Micah Johnson Goes West (Get Out, #2)(9)

“Yeah, believe me, that’s never going to happen.”

Dane looked pissed, as if he couldn’t believe that someone wouldn’t want to be friends with him. He obviously wanted the power to lie with him, and to be the hater not the hated.

“Can you go away now?” Dane asked.

Who the fuck was this guy? “You do know the area outside your door is a public thoroughfare, yeah?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Just that I’m not trespassing on your property, dude. I mean, I could stand here all day.”

“Will you just fuck off?”

“All you have to do is shut your door, and you’re totally alone.” Micah knew he was being annoying, but Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, Dane was asking for it.

“I’ll know you’re on the other side.”

“Yeah, so be quiet when you’re wanking, or else I’ll hear you.”

Dane slammed the door in his face, and Micah laughed loud enough for him to hear.

At least he had stopped being homesick for three minutes.

But there were still twenty-three hours and fifty-seven minutes left in a day.





Chapter 3


ISSUES AT the Mitchell house with Dane aside, and also if you discounted missing life back in Melbourne, life in Perth couldn’t be thought of as that bad. Especially now that training seemed to be paying off, with his body growing leaner and stronger, the coach and the coaching staff being happy with his progress, and the preseason only days away. Micah had been told to expect he probably wouldn’t be named as part of the team—most rookies weren’t. In fact, a lot of rookies were lucky if they played five to ten games their first season.

And Micah being Micah, he let himself already believe that he wouldn’t be chosen. He still trained as if he would, because otherwise what was he there for? But he refused to even entertain the notion that he would play. It was a philosophy that had served him well in the past. If you expected the worst, you were never disappointed. In fact, he was sure Simon Murray had said it to him once. And if it wasn’t, then it definitely sounded like something Simon would say.

As soon as he got into training on Thursday, the assistant coach he had the most rapport with approached him and led him aside. Instantly, Micah was on edge—it was never a good sign.

“So what’s up, Nate?” Micah asked, nervously adjusting the strap on his gym bag. “Don’t soften the blow. Just tell me.”

Nate sized him up, his arms folded. He relaxed a little, and sighed. “Okay. You’re not making the cut this week.”

For all he had told himself he wouldn’t, Micah still felt like he had been punched in the gut. He cleared his throat so it wouldn’t croak and give away he was upset. “That’s okay. I didn’t think I would.”

“You’ve been doing really well. But the first game, even in the preseason, is pretty strenuous. Both physically and mentally. We just think it’s a bit too much for you right now.”

“You don’t think I can take the pressure?” Micah asked.

Nate clapped his hand on Micah’s shoulder and let it rest there. “Come on, mate. You know it’s your weak spot.”

Micah knew it better than anybody. But he didn’t like other people thinking it of him, even if it was true.

“I understand,” he said, in a monotone that still managed to give away he wasn’t happy.

“You’re not out of contention for next week, believe me. So don’t start underestimating yourself. That would be the worst thing you could do.”

A ruckus was happening in the change room. Micah and Nate both turned to see the other rookie, Daril Warnit, who was surrounded by a mass of teammates cheering him on excitedly.

“Okay,” Nate said. “That’s the other thing I had to tell you.”

“Daril’s playing.” Micah let him off the hook.

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda obvious now.”

“You think he can handle the pressure?”

“We think so.”

“Well, good for him.” And Micah actually meant it. He could only imagine how excited Daril would be. And he would have handled it much better if Micah had been picked to play before him. So Micah put on his big boy boots and entered the change room, heading for his locker. He swung his bag under the wooden bench and made his way to the edge of the crowd.

They fell silent when they noticed him standing there, but Micah didn’t let it stay that way. He crossed immediately to Daril, his hand outstretched. “Congratulations, mate.”

Daril shook it. “Thanks, mate.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be playing next week, Johnson,” Jimmy Hall said. He clapped Micah on the back, and Micah almost stumbled. The man had half a foot on him and about twenty kilos.

The boys began to disperse to their lockers, and Micah was left standing with Daril. They had been each other’s lifelines when they first came to Perth. Daril had even christened them the “tokens,” as they joked about being the token gay and token Aboriginal on the rookie list. It had given them something to bond over, especially when it came to the media and the fans who were placing the new boys under heavy scrutiny. Especially Micah, the latest and only the second (that was known) gay in AFL history.

“Jimmy’s right,” Daril said. “They won’t let you rest long.”