Page 52 of Accepted Precedent
“Good girl. Send it to your sister too. The more people who know, the better.” Mickey releases me, and it’s infuriating how he can make me so damn needy with just his mouth. He adjusts his hat and I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mick this relaxed. Between the dark denim, gray hoodie, and ballcap, he’s almost unrecognizable. I must be admiring him too long when he frowns. “What?”
“Nothing. You look good.”
He glances down at his outfit. “Don’t get used to it.”
Mickey bought me a shirt that says:What I do with my pussy is none of your business.Not the most professional shirt in the world, but no one will know it’s us if we keep a low profile. Also, I fucking love it. “Do you have a custom shirt too, or are you going to be an emo escort today?”
He unzips his hoodie, and I stifle a laugh at his:Her body, her choice. Get your politics out of my girlfriend’s cunt.
“Mick! Maybe we shouldn’t wear these.”
“Why not?” He shrugs, zipping his hoodie back up. “It’ll be fun when I’m arrested whilst protecting my woman. Will make for a hell of a mug shot if it comes to it.”
I know the answer, but can’t help asking, “Your woman? The girlfriend in question is me?”
“Aye, but not for long if I have any say in it,” he mutters, then corrects, “You know you’re more than that, Evie. You always have been. This is important to you, so it’s important to me. Finnis working on gathering intel on the PAC supporting the protest. By the end of the day, their funding won't exist.”
“Then why are we joining the counter-protest if you can wave your magic wand and make the assholes disappear?”
Mickey cups my neck, resting his thumb on my cheek. “Because this isn’t my fight, love. It’s yours, and every woman’s out there whose voice should be heard. They need to know they’re outnumbered. Are you ready to show these cunts who’s louder?”
“Yes.” I straighten my shoulders and tilt my chin, trying to match his confidence.
“I forgot our face coverings upstairs. Can you grab them from our room?”
I don’t correct him saying it’sourroom and scurry upstairs for the bandanas and surgical masks. The box of masks is on the dresser, but the bandanas are missing. I pull open the top drawer, shifting the socks and boxer briefs around, but still not what I’m looking for. The second and third drawer hold only shirts and pants. I crouch to the fourth but still can’t find the bandanas. I almost close it, but pause.
Persuasion.
I lift it out, my breath catching as I find my handwriting from my wedding night on the title page.
Enjoy.
I’d always hoped Mick would find it, but he never mentioned it. I thumb through my old personal copy, and the worn pages have hundreds of notes. Some are short comments or underlineddialogue. Others are several sentences with his thoughts. My stomach drops deeper at every note I read—he felt the same yearning Captain Wentworth did being away from Anne.
Mickey is anything but stealthy—I attribute it to his sheer size most of the time—and the bedroom door opening wider gives him away. “Any luck?”
“You still have it,” I breathe, fighting back tears as I glance over at him. This beautiful man is taking care of our country, but no one is taking care of him.
“I do.” He leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his barrel chest.
“You read it.”
“I had to,” he admits softly, and a tear escapes my right eye. “My heart broke that day and I figured that note in the front was for me.”
“It was, but… you annotated it.”
“Aye, I did.” Mickey pushes off and stalks toward me as he explains, “It was the only hope I had for years that you’d be mine one day.” More tears fall and he drops down beside me. Brushing my wet cheek, he whispers, “I’m yours, angel. I always have been.”
I wrap my arms around his neck, sobs rattling my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were never supposed to find it with my notes in the margins.”
“All the years we wasted…”
“It was never a waste. We all sacrificed, but I told you I’d bring you back into the light when I could. It’s time. You’re the anchor, remember? I can’t change the world without you.” He takes the book from me and opens the drawer, placing it inside and retrieving two green bandanas. “Are you ready to step into your greatness, love?”
Greatness? What the hell is he talking about? I’m just a retired lobbyist who plays house with my best friend, but I don’t dare contradict him; once Mickey’s mind is set, there’s no changing it. He’ll probably force me to speak words of affirmation to myself in the mirror if I try.
