Page 111 of Severance

I joke, “I wanted to get the full Seattle nightlife experience.”

“You shouldn’t walk alone at night.” He blows the smoke out. “It’s not safe. I’ll take you back.”

My stomach clenches with hope and worry. “I thought we could talk.”

“We can.” Mikah nods, staring at his cigarette. “We should. Just not here. And don’t be a fucking weirdo anymore, okay?” His gaze flicks to me again.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” A slight smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and a flash of a dimple cuts through his cheek. “You have no fucking idea, Alana.”

* * *

I’m not sure how we end up in my room. I suppose I asked Mikah to come up once he walked me back to my hotel, but I don’t remember doing so. My brain has been on autopilot ever since the end of his set, and the anticipation of the talk we’re about to have is turning me into a neurotic mess.

Mikah sets his guitar case on the desk and looks around. “You win the lottery or something?”

“No.” I shake my head. I don’t care about the money. It was worth spending this much and more just to see him perform. Even if he didn’t want to talk to me, I wouldn’t have regretted coming out here.

He turns around to face me.

“Are you hungry?” I motion at the menu sitting on the nightstand. “They have room service.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you mind if I order? I haven’t eaten anything.” Truth is, I’m not even hungry. I’m just not sure what else is going to happen since we’re in a hotel room.

“You don’t have to starve yourself on my account.” Mikah walks to the window and his gaze lingers on the flickering streetlights and neon signs.

The view of him against the backdrop of the Seattle nightlife ignites a flash of heat between my legs. The city suits him.

“Is this a smoking room?” he asks, fiddling with the latch on the handle lock.

“Yes.”

Mikah pushes the sliding windowpane open and takes his cigarettes from his jacket pocket. The cool air streams inside.

I call room service and order some food while he smokes.

“Did he ever sing it to you?” Mikah asks when I hang up.

A spasm hits my chest. “No. I didn’t know he wrote a song…”

“Did you like it?” Mikah looks at me over his shoulder, his arresting gaze scrutinizing my face.

I blink at him through the mist in my eyes. “Will you play it for me again?”

Mikah walks over to the desk and puts out his cigarette in the ashtray. After taking off his jacket, he opens his guitar case. With my heart in my throat, I watch him getting comfortable in a chair in the middle of the room. His fingers brush over the strings gently and he rips through a few chords.

I sit on the edge of the bed and let the music fill me with painful bliss. This time, I listen to the lyrics carefully, relishing every line and every note. It hurts hearing them, but at the same time, they pacify my anxiety like a warm balm, and the sound of Mikah’s voice mixing with Dakota’s words makes every part of me tingle with bittersweet delight. Knowing that he left us something so beautiful fills me with hope.

Pleasant heat hits my stomach and I have to grasp at the thick blanket because my hands begin to shake. I start crying and I hate myself a little for it, but I don’t try to hide it.

Mikah’s gaze settles on mine and he continues to run through the chords. His voice is low and deep and it cracks at times, but I like that he’s making mistakes. Mistakes are human nature.

A strained breath rushes out of me when the music finally comes to an end.

“Why are you really here?” Mikah asks, not breaking eye contact. He sets his guitar aside and slides from the chair to move closer, and I wonder why he’s still looking for reassurance that I’ve come to seehim.

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