Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

I clung to the house like one of the hundreds of vines of ivy. Resting my head back against the brick, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up from this nightmare.

This was all a daydream. A figment of my imagination.

A truth that holds no water.

My father in Micah's backyard.

Ten minutes ago, I'd come out back in the hopes of planting new flowers in the garden box Micah had cleaned out. The sad, pathetic dry dirt was calling for new life. Some of the furniture we'd pulled out of the shed was beyond saving, but the garden box was different. I could see the potential. I could envision what it would look like flourishing with full blooms, new life breathed into what was once viewed as a symbol of death.

But I'd stopped when I heard movement from the far end of the backyard—someone climbing over the half-broken fence. I knew it wasn't Micah, considering he'd taken his car to meet with his brothers. Ray had dropped me off after breakfast with Ember.

Then my heart plunged deep in my stomach when I spotted the man climbing over the fence and falling to the ground. He'd barely looked up when I saw who it was.

Lachlan Mayfield.

My father.

Quickly, I'd ducked and ran to the side of the house. I knew he was on the other side of it, peering in through one of the windows.

I was about to step out and demand to know why he was here when I heard Micah's car pull into the driveway.

He'd barely asked him what he was doing here when I'd decided I couldn't, no wouldn't, stick around long enough to risk being seen, or hear what they were saying.

My breath caught in my chest when I gathered the strength to turn my head to my right. The door leading to the butler's pantry was beside me.

Panic set in. I needed to leave. I swung the door open and ran up the stairs as fast as my feet could carry me.

And now, before I give myself a chance to rethink my decision to leave, I'm breathlessly racing through the door to my bedroom. The wooden plank creaks under my step as I race across my room. I reach up to the top shelf of my closet and pull out my duffel bag. I'm on my toes, unable to fully wrap my hand around it. It slips from the shelf, and I duck my head as it falls to the floor. Picking it up, I carry it back to my bed.

Tears line my eyes as I drop it on the foot of my bed. As quickly as I can, I cross my room again and pull as many shirts as I'm able to fit in my arms out of my dresser.

Flashbacks to months ago crash into my mind with unrelenting force. The vision of me storming out of my work trailer, with only the clothes on my back and this very duffel bag, plays like a movie on repeat. A movie I don't want to rewatch.

I swallow the bile in my throat and take a breath.

When I close my eyes, a river of tears flow down my cheeks. I don't know where I'll go, but I can't stay here.

I chance another look out the window, hoping my father is truly gone.

He knows I'm here.

Maybe it was a foolish notion to believe I could have come back here without running into him or my mother. But Boston isn't exactly a small town. Even though Micah's house is in Cambridge, a neighboring suburb, technically, it's all a part of the same ecosystem. Cambridge can't exist without Boston. With hundreds and thousands of people here, I didn't think I'd see my father.

Especially not out in this backyard.

With Micah.

I shove the rest of my clothes and toiletries into my duffel bag and zip it shut. Leaving my room, I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt and jog down the stairs.

"Hey," Micah says, catching me before I make it halfway down the stairs. His eyes fall to the strap of my duffel bag before swinging back up to mine. "Where are you going?"

I open my mouth, counting the breaths I take.

I know I'm panicking, possibly overreacting, but the ghosts of my past haven't afforded me the luxury of remaining calm when it comes to my father, nor anyone else who's burned me in the past.

Sniffing, I look down at my feet.

Micah places two fingers under my chin, pulling me to look up at him. Through my watery gaze, I see his eyes soften, panic etched into his forehead.

"Why are you leaving?" he wearily asks.

I swallow thickly and breathe in a shallow, pain-stricken breath. "I heard you talking to Lachlan outside."

"You heard us?"

"Only a little. I didn't stick around long enough to find out why he was here. After Ray dropped me off, I thought I'd get started on replanting the garden box out back. I saw my father climbing over the back fence. I was going to confront him until I heard you, then I ran up here."

His eyes widen as he takes a step back, and my heart fractures. I don't know the depth of his relationship with my father.

Are they friends? Associates?

For years, I watched my father pop pills and snort cocaine, sometimes finishing a line before he barged into my room in the middle of the night to remind me of what a disappointment I was. From what I've also heard over the past few years as I've gotten older, Micah isn't unfamiliar with my father's type. He had a father like mine.

And knowing Micah went to prison for drug possession and drug addiction, it's all starting to click into place.

I told Micah I haven't judged him for his past addictions or his time served in prison, and I haven't. Everyone makes mistakes, and I know it doesn't define him. But with my father in the mix, I'm not sure it's a fact I'm willing to overlook.

Anything involving him is something I'm not willing to be a part of. A pain too great.

"I haven't seen him in years, Addy," Micah explains. His voice is smaller, as if he's afraid the truth will cause me to leave, and it just might. But the fear in Micah's expression makes me stay for now. I want to listen.

"I told him to leave," he adds.

"Why was he here?" My voice quakes. I'm afraid of his answer. Anything involving my father can't be good.

"I don't know." He blinks, but I know he's holding back, only giving me a partial truth.

"You're lying." I sniff, wiping my hand under my nose. I feel myself slipping away. "If he was here, there was a reason."

"I'm not lying." He takes a step up to the one below me.

"Was he here asking you for drugs?"

His face pales. If my father is involved, it must involve drugs, too. I swallow, scared of the answer to my next question. "Are you his dealer, Micah?"

His shoulders fall, and he swallows. I feel the blood drain from my face and pool at my feet.

A heavy breath leaves his chest. "Not anymore."

My bottom lip wobbles as I take in a shaky breath. Chills slither down my neck, making my heart race. "But you were?" My lungs squeeze, forcing the words to leave my mouth.

Micah runs his hand down the side of his face, clearly conflicted with how to answer.

"Yes," he admits, so quietly, I almost don't hear him.

A sob rattles in my chest.

"But that was a long time ago," he's quick to add. "I guess he came here thinking I still had some pills for him."

I cover my mouth with my hand. There's truth to what Micah is telling me. I see it in the way he's desperately and silently begging for this to not cause me to walk out the door. He's holding his breath, anticipation thick in the air.

I want to cry. I want to scream. My past will forever haunt me.

"I'm sorry." His eyes swim with genuine regret.

"I believe you, but I know you aren't telling me everything. The world of money and drugs has many secrets, Micah. You know that better than anyone. And I can't stay here. Not anymore."

"Addy, no," he pleads, with a softened, wounded expression.

"He might come back," I tell him, blinking away the fear, hoping it will leave, knowing it won't. "And I can't risk that. I don't want to see him."

I slide past him, but he stops me when my foot steps on the landing. I'm only five feet from the door, and Micah is desperately pulling me back. He wraps his hand around mine, and

my back lands softly against the wall. He presses his body against mine, towering over me, lifting his arm above me. I tip my chin higher.

"Where are you going to go?" he asks.

"Ember's." I'm not confident in my answer. I know Ember can take me in maybe for a few nights, but it won't be permanent. The same fear that propelled me to leave the first time is back with the same force.

I wish there were some island I could escape to—one where no one could hurt me.

"There's nowhere safer than here with me." He brings his mouth close to mine.

"Micah…"

I want to stand on my toes and give in. I want to taste him and feel him. I want his touch to numb the pain coming back to life inside my soul. I want to stay in this bubble we've created, where Archer doesn't know I've fallen for his best friend, and where my father hasn't shown up, asking for me. Deep down, I know that if he knows I'm here, it means he'll tell my mother, and the vicious cycle of emotional abuse will wash, rinse, and repeat.

I avoid looking at Micah. If I allow myself to stare into his blue-gray eyes, I'll give in.

"Addy." My weakness for him using my nickname crumbles my defenses. I look up into his eyes. "I truly don't know what made him come here, other than him asking for the pills before I told him to leave," he whispers. "Maybe it was for you. Archer told him you were staying here. Did you not want him to know? Why are you so afraid of him?"

The pain and trauma of my childhood rears its ugly head. It mocks and taunts me. Memories I've repressed for years have come back, consuming me like a virus.

Tears sting the back of my eyes. It's not that I assumed Archer would tell our father where I was, but I didn't realize how afraid of facing my past I was until I've been faced with this very situation where my father knows where I am.

I want to be angry with Archer for telling him, but I should have known. I should have suspected he would tell him when he doesn't know the whole truth.

"No, I didn't want him to know." I shake my head, unable to look at Micah. This is the part of my life I've tried to run from. I've tried to bury the past. I've locked it in a chest, tossed the key, and buried it under cold, hard dirt. But the sight of my father in the backyard has brought everything back up to the surface.

"Trust me, I get it. Your father isn't perfect, but Archer's never indicated he was bad enough to make you want to leave like this."

I roll my eyes. "Of course he hasn't."

"Outside…" His velvet voice lingers between us. "Outside, he told me you and him weren't close."

"We aren't," I grind out. "You don't understand."

"Then, make me understand it. Talk to me, Addy," he begs. "You're right; I only know Archer's side of the story—the one he was willing to tell me—but I don't know yours. My history with your father isn't more important than the truth. I want you to tell me your truth."

Tears slip from my eyes, pressure building behind them. My chest is split wide open. Micah's demand to hear the truth to prevent me from leaving is breaking me all over again.

"I can't." I close my eyes and take a resolving breath before I slink out from under Micah's body. "I'm sorry."

I feel my back pocket for my phone, but it isn't there. Fuck. I left it on my bedside table, and I need to call Ember to see if she'll pick me up.

I run back up the stairs, but Micah is quick behind me.

"Why are you running?"

"I'm not," I tell him, crossing my room. I swipe my phone from the table and spin around, but I slam into Micah's wall of a chest.

"You are." He's looking down at me. "Five minutes of seeing your father in my backyard has you running. There's a reason."

"Micah, please don't do this." I gulp, staring at his chest. Water fills my vision, emotion heavy in my chest. "I think it's best if I go." I step back, trying to walk around him.

"I can't let you go." He growls, closing in on me. "I won't." He cups his hands around my face again, forcing me to stop, and this time, I see his determination to make me stay.

All I want is this, with him. But how can I when he's right?

One glimpse of my father, and old habits return. The instinct to flee and move on is burning through my veins. I'm acting on impulse. But despite the need inside me, seeing Micah begging me to stay makes me hesitate.

"Let me go." I try my best to stay strong, to say it with conviction.

"If you think I'm just going to let you walk out of here without putting up a fight, you're sorely mistaken, Addy." He narrows his eyes but the softness in them remains.

His touch anchors me, keeping me from floating away. Escaping and running is easy. Facing the demons of your past takes bravery.

"Why are you here?" he asks calmly, running his thumbs under my eyes, catching my tears. "What are you running from? "

I look over his shoulder, catching my reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall. I inhale a sharp breath and dart my eyes away.

"See?" he continues. "That right there. You won't even look in the mirror. Every time you've been confronted with one, I've caught you looking away."

Him admitting to catching me and my aversion to looking at my own reflection hits me in a way I'm not expecting. It's as if I've been knocked down with a feather. My deepest, darkest secrets exposed. The truth is, I haven't been able to look at myself in the mirror because my face is a reminder of everything I've lost. It's a symbol of my hopes and dreams, shattered by the people who were supposed to love me.

"You were right." I swallow, not able to tell Micah the truth. "We don't know each other well. You're my older brother's best friend, and I'm just his silly little sister."

"I was… wrong."

"You weren't." I tighten my hands into fists. "You said you weren't good for me, but maybe I'm not good for you. You're Archer's best friend, and I can't jeopardize your relationship."

"I don't think you understand what you're doing to me, Addy." His velvety voice hits my ear. "I told you about Calista and my past with her. I thought I wanted a future with her, until the day I decided I didn't. She wasn't my future, nor any other woman for that matter. Because this, with you, is different. You make me feel things I've never felt with anyone else. You push my buttons and get under my skin. When you aren't near, I wonder all the fucking time what you're doing, who you're with. If you aren't with me, I immediately start figuring out the quickest way to get to you. I want you. I want you so fucking badly sometimes, it hurts, but we can't be if you don't tell me why you're running."

Micah's confession breaks the dam.

"All my life, I've struggled, blaming Archer for what he doesn't know." I swallow the tears, though they keep flowing. "But I've also blamed him for ignoring the signs, for never taking the initiative to listen."

"What do you mean? Signs of what?" Micah asks, tracing his finger across my jaw line. He hasn't let up, clearly unsure whether I'm still on the verge of fleeing.

"There are twelve years between Archer and me," I start. "My mother used to tell everyone the story of how I was their surprise baby… but my father liked to call me the mistake. He had a vasectomy a couple weeks after Archer was born. One child was enough, and as soon as my father found out Archer was a boy, he solidified his decision to only ever wanting one child. My mother was a famous model, and I know, for her, she was worried going through another pregnancy would force her to leave her career behind. Back then, pregnancy was essentially a modeling career death sentence. And after she'd had Archer, she practically lived in the gym and starved herself just to be able to go back to work."

I swallow, the tears only stopping momentarily, but my chin quivers as the next words spill from my mouth.

"She was able to work for twelve years after having Archer, but then she got pregnant with me. And while she was older and her career was dwindling in the eyes of society, she was still forced to leave on their terms, not hers. The older I got, the more my dad made me aware of the resentment he held for me. For her losing her career. For me holding him back to raise a child all over again. When Archer left for college, everything got worse. I found myself counting down the days until I got out, and the second I was old enough, I did."

"It isn't your fault," Micah says, cupping my face. I lean into his hand, allowing his warmth to wrap around me, but the feeling is only temporary, the pain of never being wanted ripping through me.

"Don't you see, though?" I look up at Micah with tear-filled eyes. "It's all my fault. I'm the cause of everyone's pain. My father's for having to raise me when he clearly didn't want me. My mother's for being forced to quit her career before she was ready."

"Addy, stop." Inhaling a sharp breath between his teeth, he wraps both of his hands around my face now, forcing me to look into his eyes. "You are not the cause of everyone's pain."

"I am." I squeeze my eyes shut. A sob rattles my chest, forcing me to shake.

"Addy," Micah soothes, willing me to open my eyes. "There is no justification for abuse. Ever. You are not the reason he treated you that way."

Micah loosens his hands from around my face and wraps his arms around me.

He's a blanket of safety. A warm light in the darkness.

I wish I could hide here in the comfort of his arms, but being here with him isn't reality.

"As I got older, I wanted to tell Archer about the way I was treated at home, but I didn't think he'd understand. Then when I was old enough and brave enough to tell him, he didn't want to hear it. He's been too consumed with his own life to fully care about mine."

"Archer loves you."

"I know he does." I nod. "I know if he knew, he would have done something. He's only wanted what's best for me. And I know it isn't right, but there's shame in me not telling him the truth. I should have said something, but back then, I knew the only person I could count on was myself. Then I made it to Los Angeles, and I found myself in a relationship headed down the same path. One of fear and manipulation. Control." I pull my face away from Micah's chest. His shirt peels away from my skin, wet from my tears. "I left him before it got worse. I didn't want to end up like my mother."

"Oh, Addy," he says, soothing me. He tenses his jaw, clearly the idea of a man hurting me angering him, but he keeps his hatred close to his chest. He buries it, comforting me instead.

I don't dive further into my history with Maddox. I realize the pain I feel isn't from leaving him. It's the pain from allowing myself to walk into a relationship of abuse again so easily. It's pain and disappointment in myself.

"Looking in the mirror only reminds me of what I left behind. I invited another man into my life. He used me and punished me by hitting me where it would hurt most. I can't look at myself in the mirror because I know the eyes I see looking back at me aren't the same as the hopeful ones I saw before him. My face was my career, my passion, and my livelihood. And now, what do I have?"

Micah pushes my hair away from my face. "I know what it's like to look in the mirror and hate what you see." He swallows as his eyes search my face. "But we can't move on when we're afraid of looking at the past and acknowledging the kind of person it's made us become."

"I'm terrified," I whisper, closing my eyes.

Tears slip through my lashes and stain my cheeks while I listen to his voice.

"Stay," he says above the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down the back of my neck. The sensation slinks down the length of my back and to my front, splitting off. A piece of it shoots straight for my heart, the other settling in my lower belly. The warmth of him surrounds me, the echoes of my past vibrating in the air between us.

His hand finds my stomach, trailing around my waist. He slips under the hem of my shirt, touching my bare skin, leaving an invisible trail that gives me strength I didn't know I needed.

"If there's anything I've learned since you barged your way into my life, it's that we aren't victims of our past, Adeline." He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and gently tightens his grip, pulling me to look up. "We're fighters and survivors."

"I don't feel like I am."

"It took courage to walk away. Don't ever doubt or question your decision in doing what was best for you."

"I don't know if I know what's best for me anymore." I shake my head, my voice still uneasy. I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, my toe reaching the edge. I can't go back, and I can't go forward.

"You don't have to figure it out right now. But I can't let you go. You make me feel something no one else has, Addy. I may not know what this is between us, and I'm scared as fuck, considering you're my best friend's sister, but I'm tired of pretending we're the same people we used to be. I'm tired of pretending that all the other bullshit matters." When I don't answer him, his eyebrows knit as his eyes soften. "Just stay. Will you stay?"

I look into Micah's eyes and try to read his thoughts. I search for them in the storm clouds that make up his blue-gray irises. Something tells me he needs me just as much as I need him. He's filled a void in me that otherwise would still exist. Walking away is scary, but so is staying.

Either way, I'm left confronting parts of my life I'm not exactly ready to face.

I inhale an unsteady, shaky breath. "I'll stay."