Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(14)

Of course he knew he didn’t have to prove anything to his family—all in all, he probably just wanted to prove it to himself.

And if he played, it would be his first time on the ground at the MCG—the Mecca of AFL football. It was hallowed ground, and he wanted to feel it beneath his feet as a player, not as a bencher.

The other weird thing was Kyle kept texting him. After not having heard from him in a couple of months, Micah didn’t know what to make of their renewed “friendship.” All he knew was that he missed Kyle and wished he was still in Melbourne so he could try to see him at some point on the trip home.

So he decided he would put out some feelers one evening.

Do you miss Melbourne? he texted.

The response was faster than he expected. Of course I do. I bet you Canberra’s even more boring than Perth.

I’d like to take that bet.

Perth isn’t a city full of public servants and politicians, for starters.

Micah grinned. Okay, you win. That DOES sound like hell on earth.

Especially when parliament’s sitting. Anyway, I’m two hours ahead of you, remember? I’m off to bed.

He really didn’t want to imagine Kyle in bed right now. He knew from experience Kyle liked to wear very little under the covers, and Micah had dedicated every inch of that body to memory. He had especially liked the row of freckles between his shoulder blades, which would ripple like a snake whenever he moved in bed. How many nights had Micah watched him sleep, sometimes tracing their line across his skin? How many times had he settled down for the night, his lips pressed against them as he played big spoon against Kyle’s little spoon? Which was really ironic, seeing as Kyle was both taller and broader than he was.

Should he write something back, just a little bit flirty? No, too soon. Instead he just opted for a simple Good night. No adornments such as kisses or emoticons. Cool, calm and in command. That was Micah Johnson.




HE HAD to almost physically jam his fist into his mouth to stop from screaming. However, his feet did do an enthusiastic little jig. Michael Flatley would rest assured, however, and be secure his reign as the King of Draining Every Bit of Goodwill the Globe Had for Irish Dancing would remain uncontested.

When the team was announced, the name Micah Johnson was on it. And Daril was included again, so he didn’t have to feel any residual guilt that would have plagued him if he wasn’t. Even though Daril had played the week before, Micah didn’t want to see him on the bench so soon. The rest of the team seemed genuinely happy for him, although they threatened (somewhat jokingly) that he better not let them down his first time on the field. It became even more concrete to him when Nate came over with a clipboard and asked how many tickets he wanted reserved for his family to come and watch him. Feeling a bit tongue-tied, he asked for six, just in case Simon and Dec wanted to come—but then, Dec would probably already be working there; maybe Emma would be down? It didn’t matter; Nate didn’t even balk at the number, just wrote it down and said it would be fine.

Daril came over and high-fived him. “The rookies, together again!”

“I think I’m going to vomit,” Micah admitted.

Daril laughed. “I did, last week! And you’ll feel like that every day until the blow of the final siren.”

“Great.”

“To tell you the truth, I’m feeling a little sick at the thought of my second game.”

“It never really goes away.” Sam had walked up to join them, and Micah found himself on the receiving end of another high five. “I feel nervous before every game. Doesn’t matter how long I’ve been playing.”

“You’re really cheering me up, thanks,” Micah said.

Sam whacked him good-naturedly. “Cheer up, Eeyore! You’re going to be an official Docker now!”

“I thought I already was? I have the guernsey and everything to prove it.”

“You know what I mean. Everything changes, from now on!”

Daril snorted. “You make it sound like he’s going to the guillotine.”

“Nah, the guillotine’s over quicker.”

“I think I need a drink,” Micah said.

“Hey, no drinking! At least until after the game. You know the rules.”

“I suppose drugs are out of the question?”

Sam folded his arms. “There are some things you shouldn’t joke about.”

“Okay, okay!” Micah turned to Daril. “See what happens when you have to live with a responsible member of the team?”

“Could be worse,” Daril said. “You could be living with the coach.”

“Yeah, imagine how much stricter he would be than me,” Sam said.

And Sam was strict enough.

“I guess I’m lucky to be stuck with you,” Micah said.

Sam beamed. “That’s the spirit! You can have apple juice and pretend it’s cider.”

Micah gave him the thumbs up.

“But I tell you what… we win on Saturday and you can have a shandy.”

“That would be worth more than the premiership,” Micah deadpanned.

Daril and Sam both gasped melodramatically.

“I thought I just told you there were some things you shouldn’t joke about?” Sam asked. “And the premiership, you never joke about that.”