INITIALLY, I WONDERED how in the hell he’d made it to this point in his life without going on an actual date. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He was far too busy fighting a war and recovering from losing an arm to be worried about something as minuscule as dating. As if it wasn’t horrible enough that I blamed myself for everything that went wrong in his life, now I blamed myself for him missing out on the simple, yet sometimes, awkward pleasures of a regular life.
God, how many awful first dates had I been on? Shame flushed my face as I thought about that. It wasn’t that I would call myself a whore by any stretch of the imagination. But after Micah left, I’d been so desperate to fill the void his absence created, that I went out with whoever showed me even the tiniest bit of interest.
Definitely not my proudest moments.
“Where’d you go?” Micah asked, looking up at me. “I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he began to explain.
“Freak me out?” I had to stop myself from laughing. “Are you kidding? Just because you haven’t been on a date.”
“Well, it is kind of pathetic,” he muttered, moving to stand. There was disgust and more than a little bit of shame in the low tone of his voice.
Immediately pulling him next to me, I held his face in my hands. “Nothing,” I spoke calmly, but sternly. “Absolutely nothing about you is pathetic. You are a hero.” Kissing him gave me the courage to say, “I love you, Micah. I always have.” Staring at me, his eyes took on this blank, distant look.
He doesn’t really love you.The words ran through my head on a self-loathing loop of stupidity.
Needing to fill the chasm widening between us, I spoke, hoping my voice would come out somewhat normal. “I don’t expect you to feel the same. You don’t have to say anything. But I had to tell you because I need you to know you can tell me anything you want. There’s never anything to be ashamed of, especially something as simple as not having been on a date because you were at war.”
He swallowed hard, some of the normal vibrancy returning to his eyes. “Okay.” He nodded. And with that single word, he stood from the floor, offering only the simple explanation that he needed to shower.
Ignoring the sting I’d felt at hisokayin response to me telling him I loved him, I pulled on my shorts and sat at the kitchen counter, wracking my brain to plan a day he’d never forget. It didn’t take me long to figure exactly what we needed to do.
“You’re smiling like an idiot,” Micah said, giving me the side eye from the passenger seat. Sarge sat in the back seat, his head out the window with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
He’d been in a sour mood since I wouldn’t tell him where we were going. Despite his pleas that he didn’t like surprises, I had no intentions of telling him where I was planning on taking him for his first date. “Somebody’s panties are in a knot,” I teased.
Glad for the small smile pulling at his lips, I turned the radio up and let the music flow around us as we made our way south on 146. With the cool ocean air blowing through the windows, there was no need for the air conditioning. I’d been here a few times, but it had never been this gorgeous out.
As I looked over at Micah, tapping his fingers on his leg to the rhythm of the music, a pair of aviators on his beautiful face, I knew he was the reason everything seemed more perfect than it ever had been.
“Where’re we going?” Micah asked for the millionth time as I turned down South Bay, the beach road leading to our destination.
Beyond annoyed with his inability to let me plan something for him, as he’d asked earlier this morning, I took my eyes off the road for a second to say, “Would you stop bitching—”
He didn’t let me get anything else out before grabbing my arm across the center console. Gripping my arm so tight his knuckles were white, he seethed, “Where the fuck are you taking me?” He was obviously more than just a little nervous over being surprised. His legs twitched, and looked like he couldn’t breathe.
Seeing that something clearly was wrong, I pulled into the next parking lot, bearing the pain of Micah’s fingers digging into my arm. Sarge was on high alert, too, his ears perked, and his snout poking Micah in the shoulder from behind. It wasn’t until I shifted the car into Park that he let go of my arm. His chest heaved as it worked hard to pull in the air. “Micah.” I spoke carefully as if he was a scared child. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he lied.
“Micah, talk to me,” I begged. Him not being able to tell me he loved me, I could deal with. I didn’t need to hear his words to know it was true. But this, not being able to open up to me, I couldn’t deal with that. Whatever bricks were left in the wall standing between us needed to come down.
Now.
Grabbing his hand, I steadied his trembling fingers. “I’m here. Look at me,” I pleaded, needing to see into his eyes. When he finally looked at me, I was shocked at what I saw there. Fear. Cold, unadulterated fear. “Hey,” I soothed, moving my hand to his face.
My heart hurt when he pulled back from my touch. “I said nothing was fucking wrong,” he cursed, and exited the car so quickly I barely had time to breathe, let alone say anything in response.
As he leaned against the closed door, Sarge whined in the back seat. Unable to watch either of them suffer anymore, I slid out of my seat and let Sarge out. He sprinted up to Micah, who, once he felt Sarge nudge against his leg, slumped down to the ground.
The parking lot was crowded with people filing in and out of their cars, moving to and from the beach. A warm breeze moved past us and for a moment, I missed the way Micah’s hair would move in the wind. But then I realized how much easier it was to see his face, to read his emotions, without all that hair covering him up.
I wish I saw something else there. Some touch of happiness, of elation that we were here together. But all I saw was fear, still.
Hoping I wouldn’t say the wrong thing, I asked, “What are you afraid of?”
Micah rested against the car, his forearms resting on his bent knees. He tossed a pebble into the parking lot and, without even so much as looking at me, he said, “The sand.” Another pebble bounced off in the distance after it flew from his hand. I followed its track, letting my eyes scan the horizon where the ocean met land. “The fucking sand,” he cursed, looking in the same direction I was.
Maybe he knew it was a complicated fear, or maybe he felt like opening up, whatever his reason, he continued explaining without me even needing to ask how something as innocuous as the sand, millions of tiny grains of broken shells and rocks, could scare a man as heroic as Micah. “I can’t walk on it.” He paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. “Even thinking about it makes me want to throw up.” When I reached for his leg, he flinched and pulled away from me. Sarge perked his head at the sudden movement but quickly calmed down as Micah ran his hand through his fur. “It was the war. That fucking war.” His voice wavered, weighed down by thick emotions I couldn’t even imagine feeling. “The second my foot touches it, I freak out. Get all panicky. The anxiety is unbearable.”
