It would be a squishy, delightful mess in his mouth, and he couldn’t wait to get his food home.
Except he’d overdone the shopping by a little bit.
Micah eyed the stack of smoked salmon he’d bought, then the full quart of cream, and a gallon of milk. And the boxes of custard powder, and dried dill. They’d taken up two full shopping bags.
The moment he wheeled the cart out of the store, Micah froze.
It was pouring out. The air was chilly, and the cars in the parking lot gleamed wetly under the orange streetlamps.
Worse, Micah hadn’t driven to the store. He’d walked.
The moment he’d gotten off from work, he’d driven home to change into some comfortable clothes. York had stepped out of his room and said, I’m leaving, and he’d headed out the front door.
It was only when Micah had gotten back downstairs, that he’d realized York had taken the car.
That was okay, though. Micah was used to walking to the store.
With the threat of looming thunderclouds, he’d hurried to the store without an umbrella. Except the moment he’d found the smoked salmon, he’d clean forgotten about the threat of rain.
And now he either had to return some of his purchases, or walk home with two heavy bags.
Micah’s heart sank.
He didn’t want to return the things. It had been bad enough, having the cashier stare at his scars. It was a new kid working the register, and Micah had felt every single one of his wrinkles, standing there while the transaction processed. His scar tissue had itched.
He made himself step back into the store. The smaller bottles of milk and cream were all the way across the store—too far away, so Micah made do with returning half the salmon, and some of the custard powder.
The cashier said nothing, but Micah felt his judging stare, his skin too tight. I wish I looked normal. I wish I was young.
The returns dropped his purchases down to one bag. Micah eyed the rain, and the puddles on the sidewalk. His phone buzzed.
Kai had sent a text. Where are you?
To delay the inevitable, Micah answered, Getting some groceries. I’ll be home soon.
Do you need help?
Micah wavered. He could accept that help. Or... he could prove to himself that he’d be okay alone.
For the past few weeks, Kai and Spike had been crowding around him, helping him with cooking, with the dishes, laundry, and everything he could possibly imagine. York had given them a dirty look, and Micah hadn’t found a way to thaw his cold shoulder.
But being with Kai and Spike... Things had been going so smoothly with them—sleeping in their bed, talking with them, sharing kisses like it was just an ordinary part of life.
For as long as Micah remembered, nothing ever came this easy. There was a price, somewhere or other. Micah would have to pay it soon. The anticipation of it made him nervous.
So if the price was walking in the rain, Micah would gladly do it.
I think I’m fine, he answered. But thank you.
He tucked the phone into his pocket, shielded it with his grocery bag, and squeezed the handle of his walking stick. Then he stepped out into the rain.
Micah wasn’t prepared for the stinging cold of it. He gasped, braving the next step, and the next. By the time he reached the road, the rain had soaked through his clothes, and his teeth chattered. He really was too old for this. I should have accepted his help.
But why bother Kai and Spike, when it would take Micah just another twenty minutes to get home? The phone buzzed again; Micah ignored it.
He waited forever at a pedestrian crossing, rain streaming down his face, his hair soaked through. Then fatigue set in, weighing down his limbs and eyelids.
Micah had thought he’d manage the grocery trip without his fatigue hitting him yet—more things he’d been wrong about. He sagged against the traffic light, his grocery bag a leaden weight in his arms.
By the time it was safe to cross the road, Micah could hardly push himself off the metal pole.
He staggered across the asphalt. With each step, he felt as though he was lifting ten pounds with his feet. I can do this. Home isn’t far away.
He made it to the other side of the road. And the sidewalk stretched out in front of him, like it would take an eternity to return to the apartment.
Micah leaned heavily on his walking stick, his scar tissue twinging. His leg hurt with every step he took. Rain dripped into his eyes.
He felt like an idiot, all of a sudden. He shouldn’t have gone to the store. He should’ve just stayed home, where he would be warm and dry. Misery welled up in his throat, almost suffocating.
Why did he keep making the wrong choices, over and over?
Then a car did an illegal U-turn behind him. Micah drifted to the right, turning to look.
The car’s engine revved; it screeched to a halt next to him, silver and battered, painfully familiar. Micah’s pulse skipped.
The passenger door flew open. Spike barreled out, scowling. But he didn’t speak. He shut the door, took the bag of groceries from Micah, and pulled open the backdoor.
“Inside,” Spike growled.
He’s angry? Afraid to question Spike, Micah fumbled into the backseat, his heavy feet snagging on the side of the car. He tripped and lurched across the seat, flushing with embarrassment. So much for doing this myself.
This clumsiness was so unusual, even for him, that Kai turned in the driver’s seat to look. But Kai’s lips were pressed into a thin line. Micah wanted to hide his face.
Spike sighed. Strong hands wrapped around Micah’s calves, helping him into the car. Kai grasped Micah’s arm to lift him off the seat. Micah fumbled over to the other side, his walking stick thumping awkwardly against his legs.
It was warm in the car, such a relief from the cold rain.
Spike crowded in after him and shut the door. Kai put
