Chapter 10

TEN

"I'm sorry, hun. It's closing time.

I'm staring at the bottom of my empty coffee cup before swinging my gaze up to the waitress standing in front of me.

She's wearing a bright yellow apron, and her braided pigtails rest on either side of her shoulders, draping down the length of her chest. Behind her, the reflection of the streetlights shimmers on the wet, cobblestone sidewalk.

The emptiness in my chest expands when the lights of the coffee shop dim.

"I'm all finished," I tell her, sliding my empty mug and plate across the table. Crumbs dot the small saucer-sized plate, the remnants of the croissant I munched on over an hour ago.

The waitress sets my bill upside down on the table, but I immediately hand her my card, knowing she's wanting me to leave so she can close out her drawer for the night.

When she walks away to swipe it, I check my phone as anxiety and sadness fill the emptiness inside. I read back through my messages with my brother, ensuring I hadn't misread our meetup time and place.

I haven't seen him since I've moved back to Boston, and while he doesn't live in the country anymore, our visits have become scarcer. But with him in town on business, I was happy when he set aside the time to meet with me before heading back home.

But he hasn't showed.

I spend the next minute trading glances between the window facing the street to my phone. I send Archer another text before giving in and messaging Micah.

Is Archer with you?

Aside from the few times I've seen him at his house this week, we haven't spoken much. Micah has maintained his distance, keeping himself busy with the unusable bedrooms upstairs and the bathroom. Although we haven't talked much, I've noticed him coming over more often and staying longer. Taking a break from work must have triggered his need to work on the house.

Micah quickly responds.

No. He told me he was meeting up with you before heading home.

He was supposed to, but he never came.

After typing my message, I place my phone on the table just as the waitress returns.

She hands me my card with a frown.

"I'm so sorry, but your card was rejected."

"What?" I ask, sitting up in my seat.

"It was declined," she repeats, speaking low. The café is completely empty, but her voice is quiet, as if someone might overhear us.

"Oh no." My cheeks heat with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry." I swallow my shallow breaths and reach for my purse. The waitress stands patiently, but I feel her eyes on me. I dig through my purse, hoping I can find another way to pay. I sigh with relief when I find a twenty folded and stuffed in between a few old receipts. I hand it to her. "You can keep the change."

"Thank you." She smiles. "Have a great night."

"You, too." I force a smile and slide out from behind the table to gather my purse and phone before pushing through the glass door.

The street is dark and desolate. I'm deep in the heart of the city, but this street is littered with residences. Several blocks stand between the livelier side of Boston and me.

My stomach wavers while I decide what to do.

I took a rideshare here, but with my card declined at the coffee shop, I'm not sure I can get one back home.

I'm miles from Cambridge.

I begin walking toward the brighter lights in the distance. Small trees line the brick sidewalk. One after another, I pass house after house. The sky is pitch black and the wind howls through the branches of the trees. The air isn't as cold as last week, bits of spring finally peeking through, but the eerie quiet causes a shiver to sliver down my spine.

Unlocking my phone, I check my bank account. Since I work freelance modeling, my pay isn't consistent. Before I left LA, I was working on signing with a modeling agency, and the job I walked out on that day was one that would have helped me achieve that goal.

When I sign in to my account, I stare at the negative balance and feel sick.

I scroll through my transactions, wondering how it's been spent so quickly.

A payment is pending for a photoshoot I did a few weeks ago, but it won't clear for another two days.

Closing out my phone, I keep it in my hand while I figure out what to do. I shouldn't be walking these streets alone at night. I'm not familiar with this part of the city, and I have no idea why Archer wanted to meet here.

It's desolate and far from anywhere I would have chosen.

I stare at my phone, considering who to call.

Ember is working with a client, so I know she's unavailable. I wouldn't want to bother her anyway. There's no shot in hell I'm calling either of my parents. I haven't spoken to my father in years, and my mother and I rarely talk.

Before I talk myself out of it, I call the last person I expect, but the only one I can ask for help.

"Adeline?"

Micah's deep voice travels through my phone and lands against my ear. Goosebumps prickle across my neck, and my heart skips a beat. Ever since my conversation with Ember, I haven't been able to push the thought of him out of my head. Memories of how I used to litter the pages of my diary with doodles of my first name followed by his last play in my mind. Heat returns to my cheeks, as if he can read my thoughts.

"Hey, Micah,." I breathe out. I didn't realize I've been widening my steps and walking faster.

"Is everything okay?" he rushes to ask. "Why do you sound like that?"

"Sound like what?"

"Worried. You sounding worried is making me worried."

"Um, well…" I bite my lip. I'm too embarrassed to admit the truth, but I have no choice. It's either ask for Micah's help or risk the dangers that come with walking the streets of Boston alone at night.

"What is it, Addy?" he demands.

Heat spreads between my legs at his use of my nickname again. He seems to use it when he doesn't realize it, as if it's instinct to him, falling from his mouth without effort or thought.

"Well, since I don't have a car, I grabbed a rideshare here and figured Archer would have driven me home. But since he never showed, the café closed, and I was forced to leave."

"Where are you?" I hear what sounds like him swiping his keys from the entryway table, followed by a door slamming shut behind him.

My chin wobbles and my vision blurs. Until now, I've kept my emotions in check. I realize I'm not heartbroken over Maddox or love lost. I'm heartbroken my life has dramatically shifted into one where I find myself broke and stranded in a city where I don't feel welcome.

I swallow back the tears threatening to spill and look around. "I don't know."

"I'm coming to get you," Micah says, an engine roaring to life in the background. "I need to know where you are, Addy."

"Um," I swipe my hand across my forehead and tuck my hair behind my ear. "I don't..."

"Tell me where you are." His voice solid in my ear.

I read the nearest street signs out loud to him and stand on the corner, under the streetlamp.

"Fuck!" Micah yells over the rumbling engine. "That's not exactly the best neighborhood, Addy. Why the fuck did Archer want you to meet him there?" He doesn't give me the chance to respond before he says, "I'll be there as fast as I can. Is there anyone around, or are you close to anything?"

"No." I quiver as a tear slips from my eye. "I don't see anyone, but it's kind of dark. I'm standing under a streetlamp."

"Stay there," he orders. "I'm coming to get you."

He abruptly ends our call, and anxiety replaces the void. A chill creeps down the length of my spine. Silence overwhelms me.

Over the next ten minutes, I try my best to keep myself distracted. I scroll through social media. I play one of my phone games. All the while keeping my ears trained on my surroundings. From the corner of my eye, I keep my attention on the road. Every car that passes makes my heart race and my palms sweat.

I check the time on my phone. It's been almost twenty minutes since I spoke with Micah, and my mind is starting to spin in all directions. I imagine the worst scenarios, frightened I'm going to be stranded alone, yet again. Or worse… I've watched too many crime documentaries and know what happens to women in my situation.

A loud rumble down the street fills the silence. I take a chance and peek up. A single headlight turns onto the street from another two blocks away. It races down the residential road faster than any car has up to this point. The blood drains from my veins and down to my feet. Goosebumps spread down the length of my legs, and my heart beats against my chest.

The headlight grows closer, slowing as it nears me. The man on the bike is wearing a blacked-out helmet, completely shielding his face from view. I take a step back off the curb, creating as much distance between us as possible. My heel hits an uneven brick, and I stumble, rolling my ankle, but I quickly steady myself, retreating until my back hits the ivy-covered brick wall dividing the sidewalk and the yard of the house behind it.

The man climbs off his motorcycle, leaving the engine running.

I place my hands on the wall behind me, clamoring for what to do.

Relief slams into my chest as soon as the man takes off his helmet.

"Adeline," he breathes out. "What are you doing?"

I snap my mouth shut and sweep my tongue across my lips. "I didn't know you had a bike."

I look over his shoulder, and he follows my gaze before swinging his back to mine. His usually bright eyes are black in the dark of the night, even beneath the streetlamp we're under.

"I have several vehicles," he tells me. "I knew this was the fastest way for me to get to you, and if I hit traffic on the way, I would be able to weave in and out easily."

"Oh." I step away from the wall.

Micah backs away, his heavy black boots beating against the brick. His dark jeans are covered in streaks of paint, and his scent surrounds me: mint, laundry, and the old wood smell permeating his house.

"Here." He grabs another black helmet from the back of his bike. "Put this on." He holds it out for me to take, but I don't move.

He shakes it, his frustration getting to him. "Come on, Addy."

"I can't get on that." I shake my head.

Micah presses his mouth into a tight line.

I'm grateful he rushed here to pick me up, and although we're still standing on the same corner, I do feel a million times safer being with Micah… but when I look down at my half-naked legs, I can't help but feel self-conscious.

"You're getting on the bike, Adeline."

"I'm not."

"Yes. You are."

I look down at the black mini skirt I decided to pair with my hot pink, scoop-neck sweater.

"Micah…" I cross my arms over my chest with a huff. "I can't get on that bike wearing this skirt."

His eyes move to my legs. I cross them, heat pooling and spreading in places even I haven't bothered to touch in entirely too long. It's apparent my body is telling me I've been neglecting myself. Sirens and warning bells sound off in every cell, telling me the look in Micah's eye is enough to make me soaking wet. I'm worried he'll be able to tell my reaction once my legs are wrapped around him.

Micah's eyes flash with darkness. His chest expands with heavy, heated breaths as he takes a step forward, cutting the space between us.

"Get on the bike." He growls.

I look up. Our faces are entirely too close; closer than we've ever been. It's an unfamiliar yet comfortable feeling. The sadness and darkness I've seen on his face over the past week has multiplied. His pain is up close and personal, begging to be seen, but then he blinks, and it's gone.

"There has to be another way to get home," I tell him. I know I'm being stubborn. I know I should be grateful. I'm broke, and Micah has driven all the way out here. He didn't hesitate, and the urgent way he climbed off his bike tells me he was worried for my safety. He didn't know if I would still be standing when he finally made it. The thought of his concern is comforting.

Still, I stand my ground. For now. I've never been able to give into Micah's demands easily.

His demand reminds me of when I was eleven years old. Lungs burning and heart broken with embarrassment.

"There's no other way home," he says between clenched teeth. His sculpted jaw ticks as he shoves the helmet in my direction again. "Get on the bike." He shoots me another piercing glare when I don't move. "If you don't take this fucking helmet right now, I'll throw you over my shoulder and place you on the bike myself. Everyone in this neighborhood will think I'm kidnapping you."

I suck in a sharp breath, my insides turning to molten lava. My nostrils flare as I rip the helmet from his grip.

"Good girl." He smirks.

White knuckled, I suck in another breath. It shoots to the back of my throat and slams into my lungs, nearly knocking me off my feet. Hearing those two words catches me and my body off guard.

Did he hear Ember teasing me about him calling me a good girl, or is it purely coincidence?

My fingers tighten their grip on the helmet. I place it on my head and stomp my way over to the bike, thankful when the helmet hides my expression. Micah is quick to follow, practically pressing his chest against my back before climbing back onto his bike, as if he's prepared to follow through on his threat to toss me over his shoulder if necessary. He waits for me to get on behind him. I carefully and quickly lift my skirt high enough to straddle the seat. At least I was smart enough to wear my converse. Once on, I fix my skirt, lifting myself high enough to pull it underneath me, and I slide forward, pressing the inside of my thighs against his sturdy frame.

The front of my soaked panties presses against him. His body tenses when I slide my hands around his waist. His muscles harden under my touch, even through his thin T-shirt. I clutch onto the fabric, fisting it with my small fingers, and press my whole body against his. I feel small next to him but protected and safe. He's solid and warm.

The engine rumbles and vibrates beneath us. My body hums in response, the heat from Micah's body between my legs emanating. The sensation on my skin, vibrating against my flesh, only makes me wetter.

I inhale a sharp breath and work to adjust myself again. My skirt slips back up my thighs, and I groan, knowing this will be difficult to keep down on the ride home. My skirt will be bunched around my waist by the time we get there.

With me shifting behind him, Micah freezes. His ribs stop contracting with every breath, and his muscles swell. I glance over his shoulder, wondering why he hasn't moved and why we haven't left yet since he seemed adamant about getting us out of this neighborhood.

The corded muscles of his forearm twitch.

He removes his hand from the handle and flexes his fingers, stretching them before placing his hand back on the bike. Finally, he takes in a deep breath, revs the engine, and drives us home.