Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(7)

“Excellent.” Sam left them to it.

“Excellent,” Dane mocked, and this time the gun’s sight didn’t waver over Micah’s avatar. He fired, and “Micah” disappeared in a spray of blood and bone.

“What the fuck?” Micah jumped up.

Dane shrugged, leapt to his feet and disappeared down the hallway, slamming his bedroom door behind him.

Micah switched off the console and the telly, and headed for the slim pickings of a sanctuary in his room as well.





Chapter 2


MICAH THREW himself down on his bed and activated FaceTime on his phone, hoping his mum would pick up.

She must have had her phone right by her; she picked up immediately. Relief flooded him when her face filled the screen. “Hi, honey!”

“Hey, Mum.”

“To what do I owe this wonderful pleasure of my famous son calling me of his own accord, twice in two days?”

“God, tone it down a bit, Mum. I always call you.”

Joanne nodded. “True. But you’ve been taking it up a notch lately. Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he lied. “Everything’s fine. Just wanting to touch base.”

“With little old us? I’m surprised you’d remember us, living in your palace by the sea.”

“The view’s nice.” He didn’t say what he ached to: that he would rather be in the boring outer suburbs of Melbourne with his family, nice view in Perth notwithstanding.

“You becoming a proper surfie?”

“Yep. Have my surfboard waxed and ready to ride the curl every morning, with The Beach Boys playing on my vintage record player.”

He actually was seeing a lot of the surf. The Dockers were firm believers in using Perth’s glorious beaches as training and recovery grounds for the players during the week. Micah had spent more time at the beach in the past two months than he had in his whole life.

“Groovy,” his mum said. “Oh wait, that was more of a sixties word, wasn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure surfing and The Beach Boys were still around in the sixties. Didn’t Charles Manson live with them at some stage?”

“Leave it to you to bring up the morbid side of surf culture.”

“And my work here is done. How are Dad and Alex?”

“They’re good. Waiting for you to play a game so they can brag about you appropriately.”

“There’s no way Alex would brag about a Dockers player.”

Joanne laughed. “I think you’ll be the exception.”

Hearing that made Micah feel a little warm and gooey inside—the nice way, not the “have to run to the toilet and unleash the furies of hell” way. “Maybe I should send him some merchandise, then, if he’s such a fan.”

A wicked grin appeared on his mum’s face. “Do it! And I’ll make sure I’m recording him when he opens it.”

That would be a sight to see. And it only made him feel more homesick. He knew he better sign off before his mother cottoned on to it. “Okay, Mum. It’s almost dinnertime here. The Mitchells are doing a barbie.”

“Okay. Enjoy yourself. Tell them I said hi.”

“I will. Love you.”

“I love you too, Micah.”

Micah deactivated the call just in time. He buried his head in his pillow and allowed himself the indignity of tears.




IT WAS the smell of the barbie firing up, and a gentle knock on the door that woke Micah. He sniffed appreciatively, anticipating the delights of the meal to come and yelled, “Come in!”

Rhonda Mitchell cracked open the door. “You decent?”

Micah sat up. “What on earth do you think I’m doing in here?”

“I don’t know.” She threw the door open and walked in. “I’ve had two teenage boys. I’ve learnt not to be surprised by anything.”

“Gross.”

“Yep. Were you asleep?”

“Yeah, I dozed off.”

“I was thinking you were avoiding us.”

“No, not at all,” Micah yawned. “I’m looking forward to the barbie.”

“You better. I think Pete has enough down there to empty an abattoir’s stock.”

Wow. Rhonda was really coming up with the stomach-churning statements this evening. “Lucky for me I’m starving, then, I guess.”

Rhonda smiled, but she didn’t make any attempt to leave.

Micah sat there, not knowing what to say.

Rhonda opened her mouth, ready to speak, and closed it again.

“Okay, Rhonda, spit it out.”

“I was just wondering, are we doing enough to make you happy?”

Micah wanted to groan, but restrained himself. He just didn’t need another well-intentioned Mitchell deep-and-meaningful right now—hadn’t Sam already fulfilled the quota for the day?

“You guys are doing everything for me,” he said. And it was true. They had welcomed him into their family, taken him out and showed him around the city, fed and watered him. Well, all of them except Dane, and he wasn’t exactly going to tell Dane’s mother that. If Sam knew, she most likely knew as well and was reading him the riot act in private.

Rhonda sat on the end of his bed, and he guessed he was in for the long haul. “But you don’t seem happy.”