Page 35 of Discover Me
"Seriously, man," Jordan says, grinning at me. "You were almost pleasant today. It's weird."
"I wasn't an ass for once." Liam adds his own guitar to the collection. "No snapping at Rex, no complaining about the setlist, no brooding in the corner between songs."
Rex snorts from where he's adjusting his bass. "You weren't even an ass today. That's the real miracle."
I shrug, not sure how to explain the shift. My chest doesn't hurt anymore, that constant ache finally gone. I slept better than I have in months. And having Micah waiting in the lounge upstairs makes this whole day feel different, like I have something to look forward to beyond just getting through practice.
Then heat runs through me suddenly, sharp and intense. I let out an involuntary grunt, my hand coming up to press against my chest. The sensation is overwhelming, like fire spreading through my veins. My skin feels too tight, too hot, and there's a pressure building low in my stomach that I don't understand.
I look up at the door to the practice room, wondering if this new feeling has something to do with Micah. If being near him, around him, thinking about him constantly is affecting me physically in ways I don't know how to process.
The door opens and Tom walks in, Sarah and the PR lady following behind him. Tom starts clapping, that obnoxious slow clap that means he's pleased with himself.
"Everything sounds fantastic," Tom says, pulling out his tablet. "The new sound is really going to draw audiences in. We're on track for the album release, and with Kellan's relationship generating buzz, we're looking at strong pre-sale numbers."
I tune him out, trying to focus on the lingering heat in my body. It's not fading, just sitting there under my skin like coalswaiting to ignite. My clothes feel restrictive, every seam and tag suddenly irritating against my oversensitive skin.
A young Beta bursts into the practice room, the girl who always fawns over Jordan and Liam. Amber, I think her name is. She's breathing hard like she ran here, her expression panicked.
"Hey, I need help!" She looks around frantically. "Micah just froze and I don't know what to do!"
I pop up out of my drum seat so fast it tips over, clattering against the floor. "What the fuck is going on?"
"I was just taking him on a tour like Tom asked," Amber's words tumble out rapid-fire. "We went up to the old set room and I showed him some of the equipment. Then we were going to go down the ladder to the backstage area, you know that secret passage? But he just froze at the top and now he won't move or respond and I don't—"
I don't wait for her to finish. I take off toward the stage that sits beneath the old set room, my feet pounding against the floor. The heat in my body spikes higher with each step, driven by something primal and urgent. My Alpha instincts scream at me that my mate is in distress, that he needs me, that I have to get to him now.
I burst onto the stage and look up. Through the trap door in the ceiling, I can see Micah standing at the top step. His eyes are glazed over, unfocused and distant. His body is rigid, every muscle locked tight. Panic holds him in its grip, freezing him in place like a statue.
Fury floods through me. That girl thought climbing up and down ladders as part of a tour would be acceptable? After what happened to Micah? The fall that nearly killed him, that left him scarred and broken? Except Tom probably approved this tour, probably suggested showing Micah the "cool" parts of the building without considering the trauma it might trigger. Which makes it worse. So much worse.
I climb up the ladder quickly, my movements careful but urgent. When I reach the top, I softly push Micah back from the edge, away from the opening and the ladder that's causing his panic.
"Micah. Hey, Micah, look at me." I keep my voice low and calm, nothing threatening or demanding. "You're okay. You're safe. I've got you."
He doesn't respond, doesn't even blink. His breathing comes fast and shallow, his chest heaving with the effort. His good hand grips the doorframe so hard his knuckles have gone white.
"We're going to move away from here, okay?" I position myself between Micah and the ladder, blocking his view of it. "Just follow my voice. One step back, that's it. Good. Another step. You're doing great."
I talk him down from the panic slowly, deliberately picking each word to sooth him. It takes several minutes but gradually I see awareness creep back into his eyes. His grip on the doorframe loosens slightly. His breathing starts to slow, becoming less frantic.
I guide him the other way, to the other side of the set room where stairs lead down to the main hallway. No ladders, no trap doors, just solid steps with a railing. Micah follows mechanically, his body moving on autopilot while his mind catches up.
We make it down the stairs and I immediately guide him into one of the private practice rooms, the small ones used for individual sessions. I shut the door and lock it, creating a barrier between us and everyone else. The room is soundproofed and windowless, just blank walls and some basic equipment. Safe. Private.
Micah finally takes a real breath, deep and shuddering. The rigid panic starts to drain from his body, leaving him shaky and exhausted. I hold his face in my hands, making him look at me.His eyes are clearer now but haunted, filled with the memory of whatever he just relived.
"I've never frozen up like that before," Micah says, his voice rough. "I've been fine with stairs and ladders since the fall. But seeing it wobble, hearing the sound it made..." He shakes his head. "It all came back. The Alphas, the shaking, the fall. All of it."
"I can't imagine how terrifying that was." I stroke my thumbs across his cheeks, feeling the dampness there that suggests he was crying without realizing it. "I'm so sorry. Tom never should have arranged a tour allowing you to go up there. None of us go up there." I lean in for a soft kiss, just a brush of lips meant to ground him. "You can leave if you want. I'll make something up for Tom and the others. I know they were wanting to go to lunch with the packs but fuck that. Your wellbeing matters more."
"No, I'm okay." Micah's voice is steadier now. "I don't want to derail your plans. You had this scheduled before I showed up."
"This isn't your world and I'm not going to force you into situations that hurt you, okay?" I tighten my grip on his face slightly, making sure he hears me. "The moment you want to leave, the second this becomes too much, just let me know and I'm gone. We can both be gone. I don't care about Tom's schedule or the band's plans."
"But this is your career." Micah's expression shifts to something guilty. "I can't mess that up because a few steps and a ladder terrified me. That's not fair to you."
"I'm not sure I'd ever get on another ladder if I was in your shoes." The admission comes easily. "I only saw the tail end of what happened to you, but that would fucking ruin me. The fall, the injuries, the permanent damage. You're allowed to have trauma responses. That's normal and expected."
