Hapless by Therese Woodson Read Free Book Online

about a White Christmas.
    Micah ran a hand through his hair, ducked his head, his cheeks stained pink. He bit his lip, and fuck, he was beautiful.
    “You know I love you, right? Like… I know I’m not as good at showing it as you are. I don’t plan hockey games or carriage rides, but all the decisions I’ve made, like not going back to Michigan when I graduated and taking the job at the hospital and all of that was with our future in my head.”
    Ty frowned. He reached over and clasped Micah’s twitching hand. His palm was clammy. “I know, Micah. Okay? I know.”
    He blew out a breath. “That’s awesome. Really awesome. Because I need to ask you something.”
    Micah slid off the couch to one knee. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box.
    Ty’s pulse skyrocketed and his mouth flapped open.
    “Will you—”
    Ty jumped to his feet, the afghan falling to the floor, and in the movement hit the coffee table. The mugs of cider tipped over and splashed everywhere, making dark puddles on the carpet. Micah fell back onto his ass, startled, clutching the ring to his chest.
    “No!” Ty shouted because… because he was supposed to be the one proposing. Not Micah, and Micah needed to not talk for a second, for a minute, while Ty recalibrated. He shook his head and held out his hands, fingers splayed in the universal sign of “fucking stop, please!”
    Micah looked up with wide eyes, like Rudolph in headlights. His expression morphed from mortified to crestfallen to livid in the space of seconds.
    Ty was going to puke, and his stomach swooped like he was in free fall because he suddenly realized what he said, what he had done. He’d fucking ruined everything again, and a lump lodged in his throat because he had turned down the love of his life by accident .
    Slowly Micah stood and snapped the case shut. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, okay.”
    “Micah—”
    “No. Don’t…,” he groaned. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Don’t. I just… I thought we were in the same place, but I guess not. Obviously. I’m wrong. I guess. I’m…. Fuck, this is embarrassing.”
    “Micah, stop, okay. Stop.”
    Ty reached out but Micah staggered away, out of the living room and toward the door. “No, I need to… I need to leave. Maybe. I should go for a walk.”
    Ty’s middle clenched. “You need to shut up,” he said. He strode forward and grabbed Micah’s shoulders, stopping his progress toward the door. “Look at me.” Micah refused, staying scrunched in on himself, his knuckles white from the grip he had on the little black box. Softening his tone, Ty tried again. “Look at me, please.”
    Micah raised his head. His eyelashes were wet, his cheeks stained, and Ty was an asshole. The biggest asshole ever.
    “Stay right here. Promise me.”
    Micah cut his gaze to the side but nodded, lower lip caught between his teeth.
    Ty let go and ran. He sprinted down the hall to their room, knocking into the wall in his hurry. He flung open the sock drawer and yanked the ring out. Then he ran back to the living room to find Micah still standing where Ty left him, looking like a child who was just told Santa wasn’t real.
    All dignity, all formality, all planning, all of it gone, thrown to the wayside—because what had it gotten Ty thus far but disappointment and a large credit card bill? Ty embraced the cliché and dropped to his knees in front of Micah. He held up the box.
    Micah raised an eyebrow, lips pursed and bitten red.
    “Oh, right,” Ty said, fumbling with the lid. He managed to open it without pinching a finger, and presented it, the silver ring glinting in the twinkle lights.
    Micah stared at it for a long moment. So long Ty’s hand began to tremble and his knees started to ache.
    Then Micah met his gaze. “You asshole,” he said, voice choked. “You fucking asshole.”
    “Is that a yes?”
    Micah laughed, loud and unrestrained, head thrown back. “Wait, wait,” he said between bouts of