar.”


Lila jumps up and scurries to the other side to sit with Ethan, inserting strands of her hair underneath the headband. Micha falls into the booth beside me and drapes an arm behind me. He has a short-sleeved gray shirt on and his warm skin grazes the back of my neck. His face looks flushed and his breath reeks of vodka.


Shielding my face with the menu, I lean toward him and whisper, “You’re drunk.”


He blinks his eyes at me innocently. “Why would you ever think that?”


I state the obvious. “Because you smell like vodka.”


“I threw back a few shot before we headed out and a few in the parking lot.” He places the palm of his hand on top of my thigh. “Relax, I just want to have some fun.”


“That’s not why you did it.” I lower the menu back onto the table. “You only drink randomly when you’re upset.”


He rolls his eyes and withdraws his hand from my leg. “How do you know? Maybe I changed while I was on the road.”


“Oh, so douche bag Micha’s going to come out,” I hiss through my teeth. “There’s another reason I know you’re upset. He makes his grand appearance only when you’re angry.”


With his eyes on me, he flips open his menu. “I’m upset because my dick hasn’t gotten any attention for a couple of weeks.”


Ethan snorts a laugh and Lila’s blue eyes widen. I drop my head onto the table, sigh, and stay that way until the waiter comes to take our orders. Raising my head from the table, I discover Blake standing at the end of our table.


He’s wearing a nice pair of jeans, a button-down black shirt, and wisps of his dark hair are sticking up a little on the sides. “Ella, what are you doing here?”


“Getting something to eat.” I keep my tone light, hoping we can skip the introductions.


He has a pen poised against a notebook. “What? You just couldn’t wait to pick me up tonight?” he jokes. “You had to come see me early?”


“Aw, damn it.” I don’t mean to say it aloud, but it slips out, and I quickly slap a hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry.”


“Who the fuck are you?” Micha asks, glaring at Blake.


“I’m Blake,” he replies, adjusting his weight uneasily. “Who are you?”


“I’m Micha.” A malicious look masks his face. “And by that look on your face, I think you know Ella and I are dating.”


“Micha, I think—” I start.


“Ella, just leave it alone,” Ethan interrupts, shooting me a warning look as he nudges my shin with his foot from under the table. “You know it’s not even worth it to try.”


I zip my lips together and focus on the menu. “I think I’ll have a chicken sandwich. What about everyone else?”


“I’ll have you,” Micha says and my cheeks heat as his hand inches up my thigh.


I conceal my hand over his and stop it from going any farther, then look at Ethan for help. “What should we do with him?”


Micha buries his face in my hair. “Anything you want, baby.”


Ethan shrugs and tosses his menu into the center of the table. “You know as well as I do that he’s only going to get more intense before he passes out.”


“I think I’ll come back in a minute,” Blake says and hurries down the aisle back toward the bar.


“Smart move on his part.” Micha sticks his hand into his pocket and reveals a mini bottle of vodka stashed inside it.


I snatch it from his hand and his glazed eyes snap cold. “Give me that back, pretty girl, or else.”


“Or else what?” I chuck the bottle to Ethan and he catches it. “You’re going to say really mean things? I’d rather you use me as your punching bag than someone else.”


Micha narrows his eyes at me and I wait for what’s coming, but Ethan stands up before he can say anything else.


“Let’s take him home.” Ethan steps back and lets Lila out of the booth. “Before he does something stupid.”


I’ve seen Micha like this a couple times and there’s always an underlining reason, but getting to the bottom of it can be tricky. Even for his best friend.


It’s dark and no one has the porch lights on in this section of the complex. I can barely see anything as Ethan fights to get Micha up the stairs.


“Just quit dragging your feet,” Ethan snaps as they trip to the side and Micha bangs into the railing and the whole stairway vibrates.


“If you’d just get out of my way.” Micha shoves Ethan to the side and attempts to take a step on his own, but misses. “Then I’d be okay.”


“What should we do?” Lila asks from a few steps below, uncomfortable with the situation.


Sighing, I intervene, positioning myself in between Micha and Ethan. “Put your arm around me.”
Micha gladly swings his arm around my shoulder and leans on me. I struggle to get him up the stairs and his weight nearly sinks me to the floor. Ethan dashes up in front of us to unlock the door, flipping the porch light on.


Micha buries his face into my hair and his teeth nick the top of my ear. “You smell so fucking good. I swear to God, I want to eat you up.”


I contain the laughter tickling at the back of my throat. “What you need to do is sleep.”


Ethan holds the door open and Micha and I stumble over the threshold, nearly falling to the floor. We regain our balance, and as soon as the door’s shut, Micha wrestles his shirt off and chucks it onto the floor.


Even though he’s drunk and we’re not supposed to be on that path, my gaze moves across his lean muscles, his smooth skin, and the tattoo tracing his rib cage, and something coils deep inside me.


He slips off his boots and belt and I’m worried his pants are coming off next. Lila promptly faces the corner, pretending to be engrossed in the blank screen of the television. Micha keeps his pants on, though, and staggers into the kitchen, reaching for the half-empty bottle of vodka on the counter.


“Oh no you don’t.” I rush into the kitchen, steal the bottle away from him, and screw the cap back on. “No more drinks for you, unless it’s water.”


“I’ll do whatever the hell I want, Ella May,” he says sharply as he moves back and his head bumps against the counter. “That’s what you do. Whatever you want. Push me away.”


I hold out my hands for him to take. “Come with me and we’ll get you into bed.”


He stares at me forcefully. “Are you coming too?”


I nod, keeping our gazes connected. “But only to get you there, and then I have to go home.”


He places his hands in mine, gripping them tightly, and I walk backward, guiding him down the hall. His bloodshot eyes are fastened on me and it’s hard to keep my heart steady.


I tell myself repeatedly that the friendship line between us needs to stay and that he’s drunk anyway. When I get him into his room, he collapses onto the bed, yanking me down with him intentionally. He vice-grips his legs around mine and hugs his arms around my chest, pinning me close to him as he burrows his face into my neck and he nips at my skin before stilling.


I squirm my arms and wiggle my legs, but he only constricts his grip. Panic rushes inside me the longer he keeps me trapped and I loathe my messed-up head.


“No way,” he breathes, nuzzling closer. “I’m not letting you go.”


“Ethan,” I call out quietly, working to keep my voice composed. “Can you come in here?”


Moments later, Ethan appears in the doorway and braces his hands on the door frame. The sleeves of his black hoodie are rolled up, showing the colorful tattoos on his arms. “Did you need something?” He grins, entertained at the sight of us.


I jerk my shoulder upward. “Can you help me get him to let me go?”


Rubbing his scruffy jawline, he considers my request. “I think it’s better if you stay there. That way if he wakes up still drunk you’ll have to deal with him.”


“Ethan,” I hiss, but he walks away, laughing to himself.


I call out for Lila a few times, but she never responds, and I wonder if Ethan told her she could go home. After a lot of squirming, I manage to get one arm free. I rub my tired eyes, watching Micha and listening to him breathe in and out. I run my fingers through his hair and then trace a finger down his temple to his lips. God, he’s beautiful.


“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I whisper, returning my hand to my side.


He breathes softly, his breath caressing my cheek. I surrender the idea of getting away and kiss his forehead before snuggling up to him with a small smile. Next time I visit my therapist, I can tell her I was hugged for ten hours straight.