He cupped my face in his heated palm and gifted me a perfect smile. “This does.”
25
Sam
Two months later
Exams sucked, especially when you were years older than every fucker in the room. But I’d take one every day if it meant walking out to find Micah waiting for me on the steps with our packed bags and train tickets.
“Come on.” He took my hand, not giving a single shit who was looking. “Let’s go.”
We caught the train north. I dozed against Micah’s shoulder while he flicked through the training programmes he’d written for my dad. He’d been obsessing over them for weeks, researching heart health at the library while I’d revised for my exams, and drawing up meal plans and activity logs until he had a tidy folder of tools to keep my dad away from the friendly cardiologist. So far, he was refusing to let my dad pay him, but I was working on that.
Five hours later, we trudged into my parents’ house. My dad was playing darts at the pub and drinking lime and soda. Micah stepped out to check up on him while I unpacked for our week-long stay and caught up with my mum.
“He looks different every time I see him,” she remarked from the doorway of the bedroom.
I glanced over my shoulder. “He got a haircut yesterday.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” And I really did. Micah worked on his recovery every single day, and the change in him was undeniable. He was a man no longer existing, but living. And loving. Barely an hour passed without him reminding me of that—a call, a message, a heated stare, or a sweet note left on the fridge. Sometimes it felt like I’d been dropped into the world I’d dreamt up when I was a horny teenager waiting for my first kiss, and that it was only a matter of time before reality kicked me in the nuts, then warm arms would slide around me from behind, he’d kiss my neck, and I’d remember that nothing I’d ever imagined came close to the real thing.
Micah was the man of anyone’s dreams.
Later that night, we ate chicken salad and brown rice with my parents before sloping off to bed.
“Use protection,” my dad called.
I cringed, glad I couldn’t see Micah’s face. Under the glare of the occasional pap, he was still getting used to bringing us into the outside world, and sex jokes with my dad? Yeah. He wasn’t there yet.
Or so I thought.
Assumed.
Whatever.Iwas getting better at not doing that.
Upstairs, he pushed me against the closed bedroom door. “You brought some, right?”
“Some what?”
“Duh. Protection.”
“Are you asking me if I brought condoms and lube to my mum’s house?”
“Yes.”
I held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged. “Of course I did. In the wash bag.”
I didn’t add that we probably didn’t need them anymore, given that neither one of us was banging anyone else. Or that there were probably plenty still stashed around my room from said horny teenage years that I’d forgotten about. Micah didn’t need to know how prepared fourteen-year-old me had been for something that hadn’t happened until three years later. Strawberry-flavoured Durex anyone? Ribbed for no one’s pleasure?
“What are you laughing at?”
I blinked. Micah was in front of me with a condom that was less like a wellington boot and a bottle of our favourite lube. Somehow I’d missed him crossing the room and back again. “Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out how we’re going to do this without my dad banging on the ceiling and telling us to keep it down.”
“You’ll have to be quiet.”
“Me?”
