I rub my eyes, unsure that I’m seeing his text clearlythrough my grogginess. The words blur and refocus as I blink. And then I remember the charade. Making Micah jealous.
I text him back.
Are you giving up trying to make Micah jealous?
No, it’s time for phase two.
I slowly nod as I text him back, my fingers still clumsy with sleep.
What’s phase two?
His text comes quickly.
Where we break up in front of Micah, so he’s there to pick up the pieces.
Sadness envelops me as I think about River’s plan. Could that work? I’m not even sure his jealousy plan worked. But I’m tired of pretending to be with River in front of Micah, so I text back.
Sure. When should we break up?
Today. I’ll let you down easy, but you can still be upset about it.
Guilt constricts my throat for lying to Micah, but it’s too late to go back on it.
All right.
I roll out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom, the plush carpet soft beneath my bare feet. We fly home this afternoon, and we made plans to walk to the Venetian and see the gondolas before we head to the airport.
I shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of sleep, and get dressed in comfortable jeans and a soft sweater that still smells faintly of home. Then I meet River and Micah.
The Horseshoe’s lobby is all marble and gold accents, designed to impress, but it feels cold compared to the cozy charm of Willow Shade. We walk through the casino to get outside, passing rows of flashing slot machines and the softchinking of coins dropping. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and artificial air freshener, and I wrinkle my nose.
Las Vegas in daylight is a strange contradiction. All the lights seem somehow muted under the harsh desert sun. The famous Strip stretches before us, and while it was fun, I’m ready to go back home to the quiet beaches and slow pace of life where the only sounds are seagulls and waves lapping against the shore.
As we walk, dodging tourists and street performers, a group of three teenage girls stops Micah.
“Are you Midnight Velocity?” one of them asks.
He blushes and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunching slightly. “Yeah.”
The girls squeal, the sound sharp enough to make nearby pedestrians turn and stare. “We just love your music!” the tall one says. “Can we get your autograph?”
I watch closely, cataloging the signs I’ve learned to recognize. The tight set of his jaw, the way his breathing changes, the slight tremor in his hands. I step closer and put out my hand. “Micah can sign a few things, then we need to get going.”
Micah gives me a grateful smile. I get their names, and Micah signs their backpacks. I make sure they keep their distance so Micah’s not overwhelmed. After they get autographs, they take a photo with him then disappear into the crowded streets, their excited chatter fading into the urban din.
Micah clasps my arm. “Thanks.”
I smile at him. “You handled that well. You didn’t freak out or anything.”
He blushes as we join the throng of people walking down the street. “Because you helped.”
“Still, you didn’t seem to get as anxious.” I study his face, noting how his shoulders have relaxed again.
He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture so familiar it makes my heart flutter. “You were right. The meds are helping. And the doctor taught me a couple of things I can do to help with the anxiety.”
I smile at him, happiness blooming warm in my chest. As we walk, Micah and I chat about the flight home and what we want to do first when we get back to the island, but River seems unusually quiet. His usual easy smile is strained, and he keeps running his hand through his hair. I turn to him, concerned by his silence.
“You okay?”
