The Forever of Ella and Micha (The Secret #2)(25)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

I shake my head with honesty. “No.”

The thumb of his free hand travels down my side and along each rib before settling on my hipbone. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he moves his mouth toward my breast and my eyes close as he takes my nipple in his mouth.

“Oh my God,” I moan as ecstasy shoots up between my legs and coils through my stomach as my back curves into him. “Micha…”

He releases my arms, and before an objection departs my lips, his picks me up and smashes his lips into mine. I vice-grip my legs around his h*ps and my lips open willingly, allowing his tongue to enter my mouth for a heart-stopping kiss. Backing toward the sofa blindly, his hands feel all over my skin, leaving a trail of heat everywhere.

“Not on the couch,” I murmur. “Lila and Ethan could be back at any moment.”

He gives a glance at the front door and then turns us in the direction of the hallway. His fingers sneak up the bottom of my panties and cup my ass as he kicks his bedroom door open hard with his foot and the doorknob bangs into the wall. Without our lips parting, we fall onto the mattress with a bounce. Giggling, my fingers slide down his hard chest and to the button of his jeans, but he halts my hand with his.

“Ella, maybe we shouldn’t,” he says, blinking dazedly through the alcohol.

I manage to slip my other hand down the front of his jeans and his breath falters. “You don’t want me?” I ask.

Sucking a sharp breath through his nose, his head slumps forward as I rub him and drive him crazy. “Trust me, that’s not it. I think we…”

I hit the right spot and all his thoughts drift away. His lips pursue mine again and he kisses me freely as his hand slides down my stomach and to the edge of my panties. Hooking his finger into the top, he yanks them down my legs and when they reach my feet, I kick them off.

Instead of his lips returning to my mouth, they endeavor to my stomach just above my belly button. Smoothing kisses down my skin, his warm tongue licks a path all the way down and my legs open up so his tongue can slip inside me and my mind becomes even foggier.

When my eyes open, sunlight filters into the room and my head is pounding. A blanket is bunched up over me and my pores feel icky. Wiping the sweat from my cheek, I sit up and glance down at the signed Silverstein T-shirt covering my body.

A smile breaks through as I spot a folded-up piece of paper on the pillow beside me and pick it up. Micha’s handwriting is scribbled across the lines in red ink.

Hey beautiful,

So that was quit the drunken night… never done one of those with you before. I think I might have a new song to add to our list.

Anyway, don’t get all worked up. I stopped it before it got too far, in case you can’t remember. I didn’t want you to have to suffer through a drunken mistake. Trust me, I’m an expert at them and they’re not fun.

I hate to bail on you, but I got to go to work. I’ll stop by your place later. And you can keep the shirt. It looks better on you anyway.

Love you more than life itself, more than the sun and the air.

You own my soul, Ella May.

Micha

Still smiling, I climb out of bed and slip my jeans on. Leave it to Micha to sign a letter like that. He’s always had such a poetic way with words and his beauty shines with each letter.

Grabbing my shirt off the floor, I depart for the front door, folding up the note carefully and tucking it safely into the back pocket of my jeans. I feel light, even though I’m hungover. I don’t regret what happened, although it would have been nice if we were sober. The feeling is strange, but maybe that means I’m getting better at dealing with life.

The living room is trashed, beer bottles all over the floor and coffee table, and there’s an empty Bacardi bottle on the table, along with scattered poker cards. Getting a garbage bag from the kitchen drawer, I rack my brain for where my phone and purse are. I remember being at the club, Micha playing on stage, and then coming here and his hands all over me. My eyelids drift shut as I remember every moment of it.

“Only One” by Yellowcard begins playing from somewhere in the room and my eyes snap open. With my ears perked up, I follow the sound, which guides me to the couch. Under a frayed throw pillow is my phone. My eyebrows scrunch as I scoop it up, not recognizing the ringtone. When I glance at the screen, however, it makes sense.

I answer the phone. “Did you change my ringtone for you?”

His laughter fills the other end of the line. “It seemed fitting this morning.”

“It seems like you’re trying to send me a message through your notes and your song choice.” I collect a bottle from off the top of the television and drop it into the bag. “You know I’m not mad about last night, right? I was sober enough that I can remember stuff… You don’t have to feel guilty.”

“I don’t feel guilty,” he assures me over banging in the background. “I’m glad last night happened. The note and the song were my way of sending you a message.”

Bending down, I pick up an empty beer carton and toss it into the bag, then tie it shut and drop it outside the front door, leaving the door open to grab my purse, which is near the television. “What message?”

“That’s for you to figure out.”

“And what if I can’t figure it out?”

“You will,” he responds. “But whether or not you say it out loud is a whole other story.”

He’s right. I already have it figured out, but saying it out loud is something I can’t quite do.

“You’re being very cryptic.” Stepping outside into the warm sunshine, I shut the front door and drag the garbage bag down the stairs with the bottles clinking together. At the bottom, my eyes scan the parking lot. “How am I supposed to get home?”

“You could stay there until I get home,” Micha offers. “Or better yet, you could just move in.”

My lungs compress, reducing the flow of oxygen as his heavy words crumble my mood. “I have to get home. I have a class tonight.”

“Since when do you have class at night?” he questions. “Are you just saying that because of my little moving-in remark?”

I don’t bother picking up the bag as I trudge toward the Dumpster and heave it inside. “No, I really have class,” I lie. “I’ll call you a little bit later, okay? I need to find a ride home.”

“Alright.” His tone is clipped. “I’ll talk to you later, I guess.”

He hangs up before I can and it leaves me feeling hollow, like a part of me has been removed. Shaking the sensation away, I punch Lila’s number into the keypad.

“Well, look who decided to finally wake up,” she answers with humor radiating from her voice. “Did you do the walk of shame?”

“Micha and I didn’t have sex, Lila,” I respond in a snippy voice and then, feeling terrible, apologize. “I’m sorry. I’m just hungover or something. And I need to get home and lay down, but I don’t have a ride.”

“You could take the bus.” She pops a bubble into the phone. “Although I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“How did you get home?” I press my fingertips to the brim of my nose as my headache from hell surges.

“Ethan gave me a ride.” A door slams and I hear keys hit the counter. “I was actually just out to lunch with Parker.”

“I thought you were done with him.”

“Hey, he insisted.”

I start toward the exit that is situated near a brick wall. “Alright, I’ll track down a bus.”

“God luck with that. And watch out for the licker,” she jokes with an evil laugh. “Keep your elbows tucked in and stay away from the back of the bus.”

“Ha-ha, you’re a freaking riot,” I say derisively. “Talk to you later.”

I drag my exhausted legs toward the Starbucks at the corner of the street. After I have some caffeine in my system, my brain turns back on. But by the time I reach the apartment and recollect what made me drink that much in the first place, all I want to do is go to my room, turn the lights off, and sleep for an eternity. The letter from my dad still lies on the coffee table, unopened.

“Are you ever going to open that?” Lila appears in the doorway, dressed in a blue dress and heels that match. Her blonde hair is curled around her face and pinned by a few diamond barrettes.

Slipping off my sandals, I drop down on the couch and stare at the white envelope addressed to me. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Clipping an earring in, she sits down beside me on the couch. “Ella, can I ask you something?”

I shrug and cross my feet up on the table. “I guess.”

She picks up the letter and flips it over to the back. “What are you so afraid of? With this letter? With Micha? With life?”

“Feeling it all—losing it all,” I say and her face twists. “It’s nothing. I’m just not sure what my dad is going to say and it kind of worries me.”

Lila doesn’t know about what happened with my mother. She knows she passed away, but not the circumstances leading to her death. Only my dad, Dean, and Micha know that haunting secret and I plan on keeping it that way.

I tear the envelope, taking a deep breath, and unfold the paper, telling myself that I can handle whatever’s in there. That I’m stronger than I used to be.

Ella May,

I want to start off by saying I’m sorry for everything. And I mean that. I’ve been sober for almost a month now and they took me off the meds. My head’s clear and I don’t like what’s in it, especially everything related to you.

My therapist had me write down everything I regretted in therapy yesterday and it all seemed to be about you. It was like we all piled our garbage on you to clean up and it never should have been that way. The more I wrote, the more I realized you never really had a childhood. All those times I spent at the bar, I was being nothing but selfish. I’m a terrible father who put everything on his daughter, for no other reason than I didn’t want to be an adult.

That night was not your fault. You were seventeen and I was the adult. I should have been home with her, but Jack Daniels was much more important and easier to deal with.

I knew how bad she was, more than you’ll ever understand, and deep down I knew I was wrong when I left you in charge that night. Now that my head is clear, I can imagine how hard it must be for you to deal with. All the pain you have to be feeling. I keep thinking about the pain in your eyes the last time I saw you and it eats away at me.

I’m sorry, Ella. For ruining you childhood, for taking away your happiness, and just for messing up your f**king future.

I love you.

Dad

“What the f**k am I supposed to do with this?” My hands shake as I clutch the letter in my hand. Tears pour out of my eyes as I force my lungs to breathe in and out as a wall around me crashes to the ground.

Chapter 15

Micha

I don’t know why I got so pissed off at Ella this morning on the phone, other than sometimes things between us feel hopeless. I love her and I know she loves me, but sometimes I don’t think she does as much. It hurts when I analyze it.