2. Mickey

CHAPTER 2

MICKEY

Once upon a time, Mickey had liked the colder weather. He remembered watching the snowfall with his nose pressed against the window. His mom would laugh and tell him that Jack Frost would freeze his nose off if he kept smashing it against the glass. He used to like how winter seemed to slow everything down. And most of all, he used to love how the world was muffled whenever it snowed.

Now winter could fuck right off. There was nothing magical about freezing his ass off all the time. Wet feet were not whimsical and it felt like they were always wet now, which was probably why his ragged, raspy cough had returned. He almost felt stupid for leaving the warmth of Taylor Bennett's apartment, but kindness like that came with strings. Mickey found that out the hard way and he wasn't about to let history repeat itself.

He wasn't a complete idiot, though, and he still made the trek to the back of the diner every day after the end of Taylor's shift. He always left a meal there for Mickey, rain or shine. It was the one thing Mickey would let himself take. While it didn't keep him full from one day to the next, it kept the edge of his hunger at bay and he was able to stop diving into trash cans, looking for food.

Shame swelled up in him as another coughing fit took over. It felt like hot knives were stabbing into his chest whenever he coughed, so he tried not to. But the longer he was able to keep it from happening, the worse it was when it finally did.

By the time Mickey was able to stop coughing, his chest ached like fire and he'd worked up a sweat, making him shiver even harder. He'd tried to get to the diner earlier so maybe the food would still be warm, but he was wet and cold and that had slowed him down.

He sometimes imagined going inside like Taylor had told him he could, but he hadn't been able to make himself. Out on the streets he was invisible, but everyone in the diner would look at him and he was tired of people looking at him and making their minds up about him before they knew anything.

He'd kill to be warm again, though. Mickey pulled his coat tighter and shuffled down the sidewalk. He'd picked up some under-the-table work here and there and had spent the money on a shitty hotel room that was probably bedbug infested, but Mickey had stood under a hot shower and used the tiny bar of soap to scrub every inch of his body. He'd scrubbed his clothes in the sink and used the towels to help wring the last of the water out so they'd be dry by morning.

But that had been weeks ago, and it still hadn't been as warm as Taylor's place. And Taylor had made him soup and he didn't seem to want anything. What could he? The kid had everything. A nice house. A family. Two boyfriends. All Mickey had was a bunch of bullshit memories and the clothes he hadn't been able to make himself give back to Taylor. He'd tried. He took them off and washed and dried them and had intended to leave them on the washing machine. But then he'd just stuffed them in his bag and left.

He didn't wear them often, but he was wearing them now. The pajama pants were hidden under his worse-for-wear jeans. They helped his pants fit better after all the weight he'd lost.

He was sure that, if he were desperate enough, Lance would take him back. And he'd thought of it a couple times. About how things weren't really that bad. About how they'd been good at first. Good enough to leave everything and everyone he knew on a whim and dive headfirst into the real world. Only nothing about Lance was real. It was all a fucking illusion. Dying on the street would be better than going back there.

Fuck, was he going to die on the street? It wasn't like he could go home. His family had made that clear when he'd last talked to them. They didn't care about the gay thing. Hell, they'd liked Lance to begin with. But they didn't now. And they didn't like Mickey either.

Thinking of that was worse than thinking of his wet feet or the way he couldn't get a full breath of air. Or the way that it seemed like the longer he walked, the farther away the diner got. The temperatures were supposed to drop as soon as the snow stopped falling in a few hours. Mickey would have loved to do a bit of work and be able to stay in a hotel for the night, but he'd been too sick.

The diner swam into view like a fucking beacon. In the darkness of the evening and the blowing storm, it looked deserted, but welcoming. The bright lights called to him. He wasn't sure how much longer they'd be open, but Mickey knew he needed to get warm. At least for a little while.

The bells above the door jingled in a cheerful way as Mickey stepped inside. The change in temperature took his breath away at first and he stood half in, half out for a second before he was able to force himself inside.

"Hey, sorry, but we're just about to close up. I can give you a coffee to go, if you want," a woman said. Mickey knew it wasn't only the Bennetts who worked here, but it was still odd to see anyone but Taylor.

Then a man stepped out of the back and he looked at Mickey as if he knew who he was. And maybe he did because it was Ethan Bennett. Even if Mickey didn't recall the sight of him from back in the day when he went to school with the middle son, Colby, it was clear as day that Ethan was Taylor's father.

"It's fine, Julie. You should get home before the snow gets worse."

Mickey noticed then that she'd been wearing her jacket and held a scarf and gloves in her hand.

"Are you sure?" she asked Ethan.

"Yeah, get home. Text me when you get there so I know you got there safe. The roads are probably shit."

She let out a breath and wrapped her scarf around her neck. "Thanks, boss. See you tomorrow." Mickey stepped out of the way to let her pass.

The bells jingled to announce her departure, and then everything was silent except for the harsh, labored way Mickey was breathing. He tried to stifle it before it happened, but it tore out of his chest. Mickey coughed and hacked, swaying a little as he became increasingly breathless.

Ethan was on him all at once, guiding him into a seat and ordering him to stay put. As if Mickey was going to go anywhere. His legs were dead weights and the minute Ethan had him in a booth, it was like all the strength went out of him at once. He slumped down, cold and miserable. Shaking and coughing.

He wasn't sure how long Ethan was gone, but he was suddenly back with a cup of hot coffee and a blanket. He tugged Mickey's soaking wet jacket off and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. He didn't know why Ethan would have a blanket, but he was thankful that he did, though it didn't even begin to touch the bitter cold that had seeped into his bones.

It felt like an eternity before his coughing subsided enough for him to reach for the cup and cradle it in his hands. If he had any sense, or strength, he'd already be out the door because he couldn't afford to owe anyone anything. But he couldn't make himself leave the cocoon of the blanket and the cup of hot coffee.

"Taylor's been worried about you," Ethan said. "I'm his dad, Ethan."

"I know." Mickey's voice was hoarse and it hurt to talk, but he hid the wince and pushed on. "I went to school with Colby."

Everyone knew who Colby's dad was. He was total DILF material, attracting attention from the girls and the gays, and probably a few closeted bisexual kids too. Though it had been a few years since Mickey had seen him, Ethan was unchanged. He was still tall and broad with maybe a little more gray than he'd had a few years ago.

"Look… Mickey, right?"

Mickey nodded and took a sip of the coffee. It was black and sweet and he wasn't sure Ethan knew how he liked his coffee. It was probably some sort of diner owner super power.

"I know Taylor let you stay in the basement, and I was fine with that. I don't know why you left and you don't have to tell me. But I know you're sick, and I know the weather is only going to get worse. And I know Taylor and I will both feel responsible if we let you stay in harm's way and something bad happens to you. I'd owe you big time if you'd just stay at my place where it's warm. And if you don't want to do that, at least let me get you a hotel room."

Mickey shook his head. He wouldn't let Ethan spend a single dollar on him. "No. No hotel." A cough shook him and choked off his words, but he shook his head again to get his point across.

"Then you'll come home with me, okay? The downstairs will be cold as hell because no one lives there now and I only have the heat high enough to keep the pipes from freezing. But you can crash on the couch upstairs tonight by the fireplace and maybe in the morning, once the downstairs is heated properly, I can convince you to stay there."

Mickey didn't have the energy to argue with Ethan. He knew that it was either sleep on Ethan's couch or go back into the cold and let nature finish him off. Mickey nodded because he knew if he spoke again, he'd end up coughing. He was so tired of coughing. Fuck—he was just tired. Exhaustion pulled at him constantly. Even his hair hurt he was so sick.

"Sit here and get warm. Everything is shut down, but I have chili in the crockpot at home. I'll just finish locking up and we can go."

Mickey nodded again, letting Ethan know he'd been heard. He stared into the coffee that was still steaming hot and contemplated dumping it on himself. He ached from the cold and the idea that tonight, at least, he'd sleep in front of a fire had his eyes stinging.

It felt like only half a minute had passed, but it had to have been longer because when Ethan spoke to him, Mickey had to shake himself awake. Exhaustion clung to him and made everything fuzzy and strange, but he managed to understand that they were ready to go. He got to his feet and Ethan ushered him out the front door and into his truck. Stepping from the cold into the vehicle was like stepping from a snowstorm into a volcano. Mickey groaned and pressed his hands over the vents. He was too tired to worry about whether or not this was a mistake. He knew he couldn't trust anyone, but he desperately wanted to trust Ethan Bennett. If Ethan wasn't trustworthy, Mickey had little hope for any of humanity, and that thought left him colder than the storm raging outside the car.