Soaring (Magdalene #2)(159)
Author: Kristen Ashley

I stared at him as he settled on his back.

Then I forced myself to reach to my light. I turned it out and settled myself, also on my back.

I stared at my ceiling.

My bed was big and for the first time ever with both of us in it, there felt like miles between us.

And Mickey didn’t reach out to me.

What was happening?

Before I could ask, he did. Pulling me to him, tangling us up, and I stifled my sigh of relief.

“You ever get anything back from your folks?” he asked.

I blinked at his throat in the dark.

Where did that come from?

“Well…” I started hesitantly. “Yes and no. They sent something through their attorneys but it’s just their way. They do stuff like that. It makes no sense. They’re angry with me for not taking their calls but that was months ago. They’ll chew on it awhile and get over it. Though,” I said with a smile, “the way it is with them in my life, it’s awful to admit, however true, that I’m kinda liking the reprieve.”

“Yeah,” he replied like he didn’t exactly believe me.

“It’ll be okay, Mickey,” I assured him. “They’ll get over it and then they’ll come out because it’s what you do, you spend time with your daughter and grandchildren. You’ll meet them. They’ll heartily disapprove of you. I’ll share that you’re Michael Patrick Donovan of the Magdalene Donovans who own Maine Fresh Maritime and they’ll stop heartily disapproving of you and start simply disapproving of you. Then Dad will attempt to talk Cillian out of his dreams of being a fighter pilot and into a role at Calway, which will drive you up a wall. In the end you’ll beg me to do something that will get us six more months of peace.”

I was joking.

He wasn’t laughing.

He just repeated, “Yeah.”

This troubled me at the same time the mention of Cillian being a fighter pilot reminded me that the first day the kids were off school, Mickey was taking them on a Christmas vacation to Phoenix. Something that was happening imminently.

He had not asked me to come, maybe because he knew I couldn’t considering my kids were with me. But we’d be separated for a week. We’d talked about planning some late Christmas celebration with all of us after they returned but we hadn’t nailed anything down.

I cuddled closer. “This night went so great, we should plan when we’re gonna do our belated family Christmas, honey.”

“After we get back. First day I have off when I got the kids. Your kids at my place.”

Decision made with no input from me.

His strange, highly unusual mood meant I didn’t challenge that.

Mickey was quiet.

I was worrying.

Mickey ended his silence.

“This goes the distance between us, my kids and me move in to Cliff Blue.”

My head tilted back instantly. “I’m sorry?”

He didn’t repeat himself.

He said, “You got enough rooms where the kids each can have their own space and you got that den for a guest bedroom just in case your brother or my folks come. I’ll sell my place, give you the profit. But I pay all utilities when we move in.”

“I…but…you…that’s…I don’t know—” I stammered but never finished the thought I didn’t quite get around to having.

Mickey interrupted me, “This market, I could make eight, nine hundred K off my house. That’s not a fifth of this place so I take over utilities so I feel I’m doin’ what I gotta do.”

“How about, when we get there,” I began carefully, “that we share things equitably? What you can do a percentage of what—?”

I stopped that time because his arms gave me a squeeze and his mouth added, “Don’t finish that, Amy.”

I said nothing further.

“Do what I gotta do,” he stated.

“Okay, Mickey,” I agreed but only because he was being so strange and it was scaring me.

“And not tough. Kids love this place. It’s nice. It’s big. You love it. And the tub doesn’t suck.”

That sounded more like Mickey so I again settled in and replied, “All that’s true.”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

I fell silent and in doing so, listened to Mickey fall asleep. No brush of the lips. No goodnight.

Nothing.

It took me longer but I fell asleep with him.

Mickey woke me with his mouth on mine, his hands pushing my nightie up my back and his lips saying, “Did a walkthrough. They’re all out.”

Then he kissed me.

Even half asleep, it was a kiss from Mickey so I kissed him back.

And thus commenced Mickey making love to me.

This was a surprise. We had not had any kind of intimacy that wasn’t shared through cell towers for weeks. I thought it would be intense and fast and astounding.

It wasn’t. It was slow and reverent and sweet.

We’d taken our time before. We’d enjoyed each other lengthily and thoroughly. I loved it when Mickey guided it to that, just as much as I loved it when we went at each other like teenagers.

But when he finally let me finish and then I took him there, he tangled us together, murmured “’Night, Amy,” and I again listened to my guy drift off to sleep.

I didn’t sleep myself.

Not a wink.

Because I’d been made love to like that before. Not as good, but Mickey was better with everything.

It had been the night before Conrad left me.

So no, I didn’t sleep.

Not a wink.

* * * * *

“Okay, what is your problem?”

I jerked out of my reverie at Alyssa’s question.

She, Josie and me were sitting together having lunch at Weatherby’s. It was two days after Christmas. Mickey and his kids were returning the next day. My kids had ended their rift with their father and went to him the afternoon of Christmas day (as was his turn) and with my blessing had been staying with him since.

So I had been suddenly and unusually alone.

Alone enough to finally come to terms with what was happening.

The last real conversation I’d had with my guy, he’d shared that if what we “went the distance” he was moving his family into Cliff Blue with me.

But it bore repeating, that was the last real conversation I’d had with my guy.

He’d been gone for a week in Phoenix with his kids but even before he left, he had removed himself from me.

And after he left, I heard more from Cillian and Ash than I did from Mickey, not only through their constant communications with my kids via texts and calls, but directly to me (via mostly texts).