Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Amelia

Curled up on the couch, I remain motionless, yet internally, I've been battling a relentless war for hours now. A war to silence the voice in my head that terribly resembles Mother's.

I broke down so hard that even Jamie seemed worried. The music he chose for me, a song I'd never heard before but instinctively knew must be one of Grey's, has been on repeat since.

A beacon of light in my personal darkness.

Having finally calmed down enough to stand and retrieve my smartwatch from where I had thrown it earlier, I strap it back on. It's already three a.m.

I'm not physically tired, but mentally, I'm exhausted.

After getting a glass of water from the kitchen, I settle back onto the couch, taking a long sip before setting it down on my coffee table. Then, leaning back, I let my head fall against the cushions and take a deep breath, just staring out the window into the night.

It's as if my soul is aching.

No way I can go to sleep like this .

My phone vibrates, pulling my gaze from the outside. I pick it up to find a text from Misha.

What could he want this late?

You up?

It's scary how quickly that pulls me out of my pit of self-pity, and I can't help but smile.

What kind of booty call is this?

:)

Not that kind. Unless you want it to be?

Rolling my eyes, I reply.

What's up? It's 3 a.m. You okay?

Sure, I was getting ready for my hike and thought maybe you wanna join?

Oh my God, yes.

That is a much better alternative to staying here alone and dwelling on what was said during that awful phone call.

Yes, please.

Do you have hiking boots and a jacket? It's cold before the sun comes up.

I stand and walk over to the utility room to make sure. And there, in the back, is my hiking gear with boots, backpack, and jacket.

I do.

Got a headlamp too?

I've never hiked in the dark before, so I haven't thought of buying one.

Shit.

Is that necessary? Because I don't.

Mine should be fine for both of us.

I'll just have to keep you close.

:)

Meet you in ten.

In ten?

In a flash, I run to my bedroom to change into my hiking clothes and braid my hair. My movements are hurried as I finish filling up my water bottle, just in time for another text from Misha to ping through.

Here.

When I open the door, he's there, leaning casually against the frame, with a lopsided grin spreading across his face. The sight of him, so relaxed and carefree, sends that now-familiar flutter through my chest.

"Ready?" he asks, his eyes twinkling with a hint of adventure.

"Just need to slip on my shoes," I respond, stepping back to grab my hiking boots, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

"Take them with you, but for now, put on sneakers," Misha comments as I'm about to slip into them. "It's less of a mess in the car for Oliver to complain about, and your feet will thank me later when we switch back from the hiking boots."

I chuckle, shaking my head as I put on my sneakers. "Oliver will complain about the car?"

"Oh, he so will when we're going in there with the dirty boots. He'd have us vacuuming it out if we brought one speck of dirt inside. And I don't know about you, but I hate vacuuming."

Putting on my jacket and grabbing my backpack, I step out to Misha and close the door behind me, locking it with my smartwatch.

"I have a Hoover robot, so yes, hoovering is the worst," I agree wholeheartedly.

"God, you sound so British." Misha chuckles, taking my hand as he pulls me to the elevator.

Today, I'll let myself enjoy his constant affection and touches.

Not only could I use some comfort right now, but he's so good at providing it.

"Duh, that's because I am British," I mutter as we step inside.

Misha tugs at my braid. "You've got that posh London accent that makes everything sound like a royal decree," he teases, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leans closer. "I love it." I feel a blush creep up my cheeks in time with another flutter in my stomach, and my breath hitches. "And it's so easy to make you blush. So damn cute."

I manage a faint smile as I nudge his shoulder, making him chuckle, but I'm relieved when the elevator doors open to the garage.

Stepping out into the cool, dimly lit space, I catch sight of the white Tesla parked a few feet away. Misha keeps hold of my hand, leading me toward the car with easy confidence.

He opens the passenger door for me and grabs my shoes and backpack before I slide into the seat. "Thanks," I murmur, trying to steady my voice as I buckle up.

Misha closes the door with a thud and walks to the trunk to put away our stuff before he makes his way to the driver's side, sliding in.

The car starts quietly, and soon, we're gliding out of the garage, the city lights blurring past us as we head toward the open road. The passing streetlights cast shifting shadows across his face, emphasizing his contemplation as he navigates the quiet streets.

Misha glances at me, his brown eyes almost black in the dim light. "Why were you awake?" he asks, his voice low and smooth, almost blending into the background noise of the radio quietly playing.

I shift in my seat, clasping my hands in my lap to still their nervous twitching. "Who said I was awake?" I respond, attempting to deflect with a half-hearted smirk. The memory of Mother's harsh words echoes in my ears and still lingers too close to the surface.

I'm not ready to dive into that with Misha—or anyone.

He doesn't seem convinced and gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow slightly raised. "Did I wake you then?"

"No, you didn't," I admit, my gaze drifting out the window. The reflection of my face in the glass looks back at me, more tired and strained than I'd like to admit.

"So, why were you awake?" he persists, his voice gentle yet insistent, as if he's peeling back layers he knows are there but hasn't yet seen.

"I couldn't sleep," I murmur, almost too quietly, hoping to leave it at that .

"Something bothering you?" His question hangs in the air, a mild but unwavering challenge.

"No," I lie, a reflex more than anything. The word feels heavy on my tongue, loaded with all the things I keep buried.

Misha nods, seemingly accepting my answer, but his next question is softer, more direct. "How are you, Amelia?"

"Fine," I mutter, staring at the undulating patterns of light on the dashboard.

"And how are you, really?" he pushes a little further, his voice tinged with a concern that makes my chest tighten.

I want this to be fun. I want to spend some time with Misha, and I don't want to ruin his hike because I can't seem to stop worrying him.

I'm fucking all of this up.

Meeting his gaze briefly before looking away, I confess, "I'm not great at sharing my emotions."

"Fair enough," he acknowledges. Then, after a pause, he adds, almost playfully, "Nice weather today, isn't it?" I shoot him a skeptical look, confused. "Weather is the safest topic there is. Easy to talk about the weather."

"Maybe…" I respond hesitantly, trying to gauge his intentions.

"So, would you say it's rather cloudy? Maybe you think it's going to rain?"

"What? No, it should be sunny today. You said—"

"Amelia, how is the weather inside you? " he interrupts.

Caught off guard, I pause, my defenses wavering under the weight of his sincerity.

I can give him that.

"Stormy," I admit, the word feeling too inadequate for the turmoil inside.

"That's okay because storms pass," he murmurs, his warm smile reaching his eyes as his hand finds my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

I glance at Misha when he focuses back on the road, noticing the deep lines of fatigue etching his face. "You don't look like you just woke up either," I comment, feeling my own concern for him rising.

Misha gives a brief, humorless chuckle, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. "True, that's because I didn't. I have insomnia. It feels like I can never really sleep."

"Why is that?"

With a sigh, he glances briefly at me before his eyes return to the road. "It's been like this forever, can't remember any different. Especially when I was a kid."

Encouraging him to continue, I tilt my head. "How come?"

"Well, growing up, we didn't have separate rooms. I shared one with my two older brothers, and my two little sisters shared another. My parents slept in the living room on the sofa because the apartment was too small for all of us," he explains, a distant look crossing his features. "There was never any space just for me, no quiet place. I thought the noise kept me awake, but later, I realized it wasn't the problem. I still can't sleep, even though I'm alone and in my own room. It's more like the silence is too loud now. I'd grown used to always having someone around."

"That makes sense," I utter quietly. "I can't really relate since I was always alone and had way too much space in a big house. Quite the opposite, but I understand what you're saying." A small grin briefly lights up Misha's face. "Can't you slip into Oliver's or Grey's bed for some company?" I tease, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation.

His laughter, genuine but tinged with sarcasm, fills the car. "Well, Grey would probably kick my ass for trying. I guess Oliver would just cuddle close. But I figured out a long time ago that company doesn't help either. It's just something I've got to deal with." His gaze shifts back to the road, the earlier levity fading as quickly as it appeared.

Watching him, a pang of empathy tightens in my chest. He's like me in some ways, yet so different.

It's strange how we all carry our silent battles, isn't it?

"How did you figure that out?" I ask, genuinely curious about how he navigated through his sleepless nights.

Misha's expression softens, a rueful smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "I had a phase where I thought bringing women into my bed and exhausting myself with them would help. But it only made it way more uncomfortable, lying awake next to someone you'd rather not have in your bed in the first place."

The thought of Misha wearing himself out with other women stirs jealousy in me. Still, I can't help but laugh, though it's more out of shock than amusement. "Wow, Misha, that's… wow."

He shrugs, a playful grin lighting up his features. "What? We're being honest, aren't we? That's what friends do, right?"

Friends…

The word hangs in my mind.

I guess we are.

So, it should be okay to open up a little too.

"I wouldn't know," I shrug, "Never had any friends before."

"Well, get used to it then because you have three now," he says nonchalantly, and my lips curl into a smile. "What's your dirty little secret?" Misha probes, his tone teasing but underlined with genuine interest.

"My dirty little secret ?" I echo, caught off guard.

"Yes, I told you that I used women to cope, and it didn't work. Now, what do you do to cope? "

I don't think stealing fish from the company's aquarium counts as coping.

"I really don't. That's the problem."

Misha nods understandingly. "Well, let's see if we can fix that with a sunrise."

We pull into a parking spot surrounded by trees, and it's pitch-black outside when Misha turns off the headlights. He hops out and comes to open my door before I can, holding out a hand to help me out. Then he opens the trunk, dim light from the inside of the car shining on us as he sits on the edge to change into his hiking shoes. I watch like a fool, but once he's done, he stands, gesturing for me to sit down. While I take off my sneakers, he grabs my hiking boots and kneels in front of me to help me put them on.

"I can do that," I protest.

Misha flashes a cheeky grin. "Grey may be the one calling you princess , but I'm the one who gives you the princess treatment."

"You're an idiot," I retort with a laugh, shaking my head.

Misha laughs, too, his eyes twinkling in the dim light. Then he stands, and after we secure our backpacks, he closes the lid with a thunk and locks the car, pocketing the key.

Pulling on his headlamp, he clicks it on, sending a beam through the velvety black of the early morning. We stand side by side at the trailhead, the path ahead impossible to make out.

"I'd have you walk in front of me, but then you'd be standing in the light and wouldn't see well enough directly in front of you," he explains, glancing back at me with a practical tone.

A shiver runs down my spine at the idea. Misha accidentally blinds me with his headlamp and quickly apologizes, adjusting the light upwards. "Are you afraid of the dark?"

"I'm not, or I thought I wouldn't be, but this is kind of creepy," I admit.

They always grab them from behind in horror movies, right?

"Do you want to have the light and walk up front?" he asks, already reaching up to pull it off his head.

"No, please, keep the responsibility. I'm just along for the ride."

Misha smirks and steps in front of me, reaching back his hand and wiggling his fingers in invitation. I take it, feeling reassured by his firm grip. "Don't worry, I've got you. Just hold on, watch where you step, and we'll be up there in no time."

As we hike, the path eventually widens and becomes steeper, allowing me to walk beside him, though he doesn't let go of my hand, which I like more than I care to admit.

The forest around us begins to lighten with the predawn glow, shadows dancing between the trees.

"Why do you have hiking boots?" Misha asks, his tone casual.

"I used to go on hikes with my brother back home."

"Oh, really, what was your favorite?"

"Seven Sisters Cliffs," I say, thinking about the gorgeous view over the sea.

"I've never heard of it. But I never thought about going on a hike around London. I thought it was flat over there."

"It is." I laugh. "At least compared to here. But I haven't been on any hikes here before this one, so what do I know." I grip his hand a little tighter as we navigate a particularly rocky stretch.

"How come?" he probes, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow .

"I don't really know the area, and I thought it wouldn't be a good idea to go on paths I don't know alone," I admit, feeling sheepish about my lack of adventure.

Misha nods thoughtfully. "I usually hike alone, but I'd love to have a hiking buddy. So, if you want to join, you're more than welcome."

I laugh, a puff of white breath in the cool air. "I don't think I can keep up with you. I hear your usual paths are way trickier than this one, and I'm already panting."

"Well, I can certainly adapt it for you if you want to join, and I think you'll have more endurance in no time."

"Maybe…" I chuckle, "… but I doubt it. My legs are already shaking."

Misha pauses, his silence hanging in the air.

"What?" I ask, coming to a standstill.

Please don't let him be considering taking me back already.

But before I can say something else, he confesses with a mischievous grin, "Sorry, I have a dirty mind."

My laughter bursts forth, genuine and unguarded. "Oh my God, Misha."

He joins in, his laughter mingling with mine in the cool morning air as he pulls me back into a walk. "Sorry, but hey, I didn't say anything. You were the one bringing it up."

We continue laughing, the sound echoing lightly through the trees as we make our way up the trail.

After walking for a while longer in comfortable silence, we finally reach the summit. It's still draped in the darkness of the early morning, but the sky is sprinkled with stars like scattered glitter.

With a hint of pride, Misha announces, "Here we are." He releases me and stretches out his arms, turning in a circle as if he wants me to take in the view.

"Wow, it's really… dark," I quip, smirking at him .

He glares at me playfully before he drops his backpack and pulls out a blanket, spreading it on the grassy ground before sitting and tugging me down beside him. He switches off his headlamp, and I marvel at how his features are just visible—softened edges in the low light.

A shiver races through me, more from the dropping temperatures than exhaustion.

"Do you have another jacket with you?" Misha asks, frowning at me.

"No, only the one I'm wearing." I hug myself for warmth, rubbing my upper arms.

"You're freezing because you were sweating on the way up, and now that you're not moving, it's getting cold with the damp jacket," Misha explains, then instructs firmly, "Take it off."

"But that's—" I start to protest.

"Take off the jacket," he repeats, a gentle firmness in his tone.

Reluctantly, I peel it off, and Misha pulls off his jacket, draping it around my shoulders. Gratefully, I slip my arms through, the warmth enveloping me instantly as he zips it up for me.

"Thank you," I murmur, feeling the heat start to seep back into my bones. "But now you're going to be cold."

"Don't worry, I didn't sweat."

"Show-off," I mutter, making him chuckle.

Misha pulls a down vest from his backpack and puts it on. Then he hands me his water bottle. "Here, drink something."

"I have my own," I reply, holding up my bottle.

With a chuckle, he teases, "Miss Independent, please let me take care of you, okay? You may have water, but I have the holy grail for hikes."

Curious, I ask, "What's that? "

"Sweetened, warm fruit tea," he reveals with a wink.

I take the bottle from him and take a tentative sip. The warm liquid is comforting, and I hum in delight. "That's perfect."

He grins, reclaiming the bottle to take a sip himself. "Told you." After putting it away, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. The shared warmth and his presence chase the remaining chill away.

And makes my heart beat a little faster.

"Better?" he asks, his voice low and close.

"Much," I affirm, leaning into him.

This is something friends do, right? Cuddle for warmth.

Misha lies down on the blanket and gently pulls me down beside him so my head rests on his upper arm. He smells like walking into a greenhouse full of leafy plants or overturned dirt in the early spring after a light rain.

I love it.

Drawing me closer, I let go and snuggle in just as his soothing voice whispers, "I'm sorry you're cold, but it will get better in a minute when the sun comes up."

"In a minute? It's still dark," I protest, skeptical of his optimistic timing.

"I know. We were faster than I thought we would be. You're fit," he comments, offering a smile. He points up at the sky. "See, Venus, the morning star, is already on the horizon. That means the sunrise isn't far away."

"You're into star stuff now?" I tease, following his gaze to the twinkling lights above.

"My father loves astronomy. Back in Greece, the stars were much brighter and more visible, and we went out to go stargazing a lot," he explains.

"Do you miss Greece?" I ask with a yawn, cuddling some more into his warmth and making the jacket rustle.

"Not really. We came to the States twenty years ago. Everything felt so much cooler, bigger, and newer. I loved the sweets and the music. Music is actually how I learned the language," he shares.

"Where is your family now?"

"They're back in Philly."

"Philadelphia?" I turn a little to look up at him. "That's far."

"Not as far as London," he points out, snickering.

I decide not to pursue that thread. "Do you miss them?"

"Of course I do. But it's fine. Like I said, there's a lot going on there. I love to FaceTime them, but it's… maybe I overdosed on family," he admits.

"What does that mean?" I press, intrigued by his choice of words.

"I don't know," Misha sighs. "I had to share everything my whole life. There wasn't enough attention to go around. Being the middle child, I always felt left out and overlooked. It's hard to feel like you have to make everybody happy when at the same time you feel like you aren't important enough to get the same in return."

"Misha…" I trail off, my words hushed in the quiet around us.

What do you say to something like this?

You're important to me.

"Studies have shown that it is like that sometimes," he quips with a wry smile, but his eyes tell me this goes deeper than he lets on. "My therapist says I like taking care of people because it heals the part of me that needed someone to take care of me. Sometimes, having a big heart sucks."

"You're not in charge of everyone else's happiness," I remind him gently.

"At least I grew up with two good role models," Misha says, a touch of pride in his voice. "It wasn't all bad. I love my mom and dad, and they gave everything for us. "

"I didn't grow up with role models," I say quietly, staring at the slowly brightening sky. "I grew up with people I didn't want to be like."

Misha turns his head and leans in close, whispering in my ear, "You're amazing. You're someone I want to be like when I grow up."

I feel my cheeks flush, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling too broadly. For a moment, I'm at a loss for words, overwhelmed by how much his simple confession means to me.

When I'm finally bold enough to glance at him, Misha gazes up, a contemplative look on his face. "I don't want a big family. I don't want to share my partner with kids. I just want her and me having a good life, doing what we love. Being successful, having friends, going on hikes, enjoying life. That's all I want."

His words feel important. It's as if they are meant to counter the echo of Mother's voice that still haunts me and reminds me that I'm not enough, that it's not okay to want the exact thing he's describing.

"Sounds amazing. But not everybody thinks like that," I whisper in response, almost without thinking.

I could see a life like that with him.

He didn't talk about you, Amelia.

Misha turns his head to look at me, his expression serious. "Not everybody has to think like that, but it's okay to think like that. It's okay to live your life how you want to live it without putting the expectations of others on you because you are the one who will have to live that life. And spoiler… we die in the end. If you can't find anyone who will accept your way of living, it's worth it to live it alone."

His words touch a raw nerve. I can't think about it again. This was meant to be an escape from the heaviness.

I need to change the topic .

"And here I thought you were the funny one of the three of you," I tease, trying to lighten the mood as I lean a little away from him.

But Misha just pulls me even closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I am the funny one. But that isn't really hard to achieve given Oliver's brilliant shyness and Grey's… assholeness."

I slap him playfully on the chest. "Grey isn't an arsehole."

Misha laughs, his voice carrying across the quiet mountaintop. "Oh? One evening, he was nice to you, and you come to his defense?"

"Sort of nice," I concede with a small smile.

I consider him licking ricotta off my finger as nice.

"Don't let him fool you." Misha chuckles. "Under all that scowl, Grey's a cinnamon roll, just like the rest of us. Maybe even more so than Oliver."

Wait, what?

"That's not possible." I chuckle, thinking of sweet, considerate Oliver.

"Oh, it is. Oliver is so much more than what you see at first glance," Misha's tone now mixes amusement and respect. "Sure, he's shy, but don't mistake him being quiet for weakness. He's incredibly resilient and always finds ways to support those he cares about. Oliver is so deeply empathetic. He senses how you're feeling, sometimes even before you fully process it yourself. And he always knows what to say or do to make things better. His strength isn't loud or showy. But he's a pillar, really, in his own quiet way. I don't know where I would be today if I hadn't found him. But that counts for Grey too."

Talking about Oliver and Grey stirs that feeling in my chest again, even though I'm lying in Misha's arms, enjoying that fact a little too much as well .

I'm in trouble.

As we lie here, the first hints of dawn start to color the sky, and I feel more of the weight lift from my shoulders.

"Showtime," Misha whispers after a few more minutes, pulling me with him to sit upright.

The sun begins its slow ascent, bathing the horizon in hues of lilac and pink, then a vibrant orange. I feel the promised warmth on my face when the first rays peek over the horizon. The world around us gradually illuminates, revealing the stunning panorama and a lake nestled in the valley below.

Misha's eyes light with excitement, constantly flitting between the sunrise and me watching it. "See, I told you, the sunrise up here is amazing."

I can't help but agree as I take in the breathtaking view. It's absolutely stunning.

He lets go of me, jumps up with a joyful whoop, and throws his hands in the air. "Whoo-hoo!" he shouts, his voice echoing slightly in the crisp morning air.

I laugh, watching him, his enthusiasm infectious. He's a complete dork but utterly amazing and undeniably cute.

"Can you hear it, Amelia?" he asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

I pause, listening to the gentle rustle of the trees and the distant calls of morning birds, mixed with the steady thump of my own heartbeat. "Hear what?" I ask, genuinely puzzled.

Misha grins widely. "Every time I see something special, something that makes me grateful to be alive, I hear this song in my head. "Midnight City" by M83. Can you hear it?"

I shake my head, still grinning. "No, I can't hear it."

Undeterred, Misha starts to hum and then yells, "Ba doo doo ba! Ba doo doo ba! "

He grabs my hands, pulling me to stand with him, and begins to sway, to dance with me. "Come on, Amelia! Just feel it!"

Laughing, I let myself be swept along by his energy, dancing and swaying to his rendition of the song as the sun climbs higher, casting a golden-orange sheen across his face. His joy is so vivid and palpable . It feels like it brightens everything around us, including me.

He's living sunshine.

Misha stops his dance, and I stop, too, as he reaches out, tucking a windblown strand of hair behind my ear. His voice softens, almost lost in the wind. "See how life gets brighter if you're just willing to sit through the darkness long enough?"

It really does.

Standing there, with Misha's hand in mine, dancing to a song only he hears, I feel a rush of life, of joy I hadn't known I was missing.

It's the most alive I've ever felt.