Chapter 14

FOURTEEN

I can't get the conversation I had with Micah back home out of my head. I think about it the entire time we walk up and down the aisles of the bath remodeling store.

Now, he rambles on, asking me which ones I like and which tile I think will go with which flooring. Several times he's caught me so deep in thought I had to ask him to repeat his question. He doesn't press me on it, though, and I don't divulge my thoughts.

The air is thick between us, the conversation in the house leaving us riddled with unanswered questions. I want to know more about Micah. I want to know why he feels left behind in a world of thirty-somethings. Does it have to do with him going to prison?

Temptation dared me to ask him back at the house, but I didn't want to bring it up when he'd already felt comfortable enough to share certain pieces of himself with me.

After picking the tile and placing an order, Micah and I head back home.

Thunderous dark clouds roll across the sky in the distance. The farther we drive out of the city, the closer we crawl toward the storm ahead. I glance over my shoulder while Micah races down the street and turns onto the highway.

The city grows smaller in the distance, stealing the sunshine and clear blue skies with it. We're only halfway home when drops of water start to fall from above. They're slow at first; the thunder rumbling into the ground beneath us. Water from the road kicks up at our legs as another round of thunder crackles in the distance. I shift my hold on Micah's body and close my hands around his shirt, clutching onto him firmly. His muscles move beneath my touch with every breath.

We're taking the exit to our neighborhood when the rain picks up even more. Quick pelting drops of water cover us in sheets of rain, the sound of it drowning out the traffic and the loud rumble of the bike's engine. We pull to a stop light, waiting to turn left, when Micah takes the opportunity to pop open his visor and look over his shoulder.

"Normally, I would stop and pull over to wait out the storm!" he yells. "But since we're almost home, we'll just keep going. Hang on."

I nod, letting him know I heard him and tighten my grip.

I catch one more glimpse of his blue-gray eyes before he snaps his visor shut, revs the engine, and turns when the traffic light switches to green.

I concentrate on my body pressed against his as he weaves through the streets of our neighborhood. The tiny bits of rain splash and bounce off every parked car we pass. Water wicks and slaps against the exposed parts of my skin. The front of me is almost dry, but my shoulders and back are drenched with cool rain.

I flex my legs around his thick frame, thinking back to yesterday when I'd seen him out in the garden. I wasn't just watching him work. I was thinking about him differently. I was seeing him in a new light.

I was a woman falling for a man.

I still don't understand my feelings for him, but something has changed over the course of these months living with him. Micah has allowed me access to the parts of himself he doesn't share with the rest of the world. He looks at me differently, talks to me differently, treats me differently.

My stomach flutters at the idea of there being more to us than simply roommates. I loosen my grip on his shirt and dare to feel his chest once again. My wrinkled fingers press against him. I wish the barrier of wet fabric wasn't resting between his beating heart and me. I want to know if I have an effect on him at all.

Does he react to my touch the way I do to his?

I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to calm the thoughts running rampant in my mind. I haven't been able to shut them off.

Micah's touch has awakened what I thought were dormant parts of my soul. It amplifies across my body, sending shockwaves to my heart and stomach. Every time we connect, I find myself wanting more. I want to see how far this feeling can go.

The house comes into view, and Micah takes a sharp turn into the driveway. Eventually, he comes to a stop, and I look over at the flower box below my bedroom window. All the weeds and dead branches are cleared out. A puddle of water now floods the soil, spilling over the edges and onto the green grass. I climb off the bike and remove my helmet, placing it on the seat, then stand beside Micah's bike and stare at his back. He hasn't turned off the engine yet. He hasn't made a single move to climb off his bike, which is strange given how hard it's raining. White knuckled, he tightens his grip on the handles and remains on the leather seat.

For a moment, I think he might leave me here. Maybe he forgot to run an errand. Maybe he wants to put distance between us, considering the last several weeks. He knows something is different with me.

Rain continues to pour from the sky in sheets. I look up at the near-black clouds, squinting against the raindrops. My shirt and leggings cling to me like a second skin. My hair sticks to my cheeks, and water drips from my eyelashes. It's completely ridiculous that we're still out here instead of rushing inside to the comfort of our warm, dry house.

My heart feels like it's going to rip right out of my chest, as if Micah's opened it himself, barely hovering his hand over the organ that keeps my body running.

I silently beg for him to turn off the engine.

To do something.

To say something.

But he doesn't.

Unsure of how to will the feelings inside me to fade, I chance another look at the garden. My gaze immediately lands on all the furniture we left in the yard, still sitting in a large pile from when we emptied the shed days ago.

"Shit," I hiss, immediately jogging through the side yard.

I push through the half-broken, wooden gate separating the side yard and leading to the back. My feet smash into puddles along the way, and water soaks into my shoes, saturating my socks.

"Addy!" Micah yells behind me. I hear the creaking of the wooden gate opening and closing behind me again.

I don't waste time stopping or turning around. "We have to get these covered!" I yell back. "The rain will ruin them!"

"Addy, wait!" his voice booms over the sound of rain, but I don't stop. I'm almost to the furniture when I come to a screeching halt. Lighting strikes in the distance, several houses down. An icy chill slithers down the length of my spine, and the ground vibrates with electricity. My heart jolts, but I still don't stop.

The dresser and large grandfather clock I've fallen in love with are doused in rain. The rational part of my brain tells me they're a lost cause. They can't be saved or salvaged now. The chance of restoring these antiques is gone.

Anger boils under my skin, and I wished I'd moved them sooner. Why did we leave them outside this long? Why did I allow these fragile pieces to get damaged?

I stalk over to the grandfather clock and place my hands at the top. Micah charges through the yard, following me. His hair is drenched, the ends sticking to his forehead. Water drips from his bottom lip as he stands on the other side of the clock, catching his breath. His shoulders and chest rapidly rise and fall, and his shirt clings to his skin like cellophane. His dark lashes are clumped together, the blue of his eyes standing out against the gray-black sky above.

"We should have moved these somewhere else," I tell him, my voice quivering. "We shouldn't have kept them out here." I don't want to cry, but a tight knot has formed in my chest.

I feel constricted, the truth of how I'm feeling begging to be set free.

I'm tired of ignoring my feelings. I'm tired of pretending as if my feelings for Micah are the same as they were when I was a kid—a meaningless childhood crush—because the truth is, I'm not a child anymore. Any feelings I have for him now are valid and powerful. Ones that can't be ignored.

But my fear is laced with the desire.

Fear, because the last time I allowed myself to get close to someone, I nearly lost myself. I was catapulted back into a life of pain. But as I look into Micah's eyes, I know he's different. He's not Maddox. He's different than all those who have told me they loved me but failed to show up when it mattered most.

Micah is standing in front of me in the rain, pulling me back from the cliff I'm teetering on the edge of, and I shudder when another round of thunder and lightning cracks. I harden my stare and direct it at Micah.

"Help me move this under the patio." I grip the sides of the clock, my fingers slipping on the wet varnish. The edges have bubbled, and spots of discoloration litter the surface.

"It's too late," he argues, refusing to help.

"It's not." I shake my head.

"It is, Addy."

"No," I grind out, grabbing the clock again. I try to pull it down enough for me to hold it at an angle and slide it across the grass.

But Micah's hand wraps around mine, stopping me. Air rises from my lungs at his sudden touch. He tugs my hand, pulling me to him, and my wet body slams against his chest before he presses me against the clock.

"Let it go, Addy." His voice vibrates against me as he looks down into my eyes, and I want to cry. It's as if he's opened the windows to my soul with only his voice, exposing every irrational thought running in my mind.

I haven't told him about Maddox and the pain he caused me. I've never even told him about my dad. But he can see the scars I carry with me. The crucial evidence of those who have wounded me. Mixed with the hurt I feel, I'm certain he can see the desire I have for him, too.

"I can't let it go," I confess.

My eyes fall to his mouth as another drop of water slips from his bottom lip onto his rain-soaked beard, and up close, like this, I can see bits of blond and silver strands peeking through his otherwise dark brown hair.

I stare at his beautiful face, wanting nothing more than for him to give in, to take the leap.

"You asked me earlier if I felt alone here with you." My voice is suspended within the small space between us, shaky and uneven with my confession. "I'm not. Not when I'm with you."

Another round of thunder rolls in the distance.

Micah's body stills. He's holding my hand between us, running the pad of his thumb against my palm. A small gesture that ignites my entire body into flames.

But my heart sinks when he winces. His eyes fill with sadness and regret as he shakes his head. "I can't, Addy."

"I know you feel this," I say, pressing my hand to his chest. "I know you feel this like I do."

Lighting cracks again, bringing on another surge of rain.

He's surrounding every inch of me, consuming the bit of air I'm able to squeeze into my lungs. I beg for him to touch me. I crave it like my body craves oxygen.

Then suddenly, he leans forward just an inch, bringing his mouth above mine. His eyes are hard, at war.

I hold my breath, anticipation building inside me. Heat returns to the space between my legs, and our breaths are heavy and measured, each one more laborious than the last.

"I shouldn't , Addy," he admits. My nickname has never sounded sweeter.

"Why?" I ask, unable to focus on one thing long enough to pull myself together. I'm vulnerable and broken, surrendering to the truth buried inside me.

"Because," he whispers, "this can't happen."

"It can't happen, or you don't want it to?" I focus on my hand wrapped up in his as his other hand falls to my waist.

His fingers dance along the waist of my leggings, slipping under the elastic band. I hold my breath, imagining the pain I'll feel with his rejection, but I don't want him to stop. The space between my legs is begging for his touch, building with need for him. My heart hammers in my chest, begging for something I know won't be easy.

"What I want doesn't matter," he says, his eyes resembling the storm above. The vulnerability I feel inside is the same as what I see in Micah's eyes.

I press my hand against his chest, over his heart and watch my fingers move slowly over his hardened muscle. He's warm and comforting, and I practically melt just from touching him.

I want this. I want him to kiss me. I want his hand to explore more than just the waistband of my leggings.

"What you want should matter," I tell him, my mouth running dry.

"It never has." He swallows. There's pain laced in his expression, too. A battle turning into all-out war in his heated gaze.

His hand slips around the arch of my hip, his fingers grazing deeper below the elastic. He presses his fingertips to the curve of my lower back.

"Tell me to stop." He breathes harder.

"I won't." I shake my head and sweep my tongue across my lips.

"Tell me to stop," he begs, his eyebrows drawing in.

"Don't stop."

"Dammit, Addy." He groans, resting his forehead against mine.

"You asked me if I've felt alone living here with you," I start, concentrating on his hand on the small of my back. "But what about you? Do you feel alone?"

Releasing my hand, his fingers ghost along the curve of my neck, moving to tangle in my wet hair and grip the back of my head. I lean into it.

We're incredibly close when we shouldn't be, but how can Micah's touch be wrong when it makes me feel like this?

The way I'm feeling could be from my circumstances. Leaving Maddox was an easy decision, but the damage left behind is one I've swept under the rug since I left. I've been determined to move on with my life, burying myself in the tasks of renovating Micah's house. Somewhere along the way, Micah has done the same. Taking a break from work has him filling his days with the satisfaction of restoring the old house he's ignored for years. With me here, I'm someone to fill the void. The parts of his life he's hiding from.

We're one and the same.

But I know I want this. I want Micah.

I squeeze my eyes shut and drop my head back against the grandfather clock. A moan escapes my throat while I savor Micah's touch.

"Fuck, Addy." He tightens his grip on the back of my head.

I crack my eyes open to find him staring at me with a heated gaze. His hungry hands have started to explore more of my skin. His resolve is crumbling.

"Tell me to stop." He growls, anger sparking with his plea.

I simply shake my head, slipping my hand across his chest and over his shoulder.

"Always so fucking stubborn. Don't you ever listen to me?" he barks, his jaw clenching. "You don't understand. I can't do this."

"Why?" My pussy is begging for the sweet relief I know his touch will bring. Heat pools and spreads between my legs the farther he lowers his grip on the small of my back. I didn't realize until now that he's pressed his hips against mine. His words are telling me one thing while his body is showing me another.

I wasn't imagining his jealousy and possessiveness. He wants this as much as I do. Fear stands in the way of allowing him to completely surrender.

His swollen cock presses into my lower stomach, and I whimper, relishing in the feel of the size of it against me. Every move makes me want more. I'm greedy and hungry for a man who was never out of reach… until now.

"Why can't we do this?" I manage to squeak out.

He closes his eyes on a heavy breath, his lips parting. Slowly, his eyes open again, hooded with anguish. "You're my best friend's little sister."

"I'm not a little girl, Micah. I'm so tired of you telling me I'm something I'm not."

"I know you aren't a little girl, but I don't want to hurt my best friend. I don't want to hurt Archer."

"You won't, and you aren't." I push my hips forward.

His eyes flutter shut again, a heavy groan rumbling from his chest and up his throat.

When his eyes snap open this time, they've changed. With a heated glare, he grips onto the back of my head, pulling me impossibly closer. "I know you aren't little anymore."

I melt under his touch.

Yes. This is what I've been craving.

Kiss me. Please, I silently beg, inhibitions completely gone.

"I can't do this to my best friend," he says weakly.

"You won't be doing anything to Archer," I point out. He doesn't understand the dynamic between my brother and me. Then again, I may not fully understand his friendship with him, either. In some respects, I guess you could say they're friendship is stronger than our siblingship.

I don't want my brother to be a reason Micah holds back.

"Dammit." He hangs his head lower, moving his face away from mine before he leans forward and presses the top of his head to the side of mine while the rain beats against his back. It feels like we've been out here for an eternity. Time stills as Micah concentrates on his heavy breathing. He removes his hand from the back of my head and grips the top of the grandfather clock.

I slip my hand between us, hooking my fingers under his chin, forcing him to look me in the eye.

"I've spent so long pushing away what I want," he confesses. Streams of water drip down his face, falling from his mouth with every word. I hang on to them, the desire in me building with anticipation of what's coming next. "It's never mattered what I wanted."

"So, what?" I ask, frustration getting the better of me. "You plan on spending the rest of your life doing what everyone expects of you? Doing what everyone else wants? Is that why you neglected this house for so long? Was it your way of maintaining control, or was it your way of avoiding the truth?"

Anger and fury flame in his narrowing eyes. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Why?" I ask, my eyebrows pinching in anger. "I must not be able to understand because I'm only twenty-one, right? There's no possible way I can have an opinion because I haven't lived through any true hardships?"

There it is.

The truth laid bare. In all its glory.

Micah doesn't believe I have any hard experiences. He doesn't believe I've lived through true heartache. But he doesn't know our heartache is one and the same.

"That's not what I'm saying." He closes his eyes again.

"Then, make me understand ."

Silence.

"Please…" I beg.

Another quick rush of air fills my lungs before Micah's eyes snap open, flashing with heat before he grips the back of my head again and slams his lips to mine, stealing the bit of oxygen I have left in me.

The taste of him makes me grow weak in the knees, and I whimper against him, my brain and heart struggling to catch up with my reality.

His fingers twist and tangle through my wet hair while he slips his other hand down the back of my leggings and across my skin before his entire palm covers one of my bare ass cheeks. He massages me, and the ends of his fingers play at the space between my thighs from behind. My breath catches in my throat, wanting him to keep going. I moan as I roll to stand on my toes. He growls against my mouth, lapping his tongue against mine.

"Touch me," I breathe. "Please, touch me."

Hungrily, he squeezes my soft flesh, pulling me toward him. My pussy tingles, hoping he doesn't end this. I arch my back, and my hardened nipples peak through my wet T-shirt, ghosting across Micah's abs.

He moves his other hand from my hair to the side of my face. Gripping me, he tilts my face up to meet his.

I wrap my hand around his neck, pulling him down as I stand on my toes. He tastes of rain, mint, and heat. Keeping his hand inside my wet leggings, he slips around my hip and finds my pussy. His fingertips slide through my slit, finding my equally soaking wet clit, and he presses his finger to it.

"Fuck," he gasps between kisses, then he starts to move his finger in circles, and another moan falls from my mouth. He rips away from me, stealing the air from my lungs with him. "We can't."

I catch my breath, my mind frantic. My body immediately feels his absence. My heart beats erratically, and I want to cry. I want to cry because what we just did is unlike anything I've ever felt. He lifted me into the air before allowing me to fall like an anvil from the sky. I crash and burn.

"Why?" I ask, biting back the tears threatening to come. I don't want them to spill. I don't want Micah to see how much his rejection stings. "Why can't we do this?"

"I told you. I'm Archer's best friend."

"I don't fucking care about Archer," I blurt out, regretting the words as soon as they leave my mouth. I press both of my hands to my hot cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No," Micah says, backing away. The growing distance between us stings, pouring salt in the already open wound. "I know what you meant."

The rain has slowed now. What was once sheets of rain is now only a light sprinkling. The clouds above are still heavy, but the sun and clear blue skies are breaking out in the distance.

"I'm not good for you."

My chin wobbles as I hold back my tears. "Sounds like you're trying to come up with excuses or reasons to push me away. To fight this."

"You don't know me, Addy. Not really."

"And you think you know me so well? Enough to tell me what's right and what's wrong?" I ask, my heart fracturing. "You have no idea what I've been through these past three years or even what my childhood was like. You have no idea what my relationship with Archer is like. You think you know based on only the side he's told you. But everyone wears masks, Micah. We all become experts in hiding the truth. Archer included."

Micah doesn't answer. His eyes stare into mine, searching for the truth. I've already shared more than I have my entire life. I've never opened up to anyone about the hard truth of my family dynamic. My childhood was centered around wearing a mask to bury the truth. Years were spent conditioning me to stay silent. But as the saying goes, old habits die hard.

I look into Micah's eyes, knowing there is more to what he means when he says I don't know him the way I think I do.

"You're right." He swallows, his neck bobbing with nerves. "Everyone wears masks. Including me."

"Are you talking about when you went to prison?"

His eyes widen and his jaw ticks. He looks off into the distance, even though he's still standing in front of me, close enough to touch. I don't move, though, instead curling my hands into fists, respecting his decision in the moment to keep space between us. I push through the pain of his rejection, knowing, deep down, he wants this. He just doesn't know how he can cope when his demons are as dark as mine.

"I know what happened," I tell him, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Nerves bundle inside me. I wish I could reach out to him and place my hand around his. "I read about you going to prison. The judge was harsh on you. But I also know that man isn't who you are anymore. I can see that. I don't judge you based off what's happened in the past. A few bad decisions don't make up who you truly are."

His far-off look softens, his defenses crumbling, but the wall remains. It may be small, but it's still there, standing between us.

"It doesn't matter what you think you might know." He finally turns back to me, his face filled with pain. "This can't happen, Adeline. Ever."