I run my hands over the necklace she passed down to me from her mom—one form of Tanya’s sentimentality. Out of all the things she’s ever given me, this is by far my favorite; I haven’t taken it off since the day she gave it to me three years ago.
Me: Love you, too. Maybe when I get back you’ll sit still long enough for me to visit? With gifts, of course
I pocket my phone before she can start hounding me about what I got her. Micah closes the gap between us, but when I expect him to put the handle of my bag in my hands, he walks past me with it still in his grasp.
“Oh. Thanks for getting the zipper for me, Micah. I can take it from here.”
“Let’s go, Dani.”
My back goes ramrod straight at the force in his tone.
His eyes drift down my frame. Not in a sexual way—I’ve been the subject of that stare from him before. This is different. Like he doesn’t know what to make of me.
Good.
I’ve spent the years since we were together honing this armor, perfecting it until it was ironclad. I’ve overcome the heartache he left me with and I’m better on my own. I don’t need him to perceive me, and I damn sure don’t need his comfort or his love.
There is nothing for him to know.
Chapter One
Micah
“DIDIEVER TELL YOU YOU’RE MY HERO?”MY SISTER, Bailey, asks half sarcastically as I hand her a cup of ginger hibiscus tea.
“Conveniently, the only time you do is when I bring your ass tea,” I joke.
“Mmm, well, what can ya do?” She smacks her lips with a cheeky smile. I watch as she lowers her standing desk to its lowest setting before sitting down and sipping her tea. She hums contentedly and then sets her mug on the heated coaster beside her. She looks back at her computer and leans her arms against the forearm support pads connected to her desk before typing a long email. While she’s focused, I take a look around her space to see what upgrades can be made. I’ve wanted to get her a new chair with better adjustments, since she’s had this one for a couple of years. The ergonomic chair helps her muscles not be so tight after a long day of being sedentary. When I get back to my office, I’ll search for some options to show her.
I’ve always been protective of Bailey—that’s just the nature of being a decade older than your sibling. Since her multiple sclerosis diagnosis four years ago, I’ve done my best to consider ways to help her feel comfortable.
To be honest, I never knew what MS was before Bailey’s diagnosis. I had heard of it, but I knew nothing of its causes, symptoms, or—most important—treatments. When I researched it and learned it’s a disease where the immune system attacks the protective covering of nerves, and that there’s no cure, I was devastated for her.
Bailey hits send on her email and turns her focus back to me. “So, guess what?”
“Do I wanna know?”
She rolls her eyes. “Why can’t you ever just say ‘what’?”
“Because you want me to.” I shrug, moving out of the way before the back of her hand can connect with my ribs.
“Anyway, Roc just booked an interview withEssence. I just found out from Zariah.”
A sense of pride washes over me at Roc’s accomplishment. He’s a newer artist who specializes in contemporary art. He often uses photographs or everyday objects in his paintings. We met three years ago when neither of us were in a good place. I had just opened my gallery, Spring House, and what should have been a moment of pure joy and bliss felt hollow. I was surrounded by so much love, but the one person I wanted by my side as I realized my dreams wanted nothing to do with me, and that cast a cloud of anguish over the space.
Roc’s best friend had just been killed, and he needed somewhere to channel that pain. I offered him my studio to work in and a spot in the gallery to show his finished paintings, and the rest was history. I’m immensely happy to see him thriving now.
“That’s what’s up. I’ma go call him when we’re done.”
“Tell him I said hey and congratulations,” she says, her voice subdued.
I squint at her. “You know he’d rather hear that from you directly.”
She squirms in her seat, which makes me chuckle. Everyone knows Roc has a thing for my sister. He’s a good guy, so I don’t have any issues with it, but Bailey refuses to talk to me about it.
“Goodbye, Chopper.” She spits my nickname at me.
I hold my hand up in surrender. “Ay, I was just saying, Franky. It’s cool, I’m done.” I laugh, softening my tone with her nickname. “What you got for me?”
