Page 29 of Never Been Shipped

“Foryou? The guy tunes his guitar with the capo still on, I would’ve done it forme.”

That got Micah to laugh, and John must’ve heard something in the phlegmy sound, because he glanced over at her, reaching out to grab her hand and give it a quick squeeze.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry you went through all that. And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to me about it. You can always talk to me.”

Sheshould’vetalked to John about it then. For years and years, he was always the person she’d gone to. But then she’d pushed him away when she started dating Ryder, and she felt like she had no right to ask him to come back. She didn’t know that he would.

“Well, instead I talked to my dad,” Micah said. “I was talking to him as my dad, but he was listening as our band manager, and…I guess the label had already expressed that theyweren’t really happy with us, that they didn’t have a vision for that third record on our contract. It sounded like they weren’t going to give us any support to record it or promote it or anything. I asked my dad what that meant, if we were going to lose our record deal and have to pay back any of the money, and he said…”

She swallowed, knowing this was the part where she really sounded like a piece of shit. There was no way around it. She could’ve taken all of that information to the band, and let them decide together what to do with it, if anything. They could’ve waited it out, called the record label’s bluff, let them put whatever meager resources they were willing to into the third album and then walked away with the freedom to decide what to do with their careers next.

She could feel John’s gaze, steady on her face, but she couldn’t look up at him.

“He said you should do the third record on your own,” John finished for her. “And you saw it as your out from the band, as your chance to get away from Ryder, and you took it.”

“I took it.”

And then she hadn’t wanted to answer any questions about it, hadn’t wanted to have to explain. She knew they were angry with her, and she’d been angry atthem—some of it irrational, some of it misinformed and confused from stuff Ryder had told her over the years, but some of it a legitimate resentment toward people who she felt would always think of her in this one narrow way. Micah Presley, the lead singer of ElectricOh!. She didn’t want tobethat anymore.

Legally, the whole process had been almost depressingly simple. The other band members received their cut of thecontractual advance and bonuses for that third record…they just hadn’t had any part in making it. Behind the scenes, they’d been bought out.

“But then after,” John said, “why didn’t you take my calls? I even came to one of your concerts once, it was—”

“The El Rey,” she said. “I know.”

“You were really good,” he said.

“I was fucking miserable.”

“You put on a great show.”

She sighed, looking over at him. She’d applied sunscreen earlier that morning, but not the amount she would’ve if she’d known she’d spend the afternoon sitting out on the deck like this. She could feel the sun warming her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forearms where they rested on her lap, but she couldn’t find it in her to move.

“I was so ashamed,” she said. “I just couldn’t face you.”

“Ashamed?”

Micah swallowed. She couldn’t even get into all that, or she knew she’dreallylose it, start openly sobbing right here on the deck where Tatiana and her posse could probably see the whole thing. She already felt better for having talked to John about a lot of this stuff, but there were still parts of their history that felt so raw, even now.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.

“Sure.”

He said it so quickly, so easily, but still she hesitated. She knew he wasn’t expecting what she was about to ask him. She had no idea how he was going to respond.

“Your dad,” she said. “He…”

“He died,” John said. “About four years ago.”

That definitely hadn’t been what Micah expected him to say. For one thing, she figured he had to know that she knew that already. Hailey had called to tell her that they’d sent flowers for the funeral, which had upset Micah because it was the first time she was hearing the news that John had lost his dad, much less that there’d been a funeral and it had already passed. Micah liked to think she would’ve flown back for that, although maybe that was giving herself too much credit. She’d started several text messages to John, thinking she’d reach out, tell him she was sorry, see how he was doing…and then she’d wonder what made her think she had the right to text him at all, and she’d delete whatever she’d written.

“I heard,” she said now. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

This was such a bizarre situation to have this conversation in. Probably she should drop it—wait until they weren’t lying out in the sun in this seemingly idyllic cruise setting, the sapphire-blue water catching the sun and sparkling in the distance, the breeze ruffling John’s hair and giving him a windswept appearance that reminded her of when they’d been teenagers and his hair had always been a mess. Itfeltlike they were teenagers again, somehow, both dressed in their jeans and black T-shirts, him with his Converse, her with her platform boots, like two emo kids dragged on vacation by their parents but determined to stick to their aesthetic.

“You know he was an alcoholic,” he said. “And it did a number on his liver, in the end.”

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