Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(30)

“And I know why that is. You don’t want to look like a troublemaker.”

Micah laughed softly. “Oh, believe me, I never have a problem looking like a troublemaker.”

“You know what I mean. If the team shows they don’t care, hopefully it will rub off on the supporters.”

“There are a lot more supportive people than there are guys like that dickhead.”

“Maybe. But we want to stamp on it.”

“Like the AFL cured racism?” Micah couldn’t resist the dig.

Sam frowned. He couldn’t argue with that. “Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“And look what happened there,” Micah said.

“They invented pizza.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder and rolled off the bed. “They did okay.”




KNOWING THAT his team was prepared to go to such efforts to make him feel welcome lightened Micah’s heart considerably. At training the next day Craig told him he actually felt sorry that Micah had to go to a gay bar with them.

“Why’s that?” Micah asked.

“Because it’s bloody obvious we’re going to pick up far more than you will.”

You never had to worry about low self-esteem amongst your teammates.

“As long as you let me have your cast-offs,” Micah said.

“I guess we can do that.”

But not everything was so chill. A couple of days after that, Micah was coming up the stairs to head into his bedroom when he heard Sam and Dane arguing in the lounge room. He hesitated, not wanting to listen but not wanting to awkwardly interrupt them either. He stood there, still trying to weigh up his options when it became apparent that he was the subject of contention.

“I think it would be a good way for you to finally bond with Micah,” Sam was saying.

“Are you kidding me?” Dane asked.

“Like it or not, he’s with us for the next year or two, so if you want to keep being a sulky little kid you’re going to find it increasingly difficult. Even Mum and Dad are getting sick of it.”

“Everybody loves Micah! Can’t wait for the sitcom.”

“Everybody likes Micah because he’s not acting like a child. All I’m asking you to do is to come for a night out.”

“And what the fuck makes you think I want to go to a gay bar?” Dane asked.

“Maybe for the same reason we are? To show support for our friend?”

“He’s your friend, not mine.”

“Dane, talk to me. You’re my brother. What’s going on?”

There was a pause, as if Dane was seriously considering spilling his guts about something. Instead he went on the attack again. “Yeah, you’re my brother. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

“You must be loving it—you didn’t like the brother you had so you went out and adopted a new one.”

“Do you hear yourself? That’s fucking crazy.”

Sam must have been upset if the word “fucking” had escaped him.

“Is it?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dane, you’re the one who locks himself up in his room and refuses to do anything with anybody. If you feel like you’re being ignored, it’s because you’re not giving anyone the opportunity.”

“Yep, everything’s my fucking fault. Not like your new best buddy. You don’t even know what he’s up to, but I do. You have no idea.”

On the stairs, Micah slumped. What the hell did Dane mean? Did he know… no, how could he?

“Oh, really?” Sam asked. “What is he up to?”

Micah felt his blood turn cold. He wanted to interrupt them, make his presence known, anything to stop what Dane was about to say—but his feet wouldn’t move. He was stuck there.

“Think about it,” Dane said.

“No, I’m not listening to your bullshit. If Micah has secrets, he’s not the only one.”

There was a long pause, and Micah wished he could see what was going on between them in that moment. What did Sam mean? Did he just mean it generically, that everybody had secrets, or was he actually calling out his brother?

After Dane refused to speak, Sam did so. “Now, are you going to come out with us or not?”

“Not.”

“Fine.”

Realising that he was about to be discovered, and that for the moment he was safe from Dane’s revelation, Micah regained the use of his feet and ran up the few remaining steps, thankful for the thick carpeting. He got a quick glimpse of the two brothers from the doorway as he passed it, but thankfully they were looking away from the hall. Safe in his room, he closed the door as quietly as he could and sank onto his bed with relief. Seconds later there was a knock.

“Yep?” he yelled, quickly sticking his headphones half on his ears, to give a plausible cover for being blissfully unaware of the argument in the other room.

Sam cracked the door open. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“So you’re knocking on my door because?”

“What are you listening to?” Sam ignored his question and supplied his own.

“Beethoven’s Greatest Hits,” Micah lied, on the spot.