“It’s mine, too.”
We all turned to see who’d spoken. Arlen stood nearby, still dressed in his expensive suit. His arrogant expression was gone though, replaced with a look of regret. “That part about turning on each other like two rats trapped in a cage is exactly right. No one will ever understand the pressure we were under. No one but you.”
Micah got up and crossed the lobby, and then he grabbed his brother in a hug. At first Arlen’s arms fell to his sides, but after a moment, he tentatively embraced his brother. Micah said, “I’m so fucking sorry, Arlen. Please forgive me.”
“Why couldn’t you have said that seventeen years ago?”
“Because I was twenty-two, arrogant, and full of anger, that’s why.”
When they let go of each other, Arlen stepped back and muttered, “You’re still a fucking mess.” It was a flimsy attempt at pulling some of his walls back up, but Micah didn’t take the bait.
Instead, he told his brother, “I know, but I’m working on getting it together. These two people are playing a big part in that.” Micah led his brother over to us and said, “Arlen, I’d like you to meet Peter Boseman, my probation officer. He won’t want to hear this, but he’s been like a father to me, and he’s really gone above and beyond to try to push me to get my life in order.” Boseman frowned at Micah as he shook hands with Arlen.
Then Micah turned to me and said, “And this is Jasper Gordon, the love of my life. I’m not worthy of him, not by a long shot, but he loves me anyway. Every single day, he makes me try to be a better man, because that’s what he deserves. He’s a miracle and an angel, and I absolutely adore him.”
Arlen and I appraised each other as we shook hands. He had the same dark eyes as his brother, but there was a weariness in his that wasn’t in Micah’s. It made me suspect the brother who seemed to have it all together wasn’t doing much better after all.
Then Arlen turned to Micah and said, “I need to get back upstairs, but I’m glad you stopped by.”
“Me, too. Keep in touch, Arlen.” His brother nodded, and then he turned and walked back to the elevators, while the three of us headed to the main door.
“He never apologized,” I said, as I took Micah’s hand.
“I know.”
“Didn’t you need to hear that from him?”
He thought about that, then said, “It would have been nice, but I don’t have control over what my brother says and does. All I could do was tell him I was sorry for my part in it.”
“You’re the better man,” Boseman muttered.
Micah flashed him a smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
His PO shot him a look and told him, “Don’t get used to it.”
When Boseman dropped us off at the house, we discovered Micah had left the front door unlocked. For once, this was a good thing, since neither of us had our keys.
As he closed the door behind us, Micah said, “I’m never going to complain about house arrest again. I was sure I was going to jail, so I’m profoundly grateful to be back here with you.”
I kissed him and said, “I’m so relieved. Who knew Boseman was secretly a good guy?”
“I should have realized it sooner. He’s all about tough love, but I guess he really does care.” As we climbed the stairs hand-in-hand, Micah said, “I’m going to take a shower. I’m all sweaty and disgusting.”
“Same here. I’ll meet you in your room once I get cleaned up.”
He asked, ‘Will you do something for me while you’re upstairs?” When I nodded, he said, “Open all the blue envelopes I’ve given you, in order.”
“I don’t—”
I started to say I didn’t want him to keep paying me, but he interrupted me by saying, “It’s important. Please just open them.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” That was awkward as hell and I didn’t know why he’d brought it up right then, but it clearly mattered to him for some reason.
Once I got to my room, I showered and put on a clean T-shirt and sweats before pulling the envelopes from my dresser drawer. There was a knot in the pit of my stomach. I hated this reminder that for the last eleven weeks, he’d been paying me to do a job.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, took a deep breath, and removed a check from the first envelope—the only one I’d opened earlier. He’d rounded up the amount to eight grand. That was one week’s salary—the two hundred thousand we’d agreed on, divided by twenty-six weeks, not counting the extra hundred thousand dollar bonus if I stayed until January.
Fuck, this sucked.
I tore open the envelope labeled week two, glimpsed another check inside it, and muttered, “Damn it, Micah. Why today, of all days, did you want me to open my paychecks?”