24. Mickey

CHAPTER 24

MICKEY

Mickey stood in the kitchen, cradling a cup of coffee in both hands. He was staring out at the back yard when Ethan came and folded his arms around him from behind and rested his chin on Mickey's shoulder.

"You're quiet," said Ethan.

He didn't know how to tell Ethan that this place felt more like home than his apartment. It was probably just growing pains. There were so many changes in Mickey's life recently that it was hard to feel settled. But here in Ethan's house, Mickey felt steadier than he had all week. A sense of belonging enveloped him like a warm blanket.

"I don't mean to be." Mickey took a sip of his coffee.

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Just an observation. I guess I just want to know that you're okay."

Mickey turned his head, craning it to the side so he could look over his shoulder at Ethan. "I'm a lot better than okay."

He stole a kiss that tasted like coffee and went back to looking out the window. "It's peaceful here. Quiet."

"It's a lot quieter when you're not here."

Ethan kissed the curve of Mickey's neck. Not to get anything going. Not as a start to something sexy, something more. But just because he could. Because, Mickey guessed, he liked to do it. Not everything with Ethan was about sex. Mickey felt like most of what was between them was more about the connection they shared. The way they were comfortable around each other. Mickey believed he could tell Ethan anything, and he had. He'd told him a lot more than he'd shared with most people. And Ethan hadn't judged him or thought badly of him for it.

"Careful, Ethan. Keep talking like that and a guy might think you miss him or something."

"I do miss you when you're not here."

For something to be a confession, it had to be a secret. But Ethan had said it with such simplicity. No hesitation. Just a simple statement of fact. Mickey was missed when he wasn't here. Mickey's insides warmed and it felt like they were blooming, like spring had come to him at last after a long, cold winter.

Ethan brushed his lips against his cheek. Mickey was quickly discovering that Ethan was tactile. All night, and all this morning, Ethan was never far from Mickey. Touching him. Stealing kisses and reaching for him at every opportunity. And Mickey loved it. He cherished the way Ethan seemed to need him like a plant leaning toward the sunlight. Just how had someone like Ethan survived alone all these years?

"Will you tell me about her?" Mickey found himself asking. "About your wife?"

Ethan let out a sigh and melted a little more against Mickey as though he was drawing strength from his presence.

"What do you want to know?"

"What was she like?"

"Lively. Funny. Protective. She was my best friend. A good mom. The boys are the best parts of her. She was smart, like Jonah. Protective like Colby. Lively, radiant with it too, like Taylor. While Colby and Jonah were in school, she'd swung by the diner with Taylor and leave him with me when she went to get her hair and nails done. Sarah, that's her name, she was chatting with the girls at the salon, taking out her card to pay and she just…collapsed."

"I'm sorry."

Ethan took a deep breath and steadied himself. "It was an aneurism."

"I know she'd be proud of the job you did with your kids. Of all you gave them."

Mickey felt Ethan smile against his cheek. "She'd have liked you."

"Did she know that you're bisexual?" Mickey set his coffee on the counter and turned around, sliding his arms around Ethan's waist.

"There wasn't much Sarah didn't know. She was my best friend. I will always miss her."

"It would be weird if you didn't."

"The boys don't really remember, but she hated CCR."

Mickey snorted. "But you play it all the time."

"I couldn't listen to anything she liked. So much of our free time was wrapped up in music. But she hated CCR. I never listened to it when she was around and so it became the one thing I could hold on to for the longest time. It was something I could have with the boys that didn't make me choke up. The one band I could hear without turning into a wreck. And even that was hard. There's some songs that are still tough to hear."

"I get that." Mickey rose on his tip toes and brushed his lips against Ethan's. Inhaling deeply, he rested his head against Ethan's chest and closed his eyes. "Lance loves Oasis, so now it makes my stomach turn when I hear them. And when I was growing up, Mom was always listening to Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." The first movement only. Over and over. I don't think she's ever been happy." Mickey snorted. "Wow. I sure know how to bring a room down."

"Did you want to sit by the fire with me?" Ethan asked, though he was already steering them in that direction because he knew Mickey would say yes. As if no was in Mickey's vocabulary when it came to Ethan.

Mickey didn't bother responding. He just let Ethan lead him to the living room. Ethan sat on the floor with his back pressed against the couch and he pulled Mickey down to sit nestled between his legs.

How many times had Mickey dreamed of something like this? Of having someone to just be with in quiet moments. It had been a long time since Mickey had let himself dream of much of anything beyond escaping Lance. And after that, it was all about survival. But somewhere, some past version of Mickey existed. A version of himself that had dared to dream about stuff like this.

Mickey had never wanted much in life. There were lots of reasons for that, he supposed, if he chose to dig around in how he was raised. It hadn't always been bad at home, but his dad had been a roofer, and after an accident where he'd been injured, there was the opiate addiction. Then the alcohol addiction when he kicked the painkillers. And shit wasn't the same after that. His dad wasn't the same. His dad might have been the one to get hurt, but they'd all suffered for it.

Mickey had wanted to escape, and Lance seemed like a good way to do that. He'd certainly said all the right things. But now, none of that seemed to matter as much. The old wounds were still there, but they were smaller now. Less important. Especially knowing they'd led him here.

Ethan reached over and grabbed the guitar and put it in Mickey's lap.

"What are you doing?" Mickey asked, cradling the guitar, already resting the fingers of his right hand over the strings, while he eyed the frets, putting his fingers on the strings that made up a C chord.

"I thought you wanted more lessons."

Mickey twisted his head to look at Ethan over his shoulder. "Do you really think I'm going to be able to concentrate with you breathing on the back of my neck? Looming behind me all hot and shit isn't fair."

Ethan's eyebrow quirked upward. "Hot and shit?"

"I keep telling you that you're hot, but it's like you don't believe me."

Ethan pulled Mickey closer, trapping him between Ethan and the guitar.

"Let's see if this works." Ethan put his fingers on the frets and plucked the strings with his other hand. Clear crisp notes filled the room. Mickey pulled his hands into his lap and relaxed against Ethan.

Ethan played a song but didn't sing. Mickey didn't recognize the tune, but it was nice, whatever it was. Kind of sad, but not in a thrash on the ground and scream your guts out way. More like a stand on a hill and stare out into the distance kind of way.

"That was pretty." Mickey took the guitar from Ethan and set it back on the stand. He curled up sideways and tucked himself against Ethan's chest. He loved the way Ethan just cocooned him in his arms. The way he brushed kisses against Mickey whenever he thought to do it. Which was often.

"I want to tell my boys about us."

Mickey looked up at Ethan, his heart hammering against his ribs. Air wouldn't move in or out of his lungs and he gaped at Ethan. "What?" he squeaked.

"I think we're at the point where we have no choice. I'm not going to just not see you, and the minute they see us together, they're going to see right through any sort of front we try to put up. We don't exactly have the best poker faces."

There had been a time when Mickey thought he loved Lance. When he'd have done anything—had done everything—to keep him. But all of those things seemed hollow now. Like costume jewelry sitting next to the real thing, it was cheap in comparison.

"But only if you're ready," Ethan added.

"I—you're the one who has to come out. I'm already out. They're your kids. I'm—" Mickey sucked in a deep breath. "The only thing I have to lose is you. You're taking the bigger risk."

The lines around Ethan's eyes smoothed as his gaze softened. "I don't think they'll take it bad, if that's what you're worried about. I think they probably want me to be happy, at least I'd like to believe I raised them right. They probably think that I'd find someone my own age."

"I mean, if you want to find someone your age, I'm sure we can all fit in your bed." Mickey grinned at Ethan. "But I get to sleep in the middle."

Ethan's jaw dropped as he stared at Mickey, who wrapped his arms around Ethan's neck and stole a kiss. "I told you I have a thing for older men." Mickey furrowed his brow. "Unless you were wanting a member of the opposite sex to join us, then I'm afraid you'd be stuck sleeping in the middle. Only one of us is bi', and it's not me."

"I have no plans on sharing you. Or myself, for that matter." Ethan's hold on Mickey tightened possessively and Mickey lit up like a firework.

"You really want to tell them?"

"I really do."

Mickey tried not to swoon—and failed. The smile Ethan gave him proved that Mickey really didn't have a poker face at all.