Restless Night (Insomniac Duet 1)

PEYTON

I really wantedto say no to Micah when he asked me to Teddy’s after work. But the severity in his eyes wouldn’t let the word slip between my lips. When I said I would think about it, I hoped my resolve would strengthen. That the word no would fall from my tongue with greater ease.

Alas, it did not.

Which leads to now. Me, parking my SUV and getting out to join Micah inside the bustling diner up the street.

We step inside and the hostess seats us right away. More than half the tables are occupied. Conversation and laughter erupt from all corners and the spaces between. The hostess seats us near a back corner. The two tables near us empty.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me here again.”

I nod and scan the menu. Although I always order the same thing, I feel a change of pace might be nice. Just as the server steps up and deposits water glasses on the table, I decide on the two egg breakfast with crispy bacon, home fries, and a biscuit. Micah orders the same as last time and we both ask for coffee.

The server takes our menus and wanders off to check on another table before going to the kitchen.

“So, why’d you ask me here?”

Micah fiddles with the edge of the paper placemat and avoids my gaze. His reluctance to speak or make eye contact has me curious and a little on edge. Since last weekend, Micah has been… different. Quieter. Hesitant whenever he gets within twenty feet.

This side of Micah piques my interest. What makes a man like Micah Reed soft?

“First and foremost,” —he finally meets my eyes— “I want to apologize.”

Is this the apology? An apology fifteen years overdue, but necessary. Is Micah Reed about to apologize for being one of the most epic assholes?

Slow down, Peyton. Best not to assume and get my hopes up. For all I know, the apology may have something to do with Roar.

“For?” I clutch the hem of my shirt beneath the table until my knuckles burn and nails bite my skin through the fabric.

His lips tilt up a fraction at the corners. The smile loaded with sympathy and regret.

This is it, isn’t it? The moment. Would it be wrong to take out my phone, open the camera, switch it to video, and record this moment for posterity? Would he tell me to not act so childish? Tell me to take the moment seriously?

When you wait for a moment such as this for more than a decade, wanting to document it isn’t strange. After living with self-doubt and being taunted for years, wanting to replay the moment one of the instigators apologizes is not wrong.

“I think you know what for.” He tilts his head and holds my gaze with watery eyes.

“Humor me.”

He yanks his hand from the paper placemat that now misses bits of the lower right corner. His hands drop to his sides. And by the way he shifts, I wonder if he now sits on his hands.

“Peyton, I was young and stupid. What I did to you… What those girls provoked me to do to you…” He drags his lips between his teeth and looks to the side for the count of three before meeting my gaze. His eyes red and veiny. “I’m sorry for the things I said to you and about you in high school. They weren’t true. It was all a ruse to make a jealous, egotistical girl feel better about herself. It was wrong of me to say and I am truly sorry.”

Frozen is the only rational term to explain my physical and mental state. Frozen.

Micah Reed just apologized. To me. Of his own volition. He admitted his words and actions were wrong and cruel and hateful. The bidding of a girl—a bully—who would do whatever it took to make those not in her circle feel worthless. But he owned the role he played in it all.

Nervous energy zips through my limbs and begs for me to jump off the seat. To garner the attention of everyone in the diner. To scream at the top of my lungs, “Micah Reed apologized.” The words I’m sorry left his lips and hit my ears.

Weight lifts from my shoulders. My teenage self sags with a sigh in my mind. His apology doesn’t wash away all the hurtful words and unkind acts he and his group of friends enacted. But his apology heals some of the old wounds that marred my heart long ago.

I hold his gaze as I stretch out my fingers. His normally bold blue eyes are dull and damp. Lips firmly tucked between his teeth as he fights his body’s inclination to cry.

This apology is real. From the heart. Sincere and honest. Exactly what I waited all this time to hear.

“Thank you.”

He sucks in a breath, then turns his head to the side. A hand meets the cheek not facing me and swipes. Then a tear rolls down the other cheek and I drop my eyes to the table. Grab my napkin-rolled silverware and unravel it. Toy with the tacky napkin band. Organize my silverware on the placemat—fork on the left, knife on the right, spoon at the top.

I give him this moment. Let him soak it up. Give him a chance to process the reality of what happened years ago, bask in the ownership he just took, and the apology only he could deliver. Couldn’t have been easy. Owning the atrocities of your past never should be.

Once he collects himself, though, I have questions.

The server stops at the table, grabs each of our empty mugs in turn, and fills them with coffee. Then sets a thermal carafe on the table and walks off.

Micah tears open several packets of sugar and dumps them in his mug while I add one and some creamer. Our spoons clink the mugs in tandem with each other. Like synchronized swimmers, we both lift our mugs, blow on the steamy caffeine and sip the nectar of the gods. Although, I still don’t understand how he tastes the coffee with that much sugar.

He sets his mug in the center of the placemat but doesn’t remove his hands. Eyes on his thumbs as he paints them along the rim. Then he meets my gaze. His addictive lapis-blue eyes still a bit dull, but more beautiful. Raw. Real.

I swallow and try to quell the flurry rising and expanding in my chest.