28. Mickey

CHAPTER 28

MICKEY

Mickey wasn't sure if Ethan already had the day off, or if he took it, but the result was the same. He wasn't willing to be parted from Mickey just yet and Mickey didn't have to return to the bar until his shift started later that day. They slept curled together, sated and so happy their smiles were saccharine. Ethan woke before him, and when Mickey finally stirred, he saw Ethan sitting up in bed with a book in hand. The scent of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air and Mickey wriggled closer, draping his arm around Ethan's middle.

"Good morning," Mickey mumbled, still mostly incoherent from sleep.

"It's nearly afternoon." Ethan put his book aside and ran his fingers through Mickey's hair, moving it off his face.

Coming more awake by the second, Mickey let out a low groan. "No wonder my bladder is about to burst."

He shoved himself upright and neatly dodged a good morning kiss from Ethan. "My mouth tastes like something died in it. Give me two minutes and I'll kiss the fuck out of you."

Mickey got up and darted into the en suite. It took a minute for him to get his dick to cooperate with his bladder; morning wood was a curse sometimes. He washed his hands and was brushing the shit-tastic taste out of his mouth when he heard Ethan's doorbell.

"I'll get it," Ethan said from the bedroom.

Mickey paused his tooth-brushing. "I hope it's not one of those salesmen. You have to watch out for them. My friend's mom ended up with an eight thousand dollar water softening system she didn't need."

Ethan made a strangled sound from the other room. "We'll circle back to that after I see who's here," Ethan said as the doorbell rang again.

By the time Mickey finished brushing his teeth, Ethan still hadn't returned. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but not alone. He'd had plans, dammit. Mickey slid on a pair of Ethan's sleep pants and one of his t-shirts and headed out of the room to see what was keeping his boyfriend.

"I raided your dresser. I hope you don't mind." Mickey came around the corner and saw Ethan first. His expression was strange, full of worry and concern. And then Mickey saw his mother.

"Mom?" Mickey blinked at her. She looked… well, like shit, to be honest. Like she'd been crying. Like she hadn't been eating. The bags under her eyes were so big they had their own zip code.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

Mickey went to her and sat down on the couch beside her.

"I'll get you a tea and something to eat," Ethan said.

"I couldn't possibly eat anything." Mickey's mom's voice was fragile. Her hands shook as she looked down at them. Pressing them against her legs to get them to stop trembling, she took a deep breath.

"Mom? What's going on?"

"I—" Her breath sawed in and out of her, trembling and shaking. "I left your father."

Relief washed through Mickey. "Good."

His mom's eyes widened with shock. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I should have left him years ago. I should have left him a thousand times over."

Back before his experience with Lance, Mickey might have resented her for not leaving him sooner. For staying as long as she did. For allowing herself and him to be mistreated by someone who had pledged to love them.

"You left now, that's the most important thing. Do you need anything?" Mickey asked as though he had anything to give. "If you need a place to stay, I have an apartment. It's not much, but it's got a bedroom you can have. I'll take the couch."

"Is this what it was like when you left that man?"

Mickey had to smile at the way she still refused to use Lance's name. Though it used to feel like acid in open wounds, now it was mildly amusing and not altogether unwelcome.

"I was terrified. But I was more terrified of staying."

His mom nodded, but said nothing. She looked exhausted. Paper thin. Weary. Mickey wanted to wrap her up in cotton and protect her. Although she'd not really been great at being there for him, he didn't want to be the kind of person to let other people's actions dictate his own.

Everything he'd been through, all the shit he'd endured, could've made him hard and mean and jaded. Hateful. Or the opposite–empathetic. Soft. Kind. And that's the kind of person he wanted to be. Someone Ethan would be proud to be with.

"I don't know what to do." She looked at Mickey when she spoke, eyes filled with unshed tears. She sniffled and swiped at them, as though disgusted she somehow had any tears left at all.

Ethan came into the room with three steaming cups of tea on a tray. Also on the tray was some sliced fruit, cheese, and meat. Before Ethan could try to make an excuse and leave them alone, Mickey found himself reaching for him and pulling him down on the couch next to him. Ethan sat and wrapped an arm around Mickey like he knew he needed some sort of support. This morning had gone sideways and Mickey wasn't sure how to navigate this.

"Are you in any sort of danger from Mickey's father?" Ethan asked carefully measuring his words as he spoke.

Mickey's mom sniffled again and shook her head, but she didn't elaborate. She reached for a cup of tea and cradled it in her hands. She ignored the milk and sugar that was also on the tray and just held the cup like all she required from it was the warmth it provided.

"With your permission, I can put you in touch with a local woman's shelter. They have resources and counseling and support for people in your situation."

Ethan's words were a gut punch to Mickey. He'd offered to help her. He had a place of his own. His own money, though not much yet, was enough to help her out. To make sure she was safe while she figured out her next steps.

"She can stay with me," Mickey protested. He stiffened under Ethan's gentle touch. The reassuring squeeze Ethan gave him suddenly didn't feel so reassuring. It felt like judgement. Mickey turned to face Ethan, who was doing a shit job at keeping the sympathetic look off his face. "I have room."

"I know you do. But I'm not sure it's good for either of you."

"Why not? She's my mom." The lump in Mickey's throat wasn't nearly as intrusive as the hot coal in his chest.

"I didn't mean to cause a problem," Mickey's mom said, starting to stand.

Mickey looked at her. "Mom, sit, please. It's fine."

It wasn't fine. It had never been fine. But she was right. Her presence had uncovered some hard truths that Mickey had to face. She hadn't been there for him. So why was he so desperate to be there for her? Was it because she was his mom and deserved a second chance, or did he secretly want to gloat at her? Did he want to look after her so he could hold it over her? The thought turned his stomach because he couldn't honestly answer the question.

Fuck. He was a shitty person. And Ethan saw it. He saw the frantic way Mickey had wanted to help her. He saw that it wasn't just him trying to be a good person. No. He wanted to be a better person than his mom. He wanted to prove that he'd come out of his bad decisions all on his own with no help from her.

Part of it was him wanting her approval. Even now when he'd gone so long without it. She'd made an effort, though recently. He remembered the money she'd brought him and he wondered again how much it had cost her. As soon as he could, he was going to pay her back.

Mickey's anger was an untamed spark, flying back and forth between subjects. Himself. His mom. Ethan. Undeservingly, Ethan. Mickey was mad at the universe. At Lance. At his dad. At everyone. But mostly at his mom. Because he'd had nowhere to go when he needed it and here she was, with a soft spot that had been his. Her being here rankled him so bad his chest tightened to the point of pain.

Mickey got to his feet, jerking out of Ethan's touch, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't be in the same room as her anymore. Once the shock of her turning up had worn off, Mickey's anger had surfaced and he had no way of pulling it back and tucking it into the little box inside him.

"Excuse me." Mickey stood and ducked out of the living room and made a beeline for Ethan's bedroom. Once he was in there with the door shut, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was so fucking angry and hurt, and confused by both emotions.

He was glad that she hadn't taken him up on his offer of staying with him because, once he thought about it, he didn't want her there. Or here. Or any space that he'd carved out for himself. Maybe in the future. Maybe. But not now.

Mickey sank down to the floor and leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the side of the bed. He sucked in a few deep breaths, but the band of tension didn't leave his chest. Not until what felt like a whole eternity later when the bedroom door opened and Ethan dropped down on the floor next to him and tugged him into his arms.

"I sent her to the shelter." Ethan kissed the side of Mickey's head. "I'm sorry."

Mickey sniffled, horrifyingly enough. He didn't want to fall apart where Ethan could see him, but he couldn't make himself move either. Ethan was strong, and warm, and safe.

"I'm so mad at her." Mickey's voice cracked, just like his heart did as he admitted out loud, maybe for the first time, that he was angry with her. "I don't want to be, but she never chose me, you know. Things at home were shit, and I know everyone leaves in their own time. Some never do. But she's my mom. She was supposed to be my safe space."

Ethan shifted positions so he could lean against the side of the bed. Mickey was half in Ethan's lap and Ethan held him tight.

"I'm sorry she wasn't."

No admonishment. No explanation or excuses were made for her. Ethan just acknowledged her failures and held Mickey as he tried to compose himself enough to start to untangle all his emotions. It was like all his busted-up pieces were in a jar and she'd come along and shaken it.

Mickey closed his eyes and let himself melt into the comfort of Ethan's arms. He had to work that evening, which felt like a blessing. He didn't want to sit and mope all day and dwell on the storm of emotions that had been kicked up.

"Ethan," Mickey said sometime later. It could have been minutes or hours, but it had been long enough to make Mickey's ass go numb from sitting on the floor.

"Yes, Mickey."

"I love you."

"I love you too." Ethan held him tighter and the tempest quieted a little. Not all the way, but enough that Mickey could take in a full breath without feeling like his chest was going to cave in.

"I have to work soon."

"You could call in. I'm sure Shane would understand."

Mickey shook his head. "I need to not sit around and dwell on this all day and all night."

"Will you come back after your shift?"

Mickey shook his head, even though it went against his instincts. He wanted to say yes. Desperately. He wanted to listen to Ethan and stay home and not go to work. He wanted to curl up in Ethan's lap all day and make him play guitar and order takeout so they wouldn't have to cook.

Ethan didn't push. Didn't question. He kissed the side of Mickey's head and told him that if he changed his mind, he still had a house key and could let himself in as he pleased. Mickey didn't want to use it because he didn't want to leave. He let out a sigh.

It was going to be a long fucking day.