Page 81 of Pretty Heartache

When I was done telling Micah about my conversation with my mother, I told him about my mother’s relationship with my ex. I kept my fears about Dad coming after me to myself, but I did tell Micah about my mother’s defense of Maddox.

The thought of seeing him again turns my stomach sour, but I’ve been in constant contact with Ruby, and she’s assured me that he was seen a few days ago at a party in The Valley, with his arm wrapped around a model visiting from Paris.

I can’t say I’m certain, but I feel the threat of Maddox showing up at Micah’s doorstep is slim. Perhaps he’s moved on like I have. Perhaps he’s let go of the idea of him and me. Perhaps I never meant enough for him to chase after me.

Good.

I’ve pushed away the tiny bit of fear about Maddox coming for me, not wanting to give it any credence. I don’t want to live in fear or paranoia anymore. I refuse. Not when I’m finally happy and at peace.

My life in this bubble with Micah isn’t worth losing simply because I’m living in constant anxiety.

Instead, I’ve turned my focus on what brings me joy.

Seeing my mother brought up old wounds—ones I’ve since been able to heal since running into her.

I’m determined to plant as many flowers in the garden box as possible. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been researching different types of soils, and which ones are best for certain plants. I even went as far as creating a vision board and drawing up a sketch while playing my favorite crime shows in the background.

Although Micah and I have crossed a bridge in understanding one another when I tried to leave several weeks ago, we’re still existing in this bubble of our own creation.

I left my career behind in Los Angeles and with that comes a sense of insecurity. I’ve mostly been avoiding my bank account, only spending money when absolutely necessary, but I know this can’t last forever. I can’t hide from my responsibilities. I’m not certain if modeling is my future anymore, and that realization is terrifying. Modeling is all I’ve ever known. All I’ve ever wanted. A life without modeling is like standing in a pitch-black room, feeling for the light switch, hoping to find what brings light to my life.

While gardening may not be a passion that leads to a lucrative career, for now, it brings me joy. But living in this bubble with Micah is like holding a needle above a balloon, waiting for the moment it will burst.

How long will this fairy tale last?

Telling Micah the truth about the life I lived at home with my parents has also stirred up feelings of my big brother. A deep longing filled with regret tugs at my stomach. A million different scenarios played in my mind, wondering and imagining if even one single moment had changed, how different would our relationship be? Would we be closer? Would we talk more?

In recent weeks, Archer’s messaged me and shared pictures of his travels across Europe. Envy tugs on the same string of regret. Envy for a life he’s living. The freedom from a trauma only I experienced, simply because I was born twelve years later.

Archer’s messages are filled with false promises of meeting up with me, spending time with me to make up for the time he didn’t show up for coffee before flying back home. I haven’t held my breath, knowing my brother isn’t the most reliable.

Micah stands against the house now, watching me tend the garden. I stuff my hand into the bag and grab a fistful of dirt,then sprinkle it over the last remaining corner before bending over and spreading it out. I sweep my hand across the dirt, closing my eyes as the scent fills my nose. I listen to the sound of the birds in the trees. The warm, sticky, sea salt breeze dances across the branches, reminding me of the day I showed up on Micah’s doorstep.

I bend down again and hear Micah make a sound behind me. Smiling to myself, I picture his face. I know exactly what he’s thinking. His stare burns a hole in my back, and my thighs hum in response.

Still grinning, I stand and inhale a deep breath while wiping my hands along the front of my bare legs. Streaks of wet soil are painted across my thighs, but I don’t care. The sun beats against my skin as more dots of sweat stream down my face to my shoulders, a drop slipping in the space between my breasts.

“There.” I huff, planting my hands firmly on my hips. I point to the garden box and glance over my shoulder. “I’ve taken out all of the bad soil and replaced it with new, and I’ve removed all of the roots that were buried deep.”

“I told you.” He grins while leaning against the house, shielding himself from the beaming sun. “I could have hired a landscaper to take care of all of this.”

Squinting against the harsh sun, I turn and cross my arms. My heart flutters as if it were stuffed with a bundle of feathers.

“And I told you,” I tease. “I’ll appreciate it more now knowing I was the one who brought it back from the dead.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asks, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead.

A drop of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. “Yep.” I pop the ‘p’, exaggerating the sound it makes coming off my lips.

We simply stare at one another, the sound of the ocean breeze creating a symphony with the birds and trees.

Finally, Micah pushes off the wall, closing the space between us. He glances at the neighbors’ houses briefly. Last week, he hired Jude to install a new security fence, changing out the rotted wooden paneling with a taller brick fence that had an additional wrought iron detail wrapping around the top. Not only does it fit better with the house and the surrounding neighborhood, but it also offers a better sense of privacy and security.

I guess after my father trespassed his yard, Micah lost a sense of safety here. Along with the fence, he’s gone one step further and installed the best security system possible, with cameras located at every corner of the house, recording every angle of the outside perimeter.

He says his next job is installing a front security gate within the next couple weeks.

The steps Micah’s taken to increase my sense of comfort and safety since my father’s unexpected appearance has made it easier to fall for him… as if I wasn’t already.

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