6. Mickey

CHAPTER 6

MICKEY

There were only so many hours in a day that Mickey could devote to sleeping and recovering and a few days after his fever broke, he found himself wandering through Ethan's house. He still hadn't moved from sleeping on the couch. The warmth of the fire was still a novelty that Mickey couldn't get over. He'd had a fireplace growing up, a real one with crackling logs and everything. But his parents would never have dreamed of letting him sleep in front of it.

It wasn't that Mickey wanted to blame them for everything, but if they'd been a little warmer, a little more willing to listen, maybe he wouldn't have run off with Lance. And when things started going bad between them, maybe he'd have been able to come home. But they'd told him not to. The shame of why sat in his stomach like a sack of rocks.

The worst of it wasn't having finally left Lance and ending up on the streets. The worst of it, his lowest point, had been when he'd thought of going back to him. He'd even gone so far as to use the computer at the library to look his ex up on social media only to find that he'd already been replaced by a newer model. Looking at a younger, shinier, brighter-eyed version of himself made him feel like he was a counterfeit. Like he was a dollar store knock-off of himself. Which was ridiculous.

Mickey had immediately regretted even entertaining the idea of going back. Then he got sick and he'd half wished that he could just curl up somewhere and not wake up. It was a startling realization to think how close he'd been not only to death, but to welcoming it with open arms. And then the diner had come into view. The light beckoned to him and it promised him warmth and safety and, almost without his consent, his feet carried him inside.

Now that he'd started to recover, he realized just how sick he'd been. How close to it all ending he'd come. There was no way he'd have survived the night out there. Even if he'd found some sort of shelter, he didn't think he would've made it.

Ethan, as it turned out, was one of the few people in the world who still had a home phone. Mickey had spent the past two days walking past it and stopping to look at it. He imagined how a conversation with his parents might go. He didn't think it would go in his favor… but he wanted to try.

It was stupid of him, but he thought maybe enough time had passed. Maybe they missed him. Maybe they could rebuild their relationship. He'd like to stop blaming them for the dumb decisions he'd made and he'd like them to stop hating him for things that were done to him. More than anything, he just wanted his family back. Even if it wasn't perfect.

Mickey picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. He didn't know if anyone would answer or not, and when he got their voicemail he wasn't sure whether to be sad or relieved. Both emotions were thick in his throat and he hung up at the end of the recording after his mom's voice told him to leave a message. He didn't—couldn't.

He set the phone down like it was on fire and walked away from it. He was glad they hadn't answered now that he thought of it. What could he possibly have to say to them? Would they even care that he'd been going through hell? Probably not.

The walls of Ethan's home were starting to close in on him. It had been months since Mickey had spent such a long stretch of time inside and he found himself getting antsy, feeling like his skin was too tight, like there wasn't enough air in the room. After checking the temperature, Mickey stuffed his feet in the boots Ethan had given him and bundled himself up in a jacket and a borrowed scarf.

Being inside for so long, the air felt colder to him and the wind far more harsh than he'd remembered it. Then again, the last time he was outside, he'd been numb right through. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and made sure he had his keys. Then he set out toward the diner. It was the only way to go, really. The other direction would take him out of town and there was no reason for Mickey to go that way.

He went the long way around the diner and stopped at the library. He was greeted with a warm smile by Jay, who didn't fit into the stereotypical librarian image. He had short, spiky hair, pierced eyebrows, tattoos on the backs of his hands, and more often than not, he looked like he was on his way to a concert than to a library. He was wearing his signature ripped jeans, but today he had a sweater on, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

Jay waved Mickey over. "Where have you been? I was worried about you with the weather so shitty."

"I'm staying with a friend for a bit," Mickey admitted. "Is there a free computer today?"

Jay slid the sign-up sheet across the counter to him. "It's really slow today. Take all the time you need."

"I won't be long." Mickey scrawled his name on the sheet. They mostly just used it to keep track of how much use their computers were getting and who was using them.

"I'm glad you're okay. Next time, let a guy know, okay?"

Mickey shot him a weary smile. Walking as far as he'd gone had taken it out of him and he sort of regretted it now because he'd have to walk back. But he needed to start getting his shit together. Ethan had offered him a chance to really turn things around and he wasn't going to waste it.

Mickey updated his resume and started applying for jobs. Even a small town like this one had a ton of options online and Mickey would take anything at this point. Dog walker. Burger flipper. It was all the same to him. He tried not to think of what having his own job, his own money, would be like. It was too overwhelming if he let himself linger on it. His ex, Lance, had controlled everything. Looking back, Mickey recognized how young and naive he'd been. How easily he'd been manipulated. And by the time he realized it, it had been too late. He'd been in too deep and there was no one to turn to for help.

And now Lance had moved on to someone else. Someone young and probably vulnerable. Mickey wondered if Lance's new boyfriend knew what he was getting into. His fingers hovered over the keys for a split second before he tracked the new boyfriend down on social media. It wouldn't be long before Lance worked his magic and convince him that he didn't need those solo accounts.

Lance had systematically cut Mickey off from everyone. It was easy to see looking back. Lance was good at what he did. He'd perfected the art of being an abusive piece of shit without so much as laying a finger the wrong way. After he left, Mickey sometimes wished Lance would have hit him so at least he might have fled sooner. Other times he found himself wondering if Lance was really all that bad because he hadn't hit Mickey. But then he'd remember all the other things he'd done and the stones in Mickey's stomach would grow heavier.

Mickey sent a message to Lance's new boyfriend. As expected, he'd been left on read, but he had to try. Mickey begged him not to say anything about the message because Lance was smart and he'd find a way to twist everything around so it was all Mickey's fault. But Mickey hadn't asked for any of it. He'd been young and dumb and vulnerable and convinced that he was in love. And Lance had fed on that like a shark sensing blood in the water.

By the time Mickey left the library, he was exhausted. Not only his body from walking there, but his whole soul was tired. He'd spent the afternoon eyeball deep in his emotions and bad memories, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in front of the fire and go to sleep. Guilt swamped him because he could've been helping Ethan out at home, but so far all Mickey had managed to do was sleep and eat. At least Ethan seemed to enjoy his company. He'd come home after work and they'd eat in the living room together and they'd chat and watch TV, and it was nice.

Ethan didn't expect anything of him, just for him to rest and feel better. It was strange to be around someone who genuinely wanted Mickey to do well. First there had been Taylor, and Mickey could hardly believe that he'd been so generous, so trusting. He'd left Mickey alone in his apartment while he'd gone off with his boyfriends. It wasn't like he had anything for Mickey to take besides plants, but Taylor had trusted him and had continued to look out for him, even when Mickey didn't want him to.

Mickey sometimes wished he could make himself like guys like Taylor. Young and sweet was a world away from who he'd dated before. But he couldn't. There was something about a guy whose eyes crinkled when he smiled. A guy who had rough hands from working all day, but came home and did gentle things with them. Like get Mickey an extra blanket because he was cold, or play the guitar by the fire.

By the time Mickey got to the street Ethan lived on, his feet were soaked through and his legs were like ten ton weights. It struck him how sick he'd been, to be this worn out by doing nothing but walking. It wasn't even that far. Mickey was used to walking longer distances, but it had taken everything out of him. All he wanted was a hot drink and maybe a shower and a nap in front of the fire.

Mickey stumbled past Ethan's vehicle, and another unfamiliar one, and into the house. He bent down to pull his wet shoes and wet socks off and when he stood, Ethan was there. His expression was pinched and he looked at Mickey with concern.

"Are you okay? You were gone a long time."

"I'm fine. Sorry, I should've left a note." Mickey coughed, another thing that he was tired of doing. His body ached from it. "I didn't think I'd be gone as long as I was."

"You have a visitor."

Mickey went still and dread pooled in his stomach. It couldn't be Lance. There was no fucking way in hell that was possible. He hadn't seen or talked to him since he left.

"Mickey?"

His head snapped up and he looked past Ethan, locking eyes on his mom for the first time in… forever.

"We had a call from a strange number, so I called back and Ethan answered. And well… he guessed who I was." She stepped toward him, but Mickey took a step back. He felt trapped and very small suddenly. His mother had aged some, but she was still the short, slightly round, slightly meek person he'd always known. She looked at him with nothing but love in her soft eyes and he wanted to go to her. But some wounds cut deep.

"Where's Dad?"

"He's at home. He— why don't you come sit down?"

Mickey couldn't make himself move, not until Ethan spoke.

"How about you take the chair by the fire, Mickey, and I'll make everyone a cup of hot chocolate."

Only then, when Ethan looped his arm around Mickey's shoulders was he able to move. It was like Ethan was loaning him strength and support.

Mickey sat in the chair and stared at the fire. His mom sat awkwardly on the couch and stared at her hands. They seemed to be stuck in a place where neither of them felt comfortable saying anything to the other. The old wounds still hadn't healed, Mickey found. Not even close. He wondered if it was the same for her. For his dad.

Ethan brought out two cups of hot chocolate. "I'll give you some privacy."

"Please stay," Mickey said, doing everything he could to hold on to his shaky composure. He'd cling to Ethan's leg to keep him there if it became necessary. But Ethan—solid, dependable Ethan—nodded at Mickey.

"I'll stay."

Ethan leaned against the mantle of the fireplace like a silent watchdog. He sipped his hot chocolate and made small talk with Mickey's mom until she finally worked up the courage to talk to Mickey.

"Are you still with Lance?"

Mickey shook his head. "I haven't been since June."

He saw the furrow in her brow as she worked out the math. "And you've been with Ethan ever since?"

"No, actually."

Her confusion was genuine and she looked back and forth between the two like she was shocked to have assumed the wrong thing. Mickey was too exhausted to deal with any of this, but it wasn't as if he had a choice. He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Aren't you going to ask where I was?"

"I—well, you're safe. That's what matters, right?"

Mickey nodded, too sad and drained to say or do anything to dispute her delusion. If she wanted to be blind and spineless, there was nothing Mickey wanted to do to change her mind.

"Where's Dad?" Mickey asked again, knowing the answer. "Does he even know you're here?"

Mickey saw the way Ethan stiffened, the way his body shifted as though he could shield Mickey from his mom. As if she posed any real threat.

"You know how he feels, Michael." She almost looked upset enough to make Mickey feel bad for her and for the state of their relationship. But she'd chosen Mickey's dad over him time and time again.

"It's Mickey, Mom. It's been Mickey since I was eight years old."

"I think we should let Mickey get some rest. He's been sick." Ethan tried to usher Maurine out of the house, but she gaped at Mickey.

"Sick? I hope it's not serious."

There was a time when Mickey might have protected her from the truth or at least softened the blow. "If it wasn't for Ethan, I'd be dead right now. Excuse me." Mickey pushed himself to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He ducked into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Anything was better than sitting in a room with a person who pretended to care about him, but really only bothered when she felt guilty.

When he came out, she was thankfully gone.