The Truth of Yesterday - 7. Chapter 7

Tad yanked his arm back suddenly, as if he'd been burned. The crowd came flooding back into focus as he hurried away. I started to call after him when I felt someone slip his arms around my waist from behind. I jerked my head back to find it was Micah.

"Who was that?" Although his voice was falsely bright, his eyes staring after Tad were troubled and distant. "Was someone trying to pick you up? I knew I shouldn't have left you alone."

I pulled away from Micah's embrace and turned to face him. "That was Razi's boyfriend," I said, matching his faux-cheerful tone as his eyes flew wide open in surprise and his mouth turned down sharply with dismay. "You remember Razi, don't you? You used to work together, after all."

"We need to talk."

"You think?"

"Killian, it's not what it seems."

"Oh, my mistake. Then, you weren't lying to me about having been a hooker?"

He looked as if I'd slapped him for a few seconds, then glanced around nervously. So far no one was paying us too much attention, although a few heads were beginning to turn as my voice climbed in volume. He turned his attention back to me. "I wasn't a hooker and I never once lied to you. We're not having this conversation here. Let's go."

He started toward the door but I didn't budge.

"So, what? You're not even going to hear what I have to say? You're just going to accept the word of a perfect stranger in a club?"

He had a point. I reluctantly let him draw me out of the room. A stunned guy fighting back tears as he was dragged through the hallways must not have been too unusual for Michelangelo, since we hardly garnered any attention during our exit.

As soon as we were in the relative quiet of the parking lot, Micah let go of my hand and turned to face me. "What exactly did that kid say to you?"

"He knew your name. He said you used to work with that guy Razi as an escort."

Micah's face fell. He took a deep breath and looked up at the sky.

My stomach dropped again. "He's telling the truth, isn't he?"

"I...I always said there was stuff in my past I wasn't ready to talk to you about. You knew that." He sighed. "Well, now it's not a secret anymore. Can you understand why I wasn't exactly eager to share that little piece of information out on our first date?"

"Our first date, maybe, but we've been seeing each other for months. When were you going to share it with me? Never?"

"I was going to tell you this weekend."

"Oh, please. You expect me to believe that?"

"I was. Ask Steve and Adam."

"Steve? Adam? What do they have to do with this? They know and I don't?"

"It's what we were talking about the other night when you came downstairs. They thought you'd be able to handle it if I told you about my past. I was planning on telling you while we were here."

"Adam and Steve found out before I did?"

"Will you stop twisting my words? I needed advice about this from someone who knows you." He looked around again. "Can we not discuss it here? I'd rather continue in private. I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise."

"Just get the car."

He reluctantly backed away a few steps before turning and jogging off.

"Men," a husky, smoke-and-acid-filled voice said from behind me.

I turned to find a tall, rail-thin black man leaning against the wall, a long cigarette between his fingers. He took a drag from the cigarette and released the smoke with his words. "What did he do, baby? Did you catch him with another guy?"

I shook my head in confusion.

"He'll explain all right. He'll have an answer for everything. I know his type. They think a handsome face can get them out of anything. Don't you fall for it."

"I..."

"A pretty boy like you could have any guy in this place. You remember that. Oh, and also remember that all men are dogs."

"I don't—"

A car pulled up behind me, and Micah called out, "Killian?" saving me from trying to think of a suitable reply.

I turned almost gratefully to climb in.

"Remember!" the guy shouted after me. "Dogs!"

"What was that about?" Micah asked as I slammed the door.

I turned my head and stared out the window. I was holding it together—for now. A meltdown wouldn’t help anything, and I knew it. But there was a lot to process, and I needed time to sort through it all before we got back to the hotel.

After making a couple more unsuccessful attempts to start a conversation, Micah lapsed into a tension-filled, uneasy silence that lasted until we were alone in our room.

"Do you want to talk?" he asked as soon as the door closed behind him.

"Oh, so now you want to talk."

"Killian, you're angry, and I can understand that."

"You're damn right, I'm angry."

"What are you mad about exactly? Is this about my past, because I wasn't ready to tell you, or because of the way you found out?"

As angry as I was, I had to admit that was a good question. Would I have been this upset if he'd told me himself? The answer was obviously no. I was pissed off because I'd heard it from some club kid. If he'd really discussed it with Adam and Steve — and that would be easy enough to verify — then maybe he really had intended to tell me over the weekend.

With rational thought came a sudden deflation. I felt the anger drain out of me as if someone had pulled a plug. I wasn't ready to stop being mad, though, damn it. The self-righteous indignation served as a sort of shield against the other things I was feeling.

With that gone, I was left with a terrible sense of vulnerability. The man to whom I had given my body that very morning used to do the same thing for money. I was extremely uncomfortable with the idea, to say the least.

My thoughts must have been written clearly on my face.

"I think I need to explain," he said, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

He patted a spot next to him, but I took the one chair in the room instead. I wasn't ready to be that close to him yet. "What's to explain? You used to sell yourself for sex."

Micah rubbed his face wearily. "It's not like that, Kill. You don't understand."

"You were a hustler, right? How hard is that to understand?"

"I wasn't a hustler. Or a hooker. It's not like I was standing on a street corner picking up tricks."

I shrugged. "Does the terminology really matter?"

"Yes. Yes, it does. There's a big difference, to me at least."

"Well, for God's sake, please educate me."

"I was an escort."

"I don't—"

"Hustlers work on the street. They're usually runaways, often just kids who get picked up by random johns and just barely earn enough to survive...or all too often support their drug habits."

"So...what? You only fucked rich guys for money? I'm still not seeing a big difference."

"It wasn't like that..."

"Then what was it like, Micah? You believe just because you, what, got a phone call instead of waiting on a street corner it somehow makes what you were doing better?"

He took a deep breath. "I think I'd better explain everything."

"I don't really want to hear any more, thanks."

"Please hear me out, okay? Please?"

I started to refuse again, but the guy’s voice from the club echoed in my head: “He’ll have an answer for everything.” What could it hurt to hear him out? Things couldn’t get much worse, and — who knew — maybe Micah’s explanation would help me make sense of it all. Unlikely, sure. About as likely as me sprouting wings. But at that moment, I figured I had nothing left to lose.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Micah sighed, staring down at his hands. Now that I’d agreed, he didn’t seem to know where to begin. After a few deep breaths, he finally spoke — haltingly.

“I told you my parents were supportive when I came out. I never had problems there, but we didn’t have much money, especially after the legal stuff with the guy who abused me...and all the therapy that came after. We got a settlement, but it wasn’t much, and it didn’t last. They used almost everything to pay for my first year of college. I had a few scholarships — academic ones — but they barely covered anything.

“I got a job at a pizza place, but it still wasn’t enough. The hours clashed with my classes, my grades started slipping, and I lost my scholarships. I was too proud to ask for help. I thought I’d have to drop out.”

He rubbed his face, and I knew we were heading into the harder part.

“Then this guy I knew from school — he suddenly had money. I mean real money. He used to be in the same boat as me, scraping by, so I figured he was dealing. One night, I’d had a few drinks and asked him about it. He said he had an offer I couldn’t refuse. Turned out, he’d started an OnlyFans. Said it was easy money.”

Micah shrugged. “So I gave it a shot. Figured I wasn't bad looking, so why not? Started with solo stuff, but then people started offering money for collabs. That’s actually how I met Paul — the guy I ended up dating...”

His voice faltered, and for a brief second, something flickered in his eyes — something raw. That wasn’t an old wound. It was fresh.

But he pushed on. “We got popular. As our following grew, people started offering us money to have sex with them — together or separately. We turned them down at first, but it was tempting. That’s when we were recruited.”

“Recruited?” I asked.

“By a high-end escort agency. One of our subscribers messaged us with a proposal. He said it was a classy operation — good pay, flexible hours, and you didn’t have to sleep with clients if you didn’t want to...though the money was a lot better if you did. He promised they’d work around my class schedule. I could earn in a week what I made on OnlyFans in six months.”

He looked up, checking my reaction. Inside, my stomach was a tangled knot, but I must’ve kept my expression neutral, because he went on.

“My view of sex back then wasn’t what it is now. You know about what happened with my neighbor. Even after years of therapy, I hadn’t worked through it all. I told you about that on our first date. So...what the guy was offering seemed like the perfect solution. We said yes.

“The agency would call with a job. If it fit my schedule, I’d take it. I went to museums, theater openings, dinners, yacht parties, even flew overseas a few times — places I never imagined I’d see. And yes, I slept with some of them...most of them. But I never did anything I wasn’t comfortable with. The money was unreal. It paid for school and gave me financial freedom I never thought I’d have.

“I quit after graduation and took the job in Salisbury. That’s when Paul and I broke up.”

That flicker of pain crossed his face again. The same one from earlier. Paul clearly still had a hold on him.

“What is it?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You keep flinching when you talk about him. Don’t keep more secrets. You loved him, didn’t you?”

He hesitated, but then: “Yeah. I did.”

“What happened?”

Micah ran both hands through his hair. “Things started breaking down during my last semester. I was getting serious about life after school. I wanted to move forward — with Paul. But he wasn’t ready. He wanted to stay in the business. I didn’t.”

He took a breath. “I went back to counseling. This therapist...she was good. The best I’d had. Or maybe I was just ready to hear what she had to say. She helped me realize how much I was still using sex — first looking for love, then for money. And that I needed to stop. That I needed a fresh start.”

He looked over at me. “When I graduated, I had job offers. One here in D.C., the other with the paper on the Shore. Paul begged me to stay. But I needed out — out of the city, out of that life. We fought. We cried. And in the end, I moved. I asked him to come with me. He said no.”

“So...he’s the guy you told me about before?”

He nodded.

I was quiet, trying to process all of it. One question still hung in the air. “Do you still love him?”

Micah sank his face into his hands. “Of course,” he said softly.

I swallowed. “Do you want to go back to him?”

His head snapped up. “What? No. Why would you even think—?”

“Because it hurts you to talk about him. I see it in your face.”

“I let go of Paul a long time ago,” he said firmly. “I’ll always care about him — he was my first love. But I wouldn’t have said I love you if I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t have started this relationship if I couldn’t give you everything. It’s like you and Asher.”

“Then why does it still hurt so much?”

Micah went quiet. For a moment, I thought he might cry. But he pulled himself together, just barely.

“The guy at the club,” he said finally. “Not the kid talking to you — the other one.”

“Razi?”

A flicker of disgust crossed his face. “Yeah, Razi. He used to work for the agency too. Left to go solo, like most guys do eventually. He and Paul were friends, though I never understood why. Paul insisted Razi had some deeper side...something worth saving.

“Razi thought I was back in D.C. because of Paul. He thought I already knew.”

"Knew what?"

Micah swallowed hard.

“Paul was killed a few days ago.”

"Oh!" I felt a rush of relief at that revelation, followed almost immediately by shame. "I...I'm sorry."

I knew I was blushing hotly even though there was no way Micah could have read my thoughts and known how callous they were.

"I don't expect you to feel bad," Micah said, making me feel worse. "It's not like you even knew him."

"Still, he meant something to you."

"But not to you. Look, I imagine you have a lot to sort out. I'm going to take a walk and leave you to your thoughts."

I started to protest that it wasn't necessary, but clamped my mouth shut when I realized how much I really did want to be alone for a while. Instead, I simply nodded, and he let himself out.

I threw myself onto the bed, giving in to a few minutes of unfiltered self-pity. In just one night, my fairy tale romance had curdled into something more like a twisted Brothers Grimm story — and it felt grim indeed. My Prince Charming wasn’t at all the man I thought he was.

Then, inevitably, the dragon of rational thought reared its ugly head. The truth was, nothing had actually changed. Micah was still the same man I’d been dating for months — the same one I’d trusted with my virginity just that morning. He hadn’t changed. The only difference now was that I knew more about him.

Still, hissed that bitter little voice inside me, he hid his past from you. He might not have lied, but he definitely didn’t tell the whole truth.

In fairness, countered the more reasonable part of me, he did say there were things about his past he hadn’t told you yet — and that he planned to tell you this weekend.

The fact remained: no matter how justified Micah felt in the choices he’d made, the truth about his past made me deeply uncomfortable. Maybe that was the small-town boy in me talking. Sure, Maryland was a blue state, but the Shore was still rural and deeply conservative. Was my reaction something I could get past?

I didn’t know.

But one thing I did know was that I still cared about Micah. That answer came easily — and with it, the ache in my chest intensified.

Emotionally and physically drained, I finally let go. My rational mind surrendered, and the tears came in waves — hot, bitter, self-indulgent. By the time I cried myself out, exhaustion pulled me down into the uneasy beginnings of sleep.

I awoke with a start when Micah let himself into the room. I glanced at the time and saw it was two o'clock in the morning.

"Where've you been?" I struggled to sit up, my mind still fuzzy from being awakened so abruptly.

"In an all-night coffee bar down the street. You weren't the only one who needed to think. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"S'okay."

He started undressing, and despite myself my heart began to beat just a little faster. He pulled back the blankets on his side of the bed and slid under the covers before turning his back to me.

I stared at his back for a while, then finally scooted over and draped my arm over him. His body stiffened for a moment, then he squeezed my arm and relaxed. Neither of us spoke, and, eventually, I drifted off into a restless sleep.

I woke up to a morning dreary enough to match my mood. The sky was leaden and heavy with the promise of a downpour before the day was out. Micah wasn't there, but a note he'd left on the desk informed me he'd gone for breakfast and would bring me something back.

I was just getting out of the shower when Micah returned carrying a small paper sack. "I got you a bagel with cream cheese. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine. Thank you." I turned away to get dressed.

I sensed him move up behind me and then felt his hands on my waist. I tensed up under his touch, and his hands fell away.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Not...really." I kept my back to him as I pulled on my clothes.

"Are we okay?"

"I don't know. Just give me some space, okay?"

"What's going on? Are we breaking up?"

"No!" I snapped. Then sighed. "I mean...I just need a little time to process."

"Process what? Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"And I love you. There. We just processed."

"It's not that simple, and you know it." I turned to face him. "If it was as easy as just saying those three words, I'd still be with Asher, and you'd still be with Paul."

Hurt flashed in his eyes at the mention of Paul's name. At least I thought that was the source of the pain until he spoke. "It always comes back to Asher, doesn't it?"

"What? Wait. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

"Like you said just last night that, while you would always love Paul, you've moved on. That's how it is for me when it comes to Asher. I loved him, but that wasn't enough to make it work. Same thing with you and Paul. If it wasn't enough for me and Asher, and it wasn't enough for you and Paul, how do we know it's enough for us now?"

He sighed and knuckled his eyes. "Just tell me what to do to make this right."

"I don't know. I don't think there's anything anyone can do. You can't just wave a magic wand and fix everything. I mean, nothing is really broken. It's just a lot to take in, you know? I'm trying."

"What is the problem exactly? That I didn't tell you? I'm sorry, Killian, but at least everything's out in the open now. There are no more secrets. We can rebuild the trust."

"That's not even it. Not really. I'm still a little hurt at the way I found out, but I know that wasn't really your fault. It was just totally shitty timing."

"Okay, but if that's not the problem, what is?"

"I'm just having a lot of trouble with the whole idea of you being an escort."

He sat down heavily on the bed. "Oh."

"I still just..."

"It's a part of my past. I can't change what happened, and I wouldn't if I could. I'm not ashamed of what I did, you know. It put me through college, and it's a big part of who I am today. I wouldn't be the same person if I hadn't gone through all that. I was good enough for you to fall in love with me. What's changed except you know more about me now?"

"In my head, I know you're right. My heart just needs to catch up. I think we should just go home. I need a few days to work through all this on my own."

"Oh, great. You're asking for the infamous break. Everybody knows that's the death knell for a relationship."

"Micah, I'm not breaking up with you. I'm not even asking for a break. I just need a few days. Can you give me that, please? This is a lot for me to take in. I mean, I'm just a dumb kid from the boonies."

"Don't sell yourself short, Killian. And don't sell us short either."

We finished packing in silence, and after a cursory look around the room to make sure we weren't leaving anything, we left. I grabbed the bagel on the way out. I just might need the sustenance for the long ride home.