Page 93 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
I held my breath as I rapped on the door, hard. What was I doing? Goddammit, what was I doing? My heart beat a tattoo in my chest. I adjusted the belt of the trench coat.
I was doing this.
The grand Victorian house welcomed me as it always did, with cheerful blue paint. Elvis thumped his tail on the porch, excited to see me. A few seconds later, the door opened.
Mikey paused in the doorway, unshaven, hair a little longer, mussier, inviting fingers to go through it. No shirt. Gym shorts hanging low on his hips.
Delicious, but also tentative. Not my living-large Mikey, but wary, like the injured animals he tended.
I stood on his porch, wearing a classic beige trench coat, stilettos, and nothing underneath.
When I’d left, I’d learned a few things. The first was that Mikey was not my dad. He was the farthest thing from my abusive father. Mikey was a nurturer, a healer, who’d suffered because of a substance. Unlike my dad, and like me, he was stronger than it. I just knew it.
The second thing I learned was that I couldn’t live without him—not with any sort of happiness.
He smiled, but his eyes flickered confusion and disbelief.
“Jessica. Come in.” I stepped inside, as gracefully as I could while teetering in the stilettos. “How have things been?”
A safe question. But I was going to answer it honestly. He’d taught me that much. “Complicated. Not that great, but also wonderful. I went away to find myself, and I learned some things. But I also learned that I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe.”
He stood in the middle of the living room, bare-chested, glorious, and oh-so-sad.
“You shouldn’t have come back, Jessica. I’m not good enough for you, and I never will be.”
I stepped forward, and he flinched. That broke my heart. My strong, beautiful man thought I’d do something to him. “That’s not true. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I missed you so much. I couldn’t—” He looked at me with so much pain, then turned to walk away. “Just go, babe. You’re better off without me.”
Gathering strength from standing on my own two feet, I argued, “No, I’m not. I missed you, like I need you in my pores. You’re part of me. I can’t be without you.”
He put his forehead in his hand. “Yes, you can. It’s better for you. I’m just going to disappoint you.”
“No. You’re not.” I wanted to touch him. To reach out and feel his warmth. But instead, I sat down on the couch as carefully as I could, body still covered by the coat.
His eyes trailed up my legs.
I continued, “I needed to forgive myself. And my parents. Both of them.” He nodded. “You know I had to go. I did what I needed to do, and I realized a few things.” He stared at me. “Like I don’t want to live without you.”
My stomach dropped as I said those words because while I knew they were true, I was taking that step, putting myself out there, and he could squash me with a single phrase.
But he didn’t say anything. This wasn’t like him. “What are you thinking?” I whispered finally.
He let out a breath. “I’m pissed at myself. I haven’t been able to function since you were gone. All I do is think about you. God fucking dammit, Jessica, I love you. And you left me.”
Did he just say he loved me? “I had to. Do you understand why?”
“Maybe my brain gets it, but my heart doesn’t. I’m so fucking glad to see you, and I’m hurt that you left, and I’m happy you’re back, but also kind of pissed at you for coming back because it hurt too much for you to be gone, and I love you, and I’m dying to know what you’re wearing under that coat.”
He loved me.
I was going to have to file that one in . . . Fuck the files in my brain.
He loved me.
I could answer him.
I smiled and stood up. “Nothing.”
