He wants to go home, even though his boyfriend did this to him.
I know that if I try to force Micah to see the truth, he’s going to get mad at me.
I have to be gentle.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “If he broke up with you, he doesn’t want you nearby. I can take you somewhere else. Coffee or drinks or wherever you want to go.”
“I don’t have any money on me,” he says, and something occurs to me.
“Micah,” I say slowly, “did he pay the bill before he left?”
He doesn’t look up at me as he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “They… They were really nice. I’m going to figure out how to pay them back.”
I shake my head and reach into my pocket for my wallet. “I’ll cover it.”
“You can’t!” Micah says, but I ignore the protest and head inside.
The hostess smiles at me when I approach. “Good evening, sir. How many in your party?”
“I heard there was an issue with a bill,” I say right as Micah enters the building. “I’ll pay it.”
Micah’s cheeks have flushed red, and he shifts from side to side. “Ilya,” he says weakly. “Please, you don’t need to do this. I’ll get it sorted out. It was just an accident. Adam will pay for it.”
“Even if he broke up with you?” I point out. “It’s not big deal for me, Micah.”
The hostess seems torn, but after a few moments she says, “I can run that check for you. Do you remember what you ordered?”
She must agree with me that getting paid now is better than waiting for some uncertain future payment.
Looking so crushed that it makes the rage surge inside of me all over again, Micah quietly produces a crumpled up piece of paper from his pocket. “Here’s the bill,” he says, handing it to me.
I take it, then gently stroke his head. “It’s all right,” I promise.
Micah shudders—and leans into my touch.
My heart thuds faster in my chest.
I force myself to let go so I can pay for the bill. It’s not even two hundred dollars. I should have known a cop wouldn’t be eating at a restaurant that’s actually expensive.
I take my card back from the hostess and turn back to Micah. He’s trembling, and he’s getting curious looks from other restaurant-goers as they pass him by.
I cautiously put an arm around his shoulders. “Where would you like me to take you?” I ask gently. “Anywhere you want.”
Micah licks his lips, pressing against me again. I wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.
“What if I misunderstood?” he mumbles. “What if he’s waiting for me at home?”
“Then he can wait longer,” I say. I wrack my brain. I know I shouldn’t offer to take him to my condo, but there has to be some place he’d be willing to go. “Maybe we can go to that bar we met at? I remember they also offered desserts.”
He wants to go. I can see it in his eyes as he looks up at me, the yearning, the way he wants to trust me.
But he slowly shakes his head, even as his shoulders slump and his hands drop back to his sides. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I…I should really try to call him again and see if he answers this time.”
I bite my lip, but I nod. “All right. Call him.”
Micah’s hands are shaking as he pulls his phone out, and I watch as he makes the call. I can hear it go to voicemail immediately, and he looks so defeated that I can’t help it: I wrap my arms around him.
He startles, but he leans into the touch, too, burying his face against my chest. I feel his smaller body shaking with the force of his tears.
