Sometime later, a colleague from the gym dropped my bag off. Bleary eyed, I dug my phone out and charged it up to find a string of missed calls and messages from Sam, the last two sent in quick succession ten minutes before his shift had started.
Sam:so... you either didn’t make it to the gym and you’re snoozing in bed, or you’ve stood me up. if you’re in bed, know that i will wake u up with cold water
Sam:u stood me up?u better have a reason that’s way hotter than my grimy self this morning
Sam:ok, now I’m worried. u ever think of texting ur roommate back so he doesn’t have to wonder if u even came home last night?
Sam:forget it. got freddie fuckstick’s message on insta. have a nice life :)
The smiling emoji was the fucking death of me. Sam was a firecracker when his temper was high, but I’d lived with him long enough to know he was passive aggressive AF when he was upset. I’d seen him send heart-eye emojis to his ex rather than tell that douche to die in a fire and wish homophobic cockheads in the pub a good day rather than throat punch them.
I typed out a reply. Deleted it and started another, but words didn’t seem enough.Fuck it.I chanced a shower and threw on some clothes. However pissed at me he was, I had to see him. Even if he told me to go fuck myself before I got the chance to explain, which was highly likely, because explaining myself to anyone had never come easy. Chances were, I’d stand in front of him like the idiot I was, and nothing would ever change.
Sam
Bad moods sucked the life out of me. When I was a kid, my mum had called me Sunshine Sam, but my light had dimmed as I’d got older and discovered cynicism. As an adult, I relied on sarcasm and expecting the worst, so anything better was a pleasant surprise.
I’m not sure what I’d expected from a day that had begun so craptastic, but Micah bursting into the pub in the middle of Sunday happy hour, looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, was not it. He also looked like he hadn’t slept for a week, which concerned and irritated me in equal measure. When was I going to learn that worrying about him got me nowhere?
Not today, apparently, if the flare in my chest was anything to go by.
I finished serving my customer and searched out Céleste. She’d already clocked Micah, and she nodded to the alcove. “Take a break,” she mouthed.
Grateful, I blew her a kiss, then shouldered my way to the door where Micah still stood, dark hair a riot, eyes rimmed with shadowy smudges. “What the hell are you doing?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re blocking the door.”
Micah didn’t move. I grabbed his elbow and tugged him forwards. He stumbled. People stared. “Jesus. Are you on drugs?”
A ghost of a grin warmed his unusually pale face. “Not on purpose.”
Bone-deep anger bloomed in my gut. Was he serious? Had he rocked up to my work off his nut just to piss me off?
I yanked his elbow again and towed him to the staff alcove. With him stashed away, I fetched him a Diet Coke and dumped it in front of him. “What the hell is wrong with you? First you don’t come home at night without telling me, then you show up here buzzing your tits off. Are you trying to make me hate you?”
Another slow blink. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking aboutyou, Micah. And how hanging out with Freddie turns you into an inconsiderate prick.”
Micah stared. It was as if my words were coming too fast and he was struggling to process them.
Well, tough shit. He was an arsehole; at least, he was right now, in my opinion. Trouble was, hewasn’t, and that’s why I was so fucking angry with him. And at myself. It had been my idea for him to get out more. And look where it had got us: me screeching at him in a crowded pub while he came down from whatever wild night he’d had with his old mates.How many times do you need to tell yourself you’re not his fucking mother?
Likely another seventy-five million. Especially as all I could think about was the fact that he probably hadn’t eaten since we’d last shared a plate of marmite toast over the breakfast bar. I clearly didn’t know him as well as I’d thought, but I knew hungry Micah when I saw him. “Wait here,” I snapped. “I’ll get you some food.”
I barrelled off to the kitchen and fudged him a sandwich from the Sunday roast joints dotted around—chicken and pork with apple sauce and stuffing. I nearly scrounged up a bowl of potatoes too but spitefully changed my mind.Real mature, sunshine.
With heavy legs, I took the plate out to Micah and slid it in front of him.
He only had one eye open, and I wanted to shake him.
I settled for flopping onto the seat beside him. “Eat.”
“I can’t while you’re still so mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.”
