“No problem. Wanna come by after work and check it out?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant when everything I want depends on his answer.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“You should take Diesel with you to grab your furniture, Micah. He’s got that pickup and he can help you get it all downstairs.” Arlo’s wearing a smugly satisfied grin about his “suggestion.”
“That could work. Are you free tonight? I’ve got some cash for gas,” Micah tells me, straightening his back and leaning forward.
“Happy to. Don’t worry about the gas right now, we’ll sort it out later.” As if I’m going to let him pay me gas money on top of rent. I tamp down my internal celebration, but all the while something unfurls in my chest that feels dangerously close to hope.
His face gets that stubborn expression again.
“There’s plenty of time to work out the finances. Let’s get your stuff first,” I say, trying to forestall another argument.
Please don’t change your mind!
“We’re gonna discuss it,” he warns me, eyeing me with suspicion.
“Of course we will. I promise.” I raise my hand as if I’m taking a vow. We are definitely going to talk about it. Just not now.
We work through the logistics of picking up his furniture. I suggest we get it tonight because who knows what will happen toit at this Jasper guy’s place. All I can say is that Micah’s furniture better be fine, or Jasper and I are going to have an issue.
Micah heads back to his corner, sketchbook in hand, looking far more upbeat than he did a while ago. Warmth blooms in the pit of my stomach. I did that.
After he’s left, Arlo leans over to whisper, “You’re welcome, D.”
Smirking, he saunters out of the room. I pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I start my training workout with a smile because Micah’s coming home with me tonight.
Chapter 5
Diesel
We pull up in front of a run-down apartment building. The decrepit siding is the shade of gray that tells me maintenance isn’t a priority around here. I park my truck near the apartment’s entrance, next to an old Ford Fairlane up on blocks. Balconies filled with junk and drying laundry decorate one side of the building, side by side with dingy windows in desperate need of a thorough washing.
This place is the antithesis of what my Micah deserves. He needs a space that lifts him up every day instead of pushing him down. Something that spurs his creativity.
The hard look on Micah’s face tells me he’s bracing for any derogatory comments. That’s not happening. His back is up, and I’m not saying a word. Keeping my expression blank, I exit the truck, doing my best not to show anything that resembles pity. Micah’s eyes are darting about and his breath comes faster.
“Let’s get this done, then we can go home and chill,” I say, trying for reassurance. Even though I haven’t met this Jasper guy, I already dislike him. I’ve come across enough guys like him before. I know what to expect.
Micah nods, jaw tight, face stony and unforgiving. Straightening his shoulders, he marches up to the front door of the building and rips the glass door open.
The front door lock is broken, which makes me frown. That’s all kinds of unsafe. The creaky elevator takes us up to the third floor. I wrinkle my nose. Diapers and old trash, mixed with the smell of cooking food. It doesn’t even faze Micah. My chest aches at the thought that this is his normal.
Walking down the grimy hallway in silence, the tension in Micah’s back is obvious, muscles pulled tight with rigid control. Every instinct I have wants to comfort him, but he’d never accept it. We stop at the second to last apartment, and his knock is hesitant. I move behind him, literally having his back.
The door opens a crack, watery blue eyes giving Micah a once-over. Turns out I was right about disliking him because I immediately want to put him in his place.
“What do you want, Micah? I told you to get the fuck out.” He goes to shut the door, but I whip my arm out, preventing it. That’s when he finally notices me behind Micah.
His eyes widen, and I step around Micah, pushing the door open with my weight and muscle.
Oh, hell no. He doesn’t get to talk like that to my Micah. Fucking bully.
“Who … are you?” his voice cracks at the end.
“We’re here to get his furniture. You got a problem with that?” My voice is rough because my rage is already building and this asshole has no idea what he could unleash.
“You can’t come in here.” Jasper stutters, trying and failing to regain his imagined authority.
