Mending Michael (15 page)

HOLLY

"Holly," Braden shouts from across the coffee shop. "Over here."

Like I don't see him. The cafe is not that big.

"Holly," Rose says behind me, her hand lands on my forearm. "I got it. A spot in a small Broadway play."

"Oh my God, Rose, I had no idea you were auditioning."

"I didn't. That competition Saturday? The choreographer was there."

"Oh my God, Rose, that's awesome." No one deserves this more than Rose. She works her ass off when it comes to dancing. When it comes to anything really. I admire her determination to succeed at everything. And she doesn't even have overbearing parents. Lucky her.

"So how was your weekend?"

"Medium Latte please," I tell the girl behind the counter. "Good," I tell Rose.

"Holly," Braden shouts again.

I hold my finger up to tell him to wait a freakin' minute.

"What happened?" Rose asks, then orders her non-fat latte. Turning back to me, she asks, "Anything with Mick?"

Her smile widens as my face grows warm, and I'm obviously blushing.

"Oh my gosh. You two..."

"No. Not really. I mean, he's got a lot going on, so I don't think he's ready for anything, but yeah." I shrug, to come across indifferent, though I'm anything but. "I like him. He's...different."

"Brooding?" Rose adds.

I laugh. "Yeah, very brooding." Rose and I sit. "So what is so important, Braden, that you needed to yell for me from across the room?" A chuckle slips out as I sip my coffee, causing me to drip coffee down my chin.

"Nice. Classy," Griffin remarks.

"Thanks. So...what's so important?" I ask Braden.

"I hear we're gonna be roomies."

"That's it?"

"Well. Sure. That's a big deal. We'll have a girl in the house. Maybe the house'll finally be clean."

"Oh God." Griffin shakes his head.

Rose is holding her hand over her mouth.

"Yeah, sure. 'Cause I was raised in the 50s and I live for cleaning up after pigs." I laugh.

Griffin breaks out into a laugh now, as does Rose. Braden, however, looks clueless, if his dipped eyebrows are any indication.

"Seriously, Braden? Is that what your Mom does, clean up after you?"

"Sure," he says with a shrug. "She doesn't work, so..."

We all just shake our heads.

"Anyway...I'm not sure yet if I'm moving in. I'll know before the semester's over though."

"That's, like, in two weeks," Griffin points out.

"It'd be cool to have you," Braden says. "Seriously. Not to clean either." His smirk tells me he's embarrassed now.

"Thanks, Bray. But...I'm not sure. I have a lot to think about. Plus, I'm not so sure I want to go against my dad just yet."

"Why not?" Rose asks.

"What if I need him? A waitress job isn't exactly security. You don't know him. You're lucky. You have great parents who embrace who you are and what you want. Mine don't."

"I'm sorry," she says, as if it’s her fault.

"Nah. Don't worry 'bout it. It’s not like it’s
your
fault. And I get why you don't understand."

"I understand, Holl. I just don't get it, that's all. I understand you have to do what you have to do."

"I get it, Holl," Griff adds. "My dad's a lot like you say your dad is. Controlling. Domineering. It's hard to get out from under that."

"Hey, that's why my mom doesn't work," Braden chimes in. "'Cause Dad doesn't think a doctor's wife should work. I mean, he hires a maid for her, but she does all the cooking and stuff."

We all just stare at Braden.

"Where do you keep the time machine, Bray?" I joke.

"What?"

"'Cause your family
does
still live in the 50s."

Everyone laughs, and Braden whips his balled-up napkin at me.

"Well, I gotta go meet Cali. See you guys later."

"Bye, Griff," we all say.

While Rose and Braden chatter on, I can't help thinking about how Mick's appointment with the lawyer is going. I send him a quick text letting him know I'm thinking about him. Part of me wishes I were there with him. Part of me is glad I'm not. We're getting familiar with each other, and I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I mean, obviously, Mick has serious issues going on. Getting involved with him would just mean dealing with more crazy rollercoaster emotions. I don't think I could handle a person like that on a regular basis. In my family, things are cut and dry. We do or we don't. My parents, well more like my dad, don’t accept wishy-washy, and he would consider Mick's hot and cold temperament as wishy-washy.
Pick a side—you're either strong or your weak. You can't be somewhere in-between.
Oh, Daddy, you are mistaken...there is
so
much in-between.

After having the past two days off of work, it's nice to be back at Donny's. Sans Mick though. It occurs to me that even though he switched to days, he probably wasn't in today anyway. When Donny catches a break, I approach him about it. "Have you heard from Mick today?"

Donny frowns.

Uh-oh. "Not good?"

He shakes his head.

"Where is he?"

"Don't know. Said he'd check in with me when he got back."

"Damn." No wonder I hadn't heard from him. "Can I ask what happened?"

"He didn't say much, just that he won't be getting her back until he goes to court. They got him a date for next Friday."

"
Next
Friday? Why so long?"

"Passaic County is inundated with domestic court cases. It was the soonest they could get him in."

"Why can't he just have her back,
then
go to court?"

"Holl, he wasn't in the mood to talk. He only called to let me know he wouldn't be in today. It's all I know."

Since it's Monday night, and we hardly have any customers, Donny lets me leave early. I was hoping to hear Mick's bike pulling in before I left. Since my books are in the car, I decide to grab my psych notes and study for Thursday's exam. It's a nice night, so I sit on the top step that leads to Mick's back porch. I'll study 'til he comes home. I may tell myself it's not a good idea to get involved with Michael Ross, but my heart doesn't seem to hear me.

And so I sit and study.

And wait for him to come home.

MICK

I had a drink.

I had many drinks.

After the day I had, I couldn't help myself. It's how I cope.

It's four o'clock in the morning, and Holly's white Mercedes is in the lot. Why?

I park my Harley, toss the helmet on the trunk in the back hall of the bar, and try the door. It's locked.

I climb the back stairs, stopping at Donny's apartment, but from the darkness that peeks through his blinds, I'm guessing he's asleep.

So maybe she went out with friends and left her car here.

And maybe not.

Sitting on my top step, her head propped against two railing slats, Holly is asleep, an open notebook dipped between her slackened legs. This is the sweetest thing I'd seen all day. Until now, I hadn't realized how much seeing Holly would brighten my horrible day.

After quietly removing her book from her lap and taking her purse, I unlock my door, toss the stuff on my counter, and go back to pick up Holly. As gently and deftly as possible, I scoop Holly into my arms to bring her into my house. A sweet sigh escapes her throat as she snuggles her head beneath my chin. My God. I can't believe the difference a weekend makes. Last week, I wouldn't have dreamed of holding Holly. At least not without also wanting to smack the
fresh
out of her. But now...all I want to do is hold her like this and never let her go.

So I meander over to my couch and sit. Propping my feet on top of the coffee table, I keep Holly still scooped in my arms, her heart beating close to mine, and closing my eyes, because today just kicked my ass, I succumb to sleep myself.

Until a startled yelp wakes me up.

"Holly. Shh. It's okay. It's just..."

"Holy shit." She sits up, still sleepy, gets off my lap, and stumbles to sit next to me.

"You were sleeping on my porch, so I carried you in."

"You car... aww," she says so uncharacteristically.

"What were you doing here?"

She closes her eyes and her head sways side to side. "I don't know. I just...couldn't stop thinking about you...at the lawyer's," she says, almost apologetically. She shuffles a little uncomfortably. "It didn't go well?"

I sit back, defeated, against my couch. "No. Not at all."

"You wanna talk about it?" Her eyes are wide, letting me know she wants to hear about it.

But I don't want to talk about it. "No. I don't, no," I say, swallowing some leftover tears. "You gotta be tired," I say to change the subject.

"What time is it?" she says more to herself while she pats her pockets, probably looking for her cell. "Where's my stuff?"

"It's almost five. Your stuff's on the counter."

She falls back against the couch as her hand flies to her forehead. "Crap."

"Stay here." I'm not even sure I said that out loud. I want her to stay here. I know I thought it. Did it actually escape my mouth?

Her eyes dart to me first before her head follows, so I'm pretty sure I said it out loud.

"I mean...you can have my bed. I'll sleep here," I explain, tapping the couch once with my hand. "You can't drive home now. I mean...I know it's not far, but...you can still fall asleep while driving."
Pathetic, Mick.

She nods, but says nothing.

"I have a pair of sweats you can sleep in and a t-shirt. They're clean. I promise." I know it's silly asking her to stay. She lives five minutes up the road, but I don't want her to leave. It's comforting having her here. She makes me feel less burdened.

"Okay. But I can't miss my eleven o'clock class, so..."

"I won't let you oversleep," I say, way too anxiously. I know we won't be sleeping together, but knowing she's here...in my one-room apartment...I couldn't ask for anything more right now.

I go to my dresser and pull out my smallest pair of sweats and shirt and bring them back to her.

"Thanks." She takes them and stands. "Bathroom?"

Pointing to the door to the left of my bed, I say, "Jiggle the handle."

The waistband of my sweats is cinched around her tiny middle. My smallest gray t-shirt hangs mid-thigh, and the extra material dwarfs her, hiding her small, but perky boobs. Well, at least I think they're perky. Through her own shirts, they look perky.

But she is absolutely...stunning.

Even in drabby gray.

And I can't stop gaping at her.

"I can take the couch, you know," she says, pulling me out of my stupor.

Shaking myself free from the awe, I tell her I wouldn't think of it.
So corny.

"Hey," she smiles one of those sympathetic smiles, "if you need to talk, well, that's why I'm here."

I only nod. "Bed's over there. Sheets were washed last week, so..."

"So long as you didn't do any funny business." She laughs silently.

"Ha, ha. Light's on the tool chest next to the bed. Turn it on, and I'll turn off this light."

It's after I'm tucked under my blanket on the couch that I decide to confess out loud. "I got drunk today."

HOLLY

I don't respond.

Not at first.

Because...

I'm uncertain as to what to say.

What he wants to hear.

What he
needs
to hear.

So I just say,

"Okay."

But then I sit up in his bed.

He says nothing.

"Did it help?" I ask him once I grab hold of some courage.

After, no lie, probably five minutes, I actually thought he'd fallen asleep, he responds with, "No. It didn't."

"Michael." Long pause. "It's okay."

I see the shadow of his head pop up from the couch. “No. It’s not,” he says. “How ‘m I gonna get her back if I can’t keep myself from drinking for two fucking days?”

I hear something crash against the wall, but he’s still sitting on the couch. I turn on the light that sits next to his bed and walk over to him. “What broke?” I ask, sitting down next to him.

“It was just the remote,” he says quietly. “Nothing broke.”

I lay my hand on his thigh to comfort him, and find my heart racing again. “It’s okay, you know,” I tell him. “You’ll try again tomorrow. You can’t beat yourself up about it.”

He’s silent after that, but he doesn’t pull his eyes away from mine. After several awkward seconds, Mick starts moving his gaze down toward my mouth, and then it drops even lower. I see his chest rising and falling faster, so naturally, mine does. I know where he’s headed, but I vowed not to kiss him until he pulled himself together. I turned to get up, and stop this from happening, but his fingertips graze my forearm and he curls his hand around my wrist – tenderly this time. “Sit,” he whispers.

I shake my head no, but the word doesn’t form on my lips.

“Please.” His finger now traces the inside of my wrist, causing a tiny stir beneath my stomach and an aching in my chest.

With a gentle pull, he tugs me toward him.

“Mick,” I whisper, with no conviction at all.

He either takes this as permission, instead of a plea to stop before he starts, or he’s still drunk and doesn’t care. His face moves in closer as he brings his hand behind my neck, but then just as he leans in close enough to kiss me, he pulls away and places my hand back on my lap. “Go. Sleep. You need to get up for class.” No longer is he looking me in the eyes, instead, he keeps his eyes cast downward on his lap.

Because I really didn’t think I should let him kiss me tonight anyway, I let it go and get back in bed. I reach over to turn off the light and lie there staring at the ceiling.

There is silence after that, and after a while, I assume he fell asleep. I drift into my own slumber, only after blocking out the very recent memory of our almost kiss. Instead, I think about Mick and the battle that lies ahead for him. If there is any way I can help, I want to. Regardless of my tumultuous feelings for him. It just makes me so mad that injustices, like his losing Kenna, even occur. In trying to protect children from harm, I think the powers that be end up hurting those that were never in danger at all. Yes, Kenna may have been in danger staying with her mother, but why take the child away from a loving uncle? Why make the two of them suffer like this? Couldn't they have kept Kenna with him while they determined if he was a suitable guardian?

A soft voice from somewhere inside me attempts to grab my attention.

Maybe Michael Ross is not a suitable guardian.

Maybe Kenna would still be in danger of harm or neglect if kept with her well-meaning uncle.

This little voice continues to talk at me.

Leave the decisions to the people who are actually trained in child custody cases. They may not be perfect, but they're doing the best with what they have to work with.

Why is this voice talking to me? It's crazy, because my own opinions differ from those coming from it. Michael Ross is perfect for Kenna. He loves her. He would die for her.

But is love enough?

SHUT UP!

***

As promised, Mick wakes me up in time for my eleven o'clock class. Precisely eight forty-five a.m. "Why so early?" I ask, my throat dry, the taste in my mouth rotten.

"I, uh, didn't really know what time you needed to get up." He rocks side to side, his hands fumbling to find something to do. "Maybe you need to, I don't know, shower, or get your books, or... I don't know. You didn't say what time, and fine, just go back to sleep." He tosses his hand in the air and walks away.

"Testy in the morning, aren't we?" I roll out of bed, grab my clothes from yesterday and go into the bathroom.

When I come out, he has a pot of coffee made. "You could have just gone home in my clothes. You didn't have to change," he says, his back to me, so how he knows I changed back into my clothes, I have no idea.

"Yeah, well, I didn't want to wash them." I lay his folded clothes on his couch and join him in the kitchen area, where he hands me a cup of coffee, milk already poured. "Thanks."

"Well, thanks for staying. It helped."

"Helped? I didn't do anything? Mmm. You make a good cup of coffee."

"I pissed in it."

"Delish. Anyway, really I didn't do any..."

"Yeah you did. Just by being here. Thank you," he says seriously, his eyes now focused on mine. Searching mine. “I’m sorry I almost…,” he shrugs, “kissed you last night. I just…” he stops talking to pull in his bottom lip and close his eyes.

My breath hitches a moment, before I bite the side of my own lip.

When he opens his eyes, I watch them make tiny movements while he seeks something in
my
eyes.

"I have my shit less together today than I did two days ago," he admits, still not taking his eyes off mine. "But I really need to kiss you right now. I was able to pull away last night, but today," he takes in a huge breath. Exhaling he says, “I just don’t want to stop myself this time.”

I place my mug on the counter. "You gonna fuck with me?"

He puts his mug down.

"No," he says straight-faced, and I watch his Adam's apple slip down his neck as he swallows...coffee? Courage? "But I do wanna fuck you."

His face is still serious, but suddenly mine is not. I feel a smirk appear on my face, and I step closer to him, flattening my palm against his chest. "If you don't fuck
with
me, I just may let you."

Just when I think his face couldn't drop into a more serious look, his eyes grow wide, his lips tighten, and he's clearly running something through his head.

Mick grabs my hand at his chest, squeezing my wrist and the pad of my palm, but he keeps it snug against his chest. With his other hand, he yanks me forward by my shirt-hem, then cups his arm around the back of my waist.

I melt into his arms as all my thoughts vanish with the warmth of his tongue in my mouth. His hand lets go of mine, and wraps around my waist with his other arm, pulling me closer. Tighter. A moan escapes my throat while a groan escapes his. When one of his hands roves my back, it ends at the nape of my neck, where his fingers tangle in my hair, causing tiny volts of electricity to charge through my veins. As my hands begin roaming his back beneath his shirt, his hands find my face, and with him holding me on either side of my jaw, he breaks the kiss and looks me in the eyes. Searching again. Running more thoughts through his mind.

Softly, he speaks. "I'm not fucking with you. I do need to get my shit together. I need to be clear-headed before this turns into anything more." He sucks in a breath and expels air when he breathes out, "God I want you." He taps my nose with his lips. "But I don't want you to get half of me, and right now," he seeks my eyes, peering curiously through them for my own thoughts maybe, "right now, that's all I can give. Until Ken..." he closes his eyes, breaking the visual contact, his hands still warm and holding my face, "until I have Kenna back, I can only give you half of me. I'm sorry."

My hands grasp his, still on my face. "I get it. And I totally understand." And I do, that's no lie. But why would I want someone who can't give me his all?

His eyes are back on mine, still seeking. Still probing. I suppose he's wondering how I feel about him. Or maybe he's looking for me to say it's okay—that he can have me despite his finite offer.

"I want to see you get her back, Michael. You both deserve that." I nod, encouraging myself to go on. "I'll be here for you...as a friend.
As a friend
."

He nods now.

"Because that's all I can give right now."
Because that's all I will give until he can give me more.
But I totally get it. I totally get why he can't give me more. "Listen, Michael." I've gotten used to calling him Michael to his face. I like calling him Michael. I like how his face brightens when he hears me call him Michael. "I better get going. That shower and all. And class and..."

"Yeah, yeah. Right. Go. And thanks...for everything."

I smile. "Anytime." I pick up my mug and take one last swig of my coffee. Holding it up to him, I also say, "Thanks."

"You working tonight?" he asks when I reach the door.

"Yeah. You working today?"

He shakes his head, "No. Tonight. Today I'm meeting with the lawyer. I'm gonna try to see Kenna before court next Friday."

Dropping my hand from the doorknob, I shove my purse up my shoulder. "You never told me. You...you wanna talk yet?"

He takes a few seconds before shaking his head. "Maybe later. I need to accept this all first."

"Okay. At least you have a court date?"

"Yeah. I just wish it weren't nearly two weeks away."

"Yeah." Pulling my psych book closer to my chest, I grab the doorknob again and tell him I'll catch him later.

What I really want to do is grab him in my arms and let him have his way with me.

But I won't allow it.

I may let my dad make decisions about my career life, but I'm smart enough to not let any other man have control of me.

It's actually the whole reason I'm still a virgin. I'm afraid of succumbing to the dominance of a man. I see enough of that between my dad and mom.

But although Mick has temper issues, there is something very vulnerable about him. Something that makes me think I wouldn't mind giving myself to him fully—once he's proven he's got his shit together. It's that whole my-life-is-a-mess thing that makes men do things without thinking. I want Mick when he's thinking clearly. And if I can help get him there, then I will.

I believe he just may be worth it.