His candour was so refreshing I glanced at the window to see if it was open. It wasn’t, obviously. And when I looked back at Micah, his expression was more open than I’d ever seen. I took a breath and blurted out words I’d been so sure would push him away. “What are the mood stabilisers in your drawer for? I googled them, but all I got back was bipolar, and I’m kind of hoping that’s not a diagnosis you were afraid to tell me about.”
“I’m not bipolar.” Micah finished his breakfast and pushed his plate away. “They assessed me for it when I was in hospital but decided I had PTSD with manic tendencies. And depression. I didn’t have the right mood pattern for bipolar disorder or a bunch of other stuff.”
“Wow. That’s still a pretty hefty diagnosis. Did it scare you?”
“Nah. They’re just words. And I didn’t take them in at the time.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
“Would you have played again? If you hadn’t hurt your leg? After you got outed, I mean.”
The flicker I’d been waiting for finally clouded Micah’s gaze. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I honestly don’t know. There aren’t any openly queer players in the top leagues, you know that. And I wasn’t good enough for any club to want me to be their wokety-woke poster boy. Even without the dick scandals, I was a pain in the arse.”
I shifted gingerly. “Class clown?”
“Something like that.” Micah sighed again and reached for my hand. “I wish it had been as simple as just football and liking a bit of cock; maybe I could’ve styled it out. But the truth is, I’d been ill for a long time before I fell on those train tracks, and compared to putting myself back together, kicking a ball around a field doesn’t mean much to me anymore.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No. I like hanging out with Mr Chan down the gym and watching him do incredible things with old bones and aching joints. I like showing Mrs Patterson that if she can get in and out of the pool by herself, she can get on the bus. It means something, and I’m happy with that. And you know what?”
“What?”
Micah drew me in for a kiss. “I’m happy withyou. Now can we fuck again or what?”
24
Micah
“I’m happy with you.”
But as ever, it wasn’t that clear cut. We had sex every day for a week. It was amazing, but I still felt like I’d fallen halfway down treasure mountain and left my bag at the top. There was more to come. So much more. Being inside Sam, loving him in every way possible, blew my recovering mind, but I needed something else.
And he knew it, obviously, cos he was fucking psychic or some shit. He packed me off for a therapy appointment and told me not to come back until I’d unpicked whatever was bothering me. In months gone by, I might have scoffed and told him it was nothing, but I was working too hard on myself right now to let a weevil in my brain fuck me up.And, I’d meant it when I’d told Sam I was happy with him. Sadness and despair had been my companions for long enough that I knew the difference.
“I’m glad you’ve made progress in your relationship with Sam,” Meera said. “You’ve often spoken of him in a way that let me know how important he is to you.”
I picked a loose thread on the arm of her couch. “Have I?”
“Yes, and remember that we were working together before you met him, so I’ve seen first-hand the difference his friendship has made to your recovery.”
“You think I’m dependent on him?”
“Not at all. Would you like to explore why you chose to see something negative in what I’ve said?”
I rolled my eyes, and she smiled. We had spent long months unravelling my unhealthy thought patterns. These days, I made them up to needle her, not that it worked. She was too sharp for me. “I love him,” I said. “Is that positive enough for you?”
“It’ll do. But I’m getting the feeling you’re agitated about something revolving around that. Do you know what it is?”
“Nope. It’s got something to do with sex, though.”
“You’re having a sexual relationship?”
I nodded and heat flooded my cheeks, though I couldn’t say why. Meera knew I’d wet myself when I’d fallen onto the train tracks. Had visited me in the hospital when I’d been in restraints. And we’d talked about sex before—the girls, the boys, escorts, and Grindr. But Sam was different. Precious. I didn’t want to dissect what we had with anyone but him.
This isn’t about him, though. It’s you. It’s always been you.“I think I... um. I think I want to do something with him I’ve never done before—well, not that I can remember, anyway.”
