Page 47 of Pretty Heartache

I don’t waste time stopping or turning around. “We have to get these covered!” I yell back. “The rain will ruin them!”

“Addy, wait!” his voice booms over the sound of rain, but I don’t stop. I’m almost to the furniture when I come to a screeching halt. Lighting strikes in the distance, several houses down. An icy chill slithers down the length of my spine, and theground vibrates with electricity. My heart jolts, but I still don’t stop.

The dresser and large grandfather clock I’ve fallen in love with are doused in rain. The rational part of my brain tells me they’re a lost cause. They can’t be saved or salvaged now. The chance of restoring these antiques is gone.

Anger boils under my skin, and I wished I’d moved them sooner. Why did we leave them outside this long? Why did I allow these fragile pieces to get damaged?

I stalk over to the grandfather clock and place my hands at the top. Micah charges through the yard, following me. His hair is drenched, the ends sticking to his forehead. Water drips from his bottom lip as he stands on the other side of the clock, catching his breath. His shoulders and chest rapidly rise and fall, and his shirt clings to his skin like cellophane. His dark lashes are clumped together, the blue of his eyes standing out against the gray-black sky above.

“We should have moved these somewhere else,” I tell him, my voice quivering. “We shouldn’t have kept them out here.” I don’t want to cry, but a tight knot has formed in my chest.

I feel constricted, the truth of how I’m feeling begging to be set free.

I’m tired of ignoring my feelings. I’m tired of pretending as if my feelings for Micah are the same as they were when I was a kid—a meaningless childhood crush—because the truth is, I’m not a child anymore. Any feelings I have for him now are valid and powerful. Ones that can’t be ignored.

But my fear is laced with the desire.

Fear, because the last time I allowed myself to get close to someone, I nearly lost myself. I was catapulted back into a life of pain. But as I look into Micah’s eyes, I know he’s different. He’s not Maddox. He’s different than all those who have told me they loved me but failed to show up when it mattered most.

Micah is standing in front of me in the rain, pulling me back from the cliff I’m teetering on the edge of, and I shudder when another round of thunder and lightning cracks. I harden my stare and direct it at Micah.

“Help me move this under the patio.” I grip the sides of the clock, my fingers slipping on the wet varnish. The edges have bubbled, and spots of discoloration litter the surface.

“It’s too late,” he argues, refusing to help.

“It’s not.” I shake my head.

“It is, Addy.”

“No,” I grind out, grabbing the clock again. I try to pull it down enough for me to hold it at an angle and slide it across the grass.

But Micah’s hand wraps around mine, stopping me. Air rises from my lungs at his sudden touch. He tugs my hand, pulling me to him, and my wet body slams against his chest before he presses me against the clock.

“Let it go, Addy.” His voice vibrates against me as he looks down into my eyes, and I want to cry. It’s as if he’s opened the windows to my soul with only his voice, exposing every irrational thought running in my mind.

I haven’t told him about Maddox and the pain he caused me. I’ve never even told him about my dad. But he can see the scars I carry with me. The crucial evidence of those who have wounded me. Mixed with the hurt I feel, I’m certain he can see the desire I have for him, too.

“I can’t let it go,” I confess.

My eyes fall to his mouth as another drop of water slips from his bottom lip onto his rain-soaked beard, and up close, like this, I can see bits of blond and silver strands peeking through his otherwise dark brown hair.

I stare at his beautiful face, wanting nothing more than for him to give in, to take the leap.

“You asked me earlier if I felt alone here with you.” My voice is suspended within the small space between us, shaky and uneven with my confession. “I’m not. Not when I’m with you.”

Another round of thunder rolls in the distance.

Micah’s body stills. He’s holding my hand between us, running the pad of his thumb against my palm. A small gesture that ignites my entire body into flames.

But my heart sinks when he winces. His eyes fill with sadness and regret as he shakes his head. “I can’t, Addy.”

“I know you feel this,” I say, pressing my hand to his chest. “I know you feel this like I do.”

Lighting cracks again, bringing on another surge of rain.

He’s surrounding every inch of me, consuming the bit of air I’m able to squeeze into my lungs. I beg for him to touch me. I crave it like my body craves oxygen.

Then suddenly, he leans forward just an inch, bringing his mouth above mine. His eyes are hard, at war.

---