Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(5)

He quickly used the outdoor shower to wash away the salt on his skin, and back at the car, he laid a towel upon the seat so it wouldn’t get too wet. He blasted the air conditioning as he drove “home,” not caring how cold it made him.

The Mitchells lived near the beach. Sam obviously made more money and had a better line of credit, because his mortgage had to be huge. If you went to the second floor and onto the various balconies, you could see the ocean. Micah was glad his room was up here, although he didn’t get that view from his bedroom. It meant he spent a lot of time in the lounge, reading or surfing the net on the balcony. Only he and Dane lived up here, and Dane made an effort to keep out of his way, so it was almost like he had his own flat. Their parents were on the first floor, and Sam and Maia had the rather luxurious “granny flat” out behind the pool. Even if you lived that close to the ocean you still needed a pool. Perth people loved their water.

Micah should never want to leave. Everything was here.

Except his family. His friends. His boyfriend.

Ex boyfriend.

As Micah rolled into the driveway, Sam was standing at the end as if he was waiting for him. His blond hair glinted in the sun, making him look like a model for Billabong surf wear. What with his girlfriend, his family, his house, and his career, Micah felt like he should have resented Sam.

But he already felt too attached—Sam was the older brother he had always wanted for himself, instead of having to be the older brother. But with that came Sam’s mother-hennish nature. And Micah felt he was in for a lecture.

“Hey, Micah,” Sam said, pleasantly enough.

Micah slammed his car door and activated the locks. “Hey.”

“Have you been at the beach?”

“Yeah. Went for a drive and a swim.”

“You should have told me. I would have come.”

Micah coloured as he thought of the real reason he had gone out, and what Sam might have thought of those activities. Micah wouldn’t be lying if he admitted that Sam was uncomfortably good-looking, and before he had gotten to know him better, Micah had been slightly perturbed by Sam’s ease around him, both in the house and the change rooms at the stadium. Not that he had thought Sam was coming on to him, just that he was trying a little too hard to be cool with the first out gay on his team.

“It’s okay. I wanted some alone time.”

He dreaded seeing a look of concern on Sam’s face. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Talk?” Micah asked, in a faux jovial tone. “We’re manly footballing men! We don’t talk!”

“Some of us do,” Sam said. “That’s one of the reasons why I was chosen to take you in.”

“I’m fine, really.” Micah attempted to get past him. “I need a proper shower.”

In fact, he dreaded just how much information Sam might be able to drag out of him. He was an expert conversationalist, and over many a late-night beer, he had managed to coax personal details out of Micah that had taken others years to learn, and often with force. Or maybe Micah had never been plied with alcohol before. Hang on, that surely wasn’t in the dealing with your AFL foster brother handbook! Not with the AFL’s crackdown on any kind of illicit substance.

“You’re not fine.” Sam gently placed a hand on his chest to stop him disappearing.

Oh, God. What if he had been following him? No, surely he wouldn’t go that far.

“I told you, I am.” Micah was sure there was a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, an inescapable sign of obfuscation.

“Are you homesick?”

That was why he thought Micah was acting strangely? Come to think of it, maybe he was partly right. He sure wasn’t acting normal. Or, at least, even normal for Micah Johnson, former tearaway, runaway, and fucker-upper.

Former? That was a laugh.

“Of course I am.”

Sam seemed to visibly relax—as if he thought that was the solution to all of Micah’s problems. “Of course you are. It’s expected. But cutting yourself off from the rest of us isn’t the way to handle it, kid.”

Micah wanted to bristle at the use of the word “kid,” but honestly it coincided with the feeling that Sam was like an older brother so he kind of liked it. It also reminded him of Declan Tyler, and made Micah miss him even more. Sam had to have big shoes to try and fill in for Dec.

“I’m not cutting myself off,” Micah said. “Really. It’s just, sometimes, I need to be by myself. It’s how I deal.”

“Well, maybe you need to change that.”

“But it works for me.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s not. Because you’re still miserable, and nothing’s changing. It’s not just us, here at home, who think it. The chiefs think so as well.”

“The chiefs” was the nickname given to the coach of the Dockers and the other bigwigs who controlled their destinies as if they were some amorphous blob with one distinct personality.

“They have nothing to worry about.”

“They do, actually. It’s not like they haven’t seen this before. And get nervous about what could happen next.”

Micah began to feel irritated. “What do you want me to do?”

“You’ve got to want to do it as well, or else it will never work. You need to engage more. Bond with the team. Bond with my family. Maybe then you won’t feel so alone.”