12. Mickey

CHAPTER 12

MICKEY

Mickey could take a lot of things. He could take sleeping outside. He could deal with being ignored by people and looked down upon. He could take sleepless nights and hunger so bad it felt like his stomach touched his backbone. But apparently he couldn't take Ethan Bennett being nice to him.

He'd retreated to the guest room because he needed a door to put between them. He needed a private place to steady himself before he fell to pieces. Every time he thought he got his attraction to Ethan under control, Ethan would say or do something to make Mickey realize just how much he liked the man. He thought maybe he liked Ethan because he was safe to be attracted to. Because Ethan was a good man who would never hurt Mickey. He'd raised three amazing kids all on his own. He was strong and capable and suddenly Mickey realized he liked Ethan for a lot of reasons, and his crush didn't feel so safe anymore.

His feelings for Ethan felt dangerous. They were sharp rocks that threatened to smash Mickey to pieces if he got too close to them. Mickey didn't want to let his relationship with Lance color all his future relationships, but it was hard to let go of the past when there was still so much of it following him. So much of it that no one knew. Mickey had never anyone to know, but now he wanted to tell Ethan. He wanted to tell him because he trusted him to say the right things. He had a way of looking at things that was different to the jaded way Mickey looked at things. He wanted to tell him, but at the same time, his stomach churned just thinking about it.

Guitar notes reached Mickey's ears and almost without thinking about it, he smiled. There was something comforting about the way Ethan played. It was like Ethan had a magical ability to soothe all the little hurts inside Mickey, and all it took was a kind word and a few songs.

Mickey wasn't able to keep himself shut away in the guest room for long. For starters, because it didn't feel like a space Mickey belonged in. And also because he wanted to be by the fire with Ethan and listen to him play. Before long, Mickey would be moving into his own space, whether it be an apartment or a hotel, and he wouldn't have this anymore.

Mickey sat down by the fire, and Ethan kept playing. He acknowledged Mickey's presence with a soft smile and a tight nod, all without missing a single beat. Mickey watched the way Ethan's fingers moved on the fretboard, how seamless his chord changes were. Everything Ethan did seemed to be smooth whereas Mickey had never stopped feeling awkward and wrong in his skin.

Until he sat in front of this fire with Ethan and played guitar.

There were likely other times that had come before where he hadn't felt awkward and wrong. Like everything he did wasn't right. Wasn't him, but he couldn't remember any single one that stood out before meeting Ethan.

"The first time he recorded us having sex, he said it was because it was something he'd always wanted to do, but had never been comfortable enough with anyone to do it."

Ethan stopped playing, but Mickey shook his head. "Keep going. Please?"

Without a word, Ethan started the song over. He didn't say anything to Mickey, didn't even sing along. He just softly played the strings and filled the silence with soothing sounds as Mickey tore his guts out.

"It wasn't long before he convinced me to let him put the video online, just to see how it did. And when it did well, he lavished me with praise and gifts. He made me feel special, and before long, we were filming all the time. It was okay at first. I didn't hate it, but then I was filming even when I didn't want to. And Lance got more and more controlling. What I ate. What I wore. How I did my hair. And it wasn't so fun anymore. And when I asked to stop, he'd get mad." Mickey wrapped his arms around himself. "He didn't hurt me—not like that. But he'd get in my head. I still don't know how he did it and why I let him, but he ground me down to nothing. He had total control of the money. Of the accounts. The videos. Everything. It's all his."

Mickey had to stop and take a few breaths to quell the nausea. Ethan played on, giving Mickey space to think and talk and share what he wanted without asking a million questions Mickey might not want to answer.

"Can I say something?" Ethan asked after Mickey had been quiet for probably too long.

"Sure," Mickey said, because why not? It was only fair that he let Ethan tell him what a fuck-up he was. How stupid he'd been. Only that wasn't what Ethan said.

"You didn't let him do anything. That's not how being abused works. You don't let people abuse you. People abuse you because they want to, and they do it without your permission."

"I didn't leave sooner."

"That doesn't mean that you wanted him to treat you like shit. It means you were scared and trapped. It's not easy to leave, but you did it. Leaving can sometimes be the hardest part."

"He wasn't even physically abusive, so it took me too long to see how wrong things were between us."

Ethan stilled the strings and looked at Mickey with such a deep melancholy that it choked him.

"He didn't beat you, but he still abused your body. He made you do things with it that you weren't fully on board with. That's abuse, Mickey."

"I don't want to think of that. I just wanted someone to know that there are videos of me online."

"Videos you didn't consent to being there. And even if you did, there's no shame in it. A lot of people make a great living on sex work. There's no shame in doing it, but there's shame in exploiting people. Your ex is the one who should be ashamed, but he won't be."

Mickey scoffed and, to his absolute horror, his eyes started to water. His throat closed as he choked back a deluge of emotions. "He already has someone else. I'm not upset for me, but that guy, his new boyfriend…" Mickey pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and stop the tears. "What if Lance hasn't changed? What if it's another person like me with no one to turn to and nowhere to go?"

Mickey wasn't aware that the guitar had stopped playing until two strong arms came around him and pulled him close. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ethan and clung to him. He didn't want to cry because it felt like if he started, he'd never stop. He hadn't cried when it was happening to him, but now that he was out of there, Mickey could barely think about it without wanting to break down.

"You're not responsible for other people, Mickey. People like Lance don't change or stop. They don't grow up. They just keep doing the things that make them feel powerful. And if you stop his current relationship, he'll get a new one. The best thing you can do is just try to move on."

Mickey took a deep breath and it wavered when he exhaled. His entire body felt tight and shaky. But Ethan felt solid. Real. And he burrowed closer to him, burying his face in Ethan's neck. How long had it been since someone held him like this? Mickey couldn't think about that because it was fucking depressing.

It was an embarrassingly long time before Mickey pulled away from Ethan. The moment he broke contact, he felt colder and he wrapped his arms around himself.

"It's been a long day. How about I order us a pizza?"

Mickey nodded. He'd argue about letting Ethan buy him dinner, but if he didn't let him buy dinner, Ethan would end up cooking.

"What do you like on yours?"

"Pepperoni with onion and extra cheese, if that's okay."

"That sounds good. I usually get ham and pineapple." Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped away at the screen. "As horrible as it sounds, one of the best things I like about the twenty-first century is how little we have to talk to people. I don't have to call in my pizza order anymore. Just a few taps on my screen and voila —pizza will be here in forty minutes or less. Don't tell me you're a ham and pineapple hater."

"I used to love it. I'd eat it every chance I got and I loved the way it made my mouth tingle. But it turns out that's not normal and I am in fact allergic to pineapple."

Ethan's eyes went round. "You're kidding."

"Nope. I wish I was. It won't kill me or anything, but I don't want to risk it. Now that I know it's an allergy, I'm worried that my reaction would be worse than usual."

"I guess now would be a good time to ask about any other food allergies."

"Brussels sprouts."

"Really?"

"Not really, I just hate them. Intensely." Mickey liked the way Ethan's eyes crinkled when he smiled. There were a lot of things about Ethan that Mickey liked. It would be faster to list the things he didn't like. Because there wasn't anything on that list. Maybe there would be if they spent more time together, but Mickey would be moving on soon.

It was time he started putting his life back together. The job was the first step. The place of his own would be the next. The thought of living by himself used to terrify him. Lance had convinced him that he'd never make it on his own… and he hadn't. Not yet. But it was something Mickey so desperately wanted to prove Lance wrong about.

"Do you want a drink?" Ethan asked.

"If it's spiked." Mickey cracked a smile.

Ethan's eyes crinkled again and he pushed himself to his feet. "I have just the thing. Wait here."

Ethan went into the kitchen and Mickey reached for the guitar. Pulling it into his lap, he gently ran his fingers over the steel strings. He played a few wonky chords before he got his finger positioning right. By the time Ethan returned with a steaming mug in each hand, Mickey's fingers were already sore and putting the guitar aside was no hardship.

Mickey hadn't expected a hot drink and he gave Ethan a quizzical look as he took the mug from him, careful not to spill any of the contents.

"It's a hot buttered rum."

"I've never heard of it. It smells good, though. What's in it?" Mickey took the glass and brought it close so he could give it a sniff. It smelled kind of spicy with a hint of sweetness.

"My parents liked them. It's a brown sugar and butter batter. You add boiling water and stir until dissolved, then add a splash of dark rum. You can make your own mix, but I'm too lazy for that and I bought mine." Ethan clinked their mugs together. "Cheers."

Mickey's first sip was surprising. Spicy and sweet, with a hint of the booze, but it didn't overpower the drink. Mickey took a second sip then shot Ethan a grin. "This is amazing."

"My parents would let me have one even when I was still just a teenager. I sometimes wonder if they put much rum in mine. But it was still nice." Ethan flinched. "Sorry."

"About what? That you had parents that didn't suck? Don't be sorry. You having parents that were good doesn't change the fact that mine aren't." The vision of his mom on the doorstep, shoving an envelope into his hand, returned. He wondered what it cost her to give him that money. For some reason, Mickey didn't want to tell Ethan about the money. He wasn't afraid that Ethan would make him leave that night, or any night for that matter. He wasn't sure what he was afraid of.

"I start work tomorrow," Mickey said, changing the subject. "It won't be long before I find somewhere to stay. Somewhere permanent. Somewhere that's mine. But I hope…" Mickey wrapped his other hand around the mug and cradled it in both hands. "I hope you'll come see me at work and stuff." Mickey felt small and pathetic and a lot like he was begging the cool kid to be his friend, but Ethan just smiled at him like Mickey had said the best thing he'd heard all day.

"Of course I will." Ethan held his gaze and Mickey, for once, didn't make himself look away. He wanted to drink his fill of Ethan before he left. Ethan looked away when the doorbell rang and he got to his feet. "That's the pizza. I'll be right back."

Mickey took another sip of his drink. Closing his eyes, he let himself feel the warmth of the drink spread through his body. He hated the idea of leaving Ethan's house. It was warm and welcoming and it was the first time Mickey had felt safe in years. But he had things to prove to himself. And if he stayed much longer, Mickey feared that his attraction wouldn't remain a secret.