The Secret 05 Ella and Micha: Infinitely and Always (2 page)

Ella

Poor Micha. He looks so sad and has for quite a while. It nearly kills me to see him so depressed, especially since I know firsthand how dark depression can be. I still struggle with my own sadness here and there, particularly when I’ve been alone for too long. I’ve learned how to be strong, though, to support Micha and his dream like he’s done for me.

“I need to find a way to help him,” I mutter to myself as I sit at the dimly lit bar, drinking an ice-cold beer while waiting for Micha to finish up signing for the fans.

The bar is attached to the space where the concert took place. The area has been cleared out, most of the lights turned off, and the air is ghostly quiet. The silence is soothing to me along with the alcohol in my veins. I needed soothing tonight after a crazy fan tried to put me in my place on the way backstage. Micha has gotten enough publicity that the hardcore fans recognize me now.

“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” she sneered as the bouncer moved aside to let me through.

Choosing to ignore her, I tucked my identification into my back pocket and headed for the door.

“Excuse me. I’m talking to you.” She reached over the roped area and grabbed my hair. Yes, actually freaking grabbed my hair!

When my head whipped in her direction and my hands balled into fists, she let me go.

“Touch me again, and that face of yours won’t be so pretty anymore.”

The bouncer stepped in then and shoved her back, but she made sure to get in her final words.

“He slept with me, you know!” she cried out as she stumbled back from the rope. “You’re husband. And he fucking loved it. He loves me.”

She was short and curvy with wavy blonde hair and wearing too much eye shadow. So not Micha’s type.

Rolling my eyes, I slipped into the building and let the door slam shut behind me. I was pissed off. Irate. It’s not like I believed her. I know Micha well enough to know he would never cheat on me. Plus, when I was on the road with him in the past, there were a lot of fans that said the same thing, even though I was with him. It’s still a lot to take in sometimes, and there’s a part of me—one I’ll never tell Micha about—that wishes he’d find a way to leave the touring behind and be home with me more.

I love him enough not to say anything, though, not to crush his dream.

Despite all the drama tonight, it was still amazing to see him perform. I sometimes wonder how he does it, how he stands in front of a thousand rowdy fans, so at ease. Well, he used to be, anyway. Tonight, he seemed restless to get off the stage and much less eager than he normally is to sign autographs.

“You’re Micha Scott’s wife, right?” the dark haired, late twenties bartender interrupts my thoughts as she appears in front of me.

I hesitate. If I’ve learned anything over the last couple of years, it is that it’s not necessarily a good thing in the female world to be the wife of a sexy rockstar. Hence, the crazy blonde tonight.

“Relax,” she says as if sensing my edginess. “I swear I’m not some crazy fan. Just making sure you’re not a customer, so I can lock up the bar.”

“Oh.” I nod then swallow the last gulp of beer. “Yeah, go ahead. I’m just waiting for him to…” I flick my hand in the air, searching for a word that would describe what Micha does. Even though I can’t see him right now, I’ve observed enough signings that I can perfectly picture the dazzling smile he offers each person, both male and female.

“Quit charming everyone,” the bartender finishes for me as she collects the empty beer bottle.

“Yeah, I guess that’s kind of what he’s doing.” I thoughtfully smile as I glance over at the stage. All that’s left of tonight’s concert is a piano and two large speakers. A man wearing black pants and a T-shirt is closing the curtain, and the stage slowly slips from my view.

“You can hang around here if you want to,” the bartender says as she pops the cap off another beer and sets the bottle opener down. “I’m sure it gets a little intense being around all those swoony females.”

I raise my eyebrows and laugh. “Yeah, it kind of does.”

She flips one of her dark locks off her shoulders then rests her arms on the counter. “I totally understand. I used to date this drummer, and I got some of the nastiest looks while we were going out. And sometimes, they’d even send me notes.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there, too. In fact, for about two months last year, I kept getting threatening texts from someone who was clearly in love with Micha. We had to change my number, it got so bad. I wish they’d just chill out and focus on his music instead of him.” Usually, I’m not so chatty, but I guess I’m lonelier than I thought.

“I hate to break it to you, but the more popular Micha gets, the worse it’ll probably become,” she says. When I frown, she adds, “Don’t worry. All you have to do is ignore them. And trust your husband, too.” She smiles as she offers me the beer. “Here, this one’s on the house.”

“Thanks.” I oblige, taking the bottle from her, wondering if she’s right. Will things get more intense the more popular Micha gets? If so, things are going to suck balls.

The bartender begins wiping the counters off while I sip on my beer and stare at the television screen. By the time the bartender says good-bye and heads out, telling me the owner of the bar will lock up after all the bands have cleared out, it’s been almost two hours since I sat down.

Mike said Micha would only have to sign for one hour. Then again, Mike usually feeds Micha shit just so he’ll be more cooperative.

I finish my beer, growing more restless with each minute that ticks by. Eventually, I get up from the barstool and wander across the floor and under the balcony of the bar toward the stage. I hoist myself up onto the stairs then roll under the curtain and lie on my back. I briefly stare up at the domed ceiling before I push to my feet and take a seat on the bench in front of the piano. My fingers lightly graze the keys, the off-key noise echoing in the emptiness around me.

It’s not that I’m alone a lot. I have Lila and Ethan at home. My brother Dean and his wife Caroline visit occasionally, and they bring my niece Scarlett, who has so much energy it’s impossible to have enough downtime to focus anything. Plus, when I get really restless, I sometimes fly up to Star Grove and visit my father and his girlfriend.

I do feel lonely, though, a lot more than I like to admit. It’s not like I’d ever leave Micha over having to live alone. I knew what I was getting into when I married him. It would just be nice if the tours would ease up just a tiny bit so we could actually spend more than a few weeks together every few months.

“Ella, what are you doing up here?” Micha suddenly says from behind me.

I spin around on the bench, startled so badly my heart slams against my chest. “Jesus, you scared me,” I say breathlessly. Then I lower my hand and savor the sight of him.

Dressed head to toe in black, he nearly blends in with the inadequate lighting of the stage. My fingers twitch to feel the muscles of his lean body and his soft, sandy blonde hair that hangs in his aqua eyes. My lips are desperate to taste his lip ring. God, I fucking love that lip ring.

He softly chuckles. “You know, I could take a picture if you want. It’ll last longer.”

I smile up at him. “I just might ask you to do that.”

He moves around the bench and plops down beside me. His fingers align with the keys, and the notes he creates sound a lot more like music than the noise I was just making.

“You looked sad,” he tells me as he rests his fingers on his legs.

I shake my head as I turn around on the bench and face the piano again. “No, I was just bored and passing time.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers enfold around my knee. “You know you can talk to me about anything, including if you’re sad or if some blonde crazy girl said something to you that was completely inappropriate.”

“How did you find out about that?”

“Jerry, the bouncer, told me about her.” He sighs. “I’m so sorry she said that stuff to you. You know it’s not true, right?”

“Of course I know it’s not true. Micha, trust me, if I’ve learned anything about our relationship over the last six years, it’s that I can trust you and tell you anything. And I didn’t tell you about crazy Blondie because it doesn’t matter. You love me—that’s what matters.” I bring my leg up and rest my chin on my knee. “Now, enough talk about me. It’s your turn for
you
to tell
me
what’s wrong. Because I know there’s something bothering you.”

He stares at his fingers massaging my kneecap. “I hate burdening you with my problems.”

I cup his scruffy cheek and force him to look at me. “It’s never a burden. I promise.”

He swallows hard. “I think I’m just tired.”

“Of this?” I point at the stage.

“Maybe, not necessarily the singing part, but the touring part, Mike, the label … They're all getting on my nerves.” He turns around in the seat and stretches his legs out as he reclines back against the piano. “They’re trying to change my image. They want me to turn into the cliché, tortured, slutty, rock singer.”

“I’m so sorry.” I lace my fingers through his. “You know I’m here for you, whatever you do or whoever you choose to be.”

He brushes his hair out of his aqua eyes. “I know you are.” He smoothes the pad of his thumb across my black-stoned wedding ring. “I just worry that, if I make the wrong choice, I’ll ruin our future.”

“Our future’s going to be fine.” I give his hand a squeeze, fighting back the tears. More tours? A sluttier image? Yeah, there goes any hope for incidents like with the blonde hair puller to stop. “Even if you have to be a slutty manwhore.”

He snorts a laugh as he traces the folds in his fingers. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you think so.” He flips my hand over and sketches the lines of my palm. “Okay, enough sad talk. Tell me something new.”

I rack my brain for a response. “Um, well, Lila and Ethan bought a new car.”

He stares blankly at me. “That’s all you got? Come on, pretty girl, I want some happy news.”

I shrug. “Sorry. Nothing’s really happened. Us common folks live pretty boring lives.” I search for something else to tell him, something better. “Oh, yeah.” I smack my free hand against my forehead. “Dean and Caroline are having another baby.”

“Really?” He doesn’t seem as happy as I’ve thought he would, his lips twitching to turn downward. “When?”

“I think she’s just over three months pregnant, so she’ll have the baby in April.” I study his expression carefully, wondering what’s troubling him now.

He bobs his head up and down, nodding distractedly as he develops a sudden interest in his boots. “That’s nice. I’ll have to make sure to call and congratulate them.”

“Make sure to sound more happy when you do, though.” I’m not sure what to say to him. Either he’s still sulky over his job or about the fact that he’ll soon have another niece or nephew and still no daughter or son. I wish I could fix both for him; but, the first problem is out of my hands and the second I’m just not ready to deal with yet. Yes, I love him more than anything, but my fear of being a mother is still astronomical.

A slow breath eases from his lips as his gaze collides with mine. “Sorry. I’m being a downer, aren’t I?” He leans toward me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “That isn’t fair to you after you flew across the country to see me.”

“Micha, you should know by now”—I press my lips together, trying not to laugh as I prepare to quote a line from one of his songs—“that
I would travel to hell and back just to be with you
.”

“Ha, ha,” he says playfully, sticking out his tongue. “You wound my heart, Ella May. I wrote those lyrics for you and you mock me with them.”

“I’m not mocking, just having fun—”

He cuts me off as he nips at my bottom lip, eliciting a soul-bearing groan from me. He slowly starts unbuttoning my shirt, picking up the pace the farther down he gets until he finally becomes so impatient he rips the fabric off.

“I miss your kisses the most.” I willingly lean against the piano as he unfastens my bra and urges me back.

He quickly stands up to tug his shirt over his head and then places an arm on each side of me as his body hovers over mine. “I miss everything the most,” he says before he kisses me. “All the fucking time. I swear to God, I need to see you more.”

My legs fasten around his waist as the ivory keys dig into my flesh. My fingers trace the outlines of his muscular stomach, the inscription of his tattoos, feeling his heart slamming erratically against his chest.