CHAPTER TEN

"HERE I AM"

Michael led Juliana around the side of the house, the hum of the party fading into the background. The night wrapped around them, quiet and charged, each step amplifying the thrum of Juliana's heart. This moment was unplanned, unexpected, yet it felt inevitable—like the night had conspired to pull them together, away from the crowd, into their own space.

The garage door creaked as Michael pushed it open, the sound breaking the silence but not the connection between them. He glanced over his shoulder with a boyish grin, one that tugged at Juliana's nerves and melted them all at once. She followed him inside, the dim light of a single bulb casting a soft glow over the dusty space.

In the corner sat the old Woody wagon, its wood panels faded but still holding a quiet charm, as though it carried stories of its own. Michael gestured to the backseat, and they climbed in, the door clicking shut behind them. It was just the two of them now, sealed in a bubble of stillness, where the rest of the world couldn't intrude.

"Finally," Michael said, leaning back, his tone warm but laced with a seriousness that sent a ripple through her. "Now we can talk. No noise, no interruptions—just us."

Juliana tilted her head, her earlier confidence wavering under the weight of his gaze. "Talk?" she echoed, trying to steady her voice. "About what?"

Michael exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. "About what just happened. That kiss." His eyes searched hers, open yet guarded. "Juliana, I need to know—was that a one-time thing, or...?" He trailed off, his voice dropping. "Did it mean something more?"

Her breath caught, the vulnerability in his words slicing through her hesitation. "It wasn't just a moment," she admitted, her voice soft but unwavering. "Michael, I kissed you because I've wanted to for a long time. Because you mean more to me than I think you realize."

He blinked, as though her words had caught him off guard, and for a fleeting moment, he looked... unsure. It was a side of him she rarely saw, and it made her heart ache. She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "Michael, what's going on in your head? Tell me."

He let out a nervous laugh, glancing down before meeting her gaze again. "I just... I didn't think I'd ever be enough for someone like you. You've got everything—your life together, your career, perfect family. You're confident, accomplished, amazing. And me? I'm just..." He shrugged, his voice lowering. "I'm just a guy tryin' to figure it out."

Juliana's chest tightened, her hand moving to cover his. "Michael," she said, her tone firm but tender. "You don't see yourself the way I see you. That kiss wasn't just some spur-of-the-moment thing. From the first time we met, I felt something. Sure, at first, it was physical—I mean, you're handsome and all." She smiled, lightening the moment. But you're not just 'some guy.' You're kind, steady, brilliant—and you have this quiet strength that inspires me. You make me want to be better, not for you, but with you."

He stared at her, his expression softening as her words sank in. "Juliana..." he began, but she interrupted him with a small, shaky laugh.

"There's more you should know," she said, her cheeks flushing as she glanced down. "About why I called you 'Cowboy' when we first met."

Michael raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a curious smile. "I've been wonderin' about that," he said, leaning closer. "So? What's the story?"

Juliana hesitated, the weight of her past pressing against her. But the warmth in his gaze steadied her, and she took a deep breath. "It starts with my childhood," she began. "I was born in London. My dad was an actor and singer, and my mom was a nurse. We were a happy little family—until we weren't. When I was four, my dad and sister Veronica were in a car accident, and..." Her voice broke, and Michael's hand found hers, his touch grounding her.

"They didn't make it," she said, her voice a whisper. "After that, my mom and I moved to New York to be closer to her sister. She buried herself in work, and I threw myself into acting and modeling... things I'd done before and loved. It wasn't just a distraction—it was survival. It gave me a sense of purpose, a way to feel like I was still part of something bigger, something special."

Michael's brow furrowed, his fingers tightening around hers. "Juliana, I'm so sorry."

"Life wasn't easy," Juliana continued, squeezing his hand back, her voice quieter now. "We were healing, sure, but there was always this... ache. A hollow space where my dad and sister should've been. I poured myself into memorizing lines, pretending to be someone else. That came easy to me—so much easier than facing the sadness that felt stitched into my soul. On set, I could smile, perform, even shine. But off set? I was still that lonely little girl, hiding her grief behind a practiced mask of make-believe."

Michael nodded subtly, his hand resting on his knee as he watched her intently, clearly moved but not wanting to interrupt.

"Then, everything shifted again when Mom met someone," she said, her voice softening with the hint of a smile. "She had taken a contract as a visiting nurse for a family. The man, who by chance was also an entertainer, had recently lost his wife and was raising two kids on his own. She was supposed to stay three weeks, but by the end of it, they were inseparable. They got married, and suddenly, I had a new dad, a big sister, and a brother."

Michael let out a low whistle, his eyes warm. "That must've been a lot of change."

"It was," Juliana admitted, her smile growing. "But it was good change. My new dad was amazing—loud, a little gruff sometimes, but so overflowing with love. He adopted me without a second thought, and from then on, he was my Daddy. I couldn't have asked for a better family. They raised us in a home full of music, laughter, and warmth. My dad was a man of many talents—working in TV and performing in nightclubs , where he sang and did a comedy act he sometimes took on the road. Life with him was always an adventure."

Michael's grin widened. "Sounds like you've got a knack for finding families full of entertainers."

Juliana chuckled lightly, nodding. "Maybe so. I kept busy too, working as a model and acting in TV, commercials, and small roles. It was my passion, something I truly loved. But as much fun as it was, there was a downside. We moved around a lot. Because of my work, I never went to a regular school with other kids. I either attended a studio school on set or had a tutor. It was exciting but isolating."

Michael tilted his head slightly, his smile fading. "That sounds... lonely."

"It was," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't have classmates or childhood friends. My siblings were my constants, my only companions." She paused, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Michael reached out, brushing his fingers against hers for just a moment before pulling back.

"As I got older, that loneliness never really left me," Juliana continued, her voice steady yet tinged with vulnerability. "I grew shy around new people because I didn't have the experience of making friends at school or being part of a group, mostly being around adults. That's why meeting Stacy, you, and everyone here means so much to me. For the first time, I feel like I have true friends—like I belong somewhere. It's something I've always longed for but never really had until now."

Michael's warm smile softened his features as he leaned a little closer. His voice was low and earnest. "You've got plenty of friends now, Juliana. And you've got me—always."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. For the first time, it felt like the heavy weight of loneliness she had carried for so long might finally be lifting.

Juliana smiled, a bittersweet curve of her lips as she continued. "My sister—she was older and busy with her own life. She didn't have much time for a five-year-old tagging along. But my brother, Tony? We clicked. We were inseparable. He was the closest thing I had to a best friend."

She paused, her eyes softening with the memory. "Tony loved cowboys. We used to play for hours, pretending we were outlaws. He'd tease me, saying I'd grow up and marry a cowboy to protect me. It became this silly, running joke—but when I met you, with your Texas drawl and that steady, protective vibe..." She shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. "It reminded me of him. It felt... safe. Like home."

Michael stared at her, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, she worried she'd said too much. But then, his lips curved into a slow smile. "So, all this time, I've been your cowboy?"

Juliana laughed, the sound light and free. "I guess you have," she said, her eyes sparkling. "But you're so much more than that. You're real, Michael. You're someone I didn't even know I was waiting for."

The words hung between them, raw and unguarded. Michael leaned forward, his voice soft but firm. "You're not just waiting anymore, Juliana. You've got me—and I'm not going anywhere."

Her breath hitched as he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. When his lips met hers, it was slow and deliberate, a kiss that felt like an answer to every question she'd ever asked. It was more than a kiss—it was a beginning.

When they finally pulled apart, Michael grinned, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Looks like you found your cowboy after all."

Juliana smiled, her heart full. "And I think I finally found my forever."

Juliana leaned forward, her voice soft but insistent. "I've shared my secrets with you, Michael, but you're still such a mystery to me. I've been trying to piece together who you are, but I need your story. Please, tell me about your childhood."

Michael hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. His gaze dropped to the scuffed concrete floor, as though the ghosts of his past were etched into its surface. When he finally spoke, his voice was deliberate, every word measured. "It's... not somethin' I talk about much."

She waited, her silence urging him to continue.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the edge of his seat. "My childhood wasn't a fairy tale. It was... quiet. Not the peaceful kind. The hollow kind. Being an only child sounds ideal—no competition, all the attention. But for me? It just meant being alone. My mom worked constantly to keep us afloat after my dad left us without lookin' back. I barely remember him, just a shadow in old photos."

Juliana's expression softened. "That must've been so hard—for both of you."

Michael nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. "She hustled, even made typewriter correction fluid in our garage. That smell... it lingered like a reminder of everything we didn't have. We didn't have enough food, enough money, or enough time. And then there was school." He let out a bitter laugh. "Thanks to some zoning mess, I ended up at a rich kids' school. I didn't fit in—skinny, awkward, too poor. Kids picked up on that like sharks with blood in the water."

Juliana's hand twitched, as if reaching out might break the fragile rhythm of his story. "Michael..." she said softly, her voice laden with empathy. "Kids can be so cruel. I wish someone had stood up for you."

"They didn't," he said, his voice tightening. "They called me 'Skinny, ugly Nesmith.' It was catchy—hard to forget. And after a while, I started believing' them. I'd watch them with their perfect lives, laughin', belongin', while I just... didn't."

Juliana's chest ached for him, but she held her tongue, sensing he wasn't done.

"At home, it wasn't much better," he continued. "I'd wander the empty house, listenin' to my own footsteps echoin' back at me. But then... something changed." His tone shifted, a faint warmth breakin' through. "Music found me."

He smiled, the memory softening his features. "One Christmas, my mom gave me a secondhand guitar. It wasn't much, but to me, it was magic. At first, I was terrible—buzzin' strings, clumsy fingers. But I kept at it, makin' up little melodies. They were messy, nothin' special, but they were mine. For the first time, I felt like I had a voice."

"That voice," Juliana said gently, "it's carried you so far. It's amazing' what a spark like that can do."

Michael glanced at her, his eyes glimmering with a quiet intensity. "Music became my anchor. My escape. It gave me hope—hope for a life where my mom didn't have to work herself to the bone, where I could create something meaningful."

He shifted slightly, his voice quiet but steady. "You know, music did make some people notice me—for something good, for a change. For the first time, I wasn't just 'stupid poorboy Nesmith the ugly.' I was the kid who could make a guitar sing. That felt... different. Like maybe I wasn't invisible anymore."

"But with girls?" He let out a dry laugh, tinged with self-deprecation. "I was the eternal 'buddy.' The guy they confided in about their crushes while I sat there thinkin', Why not me?"

Juliana's lips parted, a soft breath escaping as she caught the flicker of vulnerability in his words. "You deserved better than that," she said quietly. "If they couldn't see your worth, that's on them, not you."

Michael shook his head, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd sit there, noddin', listenin', giving advice like some damn therapist, while every part of me wanted to scream, Pick me. See me. But they didn't. I was always just... safe. Never the one they'd fall for."

"Safe doesn't mean invisible, Michael," Juliana said firmly. "It means trustworthy. And to the right person, that's everything."

He met her gaze, her words wrapping around him like a lifeline. For the first time, his voice softened. "Maybe you're right. But at the time? It hurt. It really, really hurt."

His gaze turned inward, his voice dropping. "But then my mom remarried, and her new husband... let's just say he didn't think much of me. I was lost, angry, desperate to prove I wasn't worthless."

Juliana tilted her head, her expression a mix of admiration and sorrow.

Michael leaned back, his voice steadying. "So I ran to L.A., chasin' a big break. Instead, I ended up broke, starvin', and sleepin' on the streets. Eventually, I crawled back home, tail between my legs. My mom gave me some tough love, told me to get my act together. So I joined the Air Force."

Her eyes widened. "The Air Force? I had no idea."

"It saved me," he said simply. "It gave me structure, discipline, purpose. I got my GED, learned to stand on my own. When I came back to L.A., I was different. Ready to work. I hustled for every gig I could find. And then... the Troubadour happened."

He chuckled, the memory softening his tone. "I became the 'hootmaster,' runnin' shows, introducing acts. It wasn't glamorous, but it was magic. Watchin' people pour their hearts out on stage—it fueled me. And then I found my people, a group of guys who felt the same fire I did. We started something real."

He met Juliana's gaze, his voice quiet but firm. "And now here I am. Still dreamin'. Still building. It's funny how life works. You think you've got it figured out, and then it twists, throws you somewhere unexpected. But I wouldn't change it. Every failure, every success—it all brought me here."

Juliana's voice broke the silence, warm and deliberate. "Michael, I'm so proud of you. What you've built, what you've overcome—it's extraordinary. You are extraordinary."

Juliana watched him closely, her gaze steady and unwavering. She could almost see the walls he'd built around himself, the quiet fortress that protected the man who rarely let anyone too close. But tonight was different. Tonight, those walls weren't impenetrable. Juliana's heart fluttered at the realization that what Michael had shared wasn't just a story—it was an offering. A glimpse into the man behind the guarded exterior, the one who rarely showed his true self.

This wasn't just a conversation. It was trust.

Her words lingered, filling the space between them with a melody of sincerity. Michael shifted, his eyes dropping to the floor as if searching for the right response. When he looked up again, his expression was one of quiet awe, as though her words had reached a place in him he hadn't known needed healing. Her words seemed to catch him off guard. His eyes dropped, his voice unsteady. "You mean that?"

"Every word," she said without hesitation.

Michael's lips curved into a faint smile. "It's just a strugglin' band. Nothin' to get worked up about."

Juliana leaned forward, her tone firm but tender. "Don't do that. Don't downplay what you've built. This band, your music—it's not nothing. It's everything. It's a piece of you. And it matters."

For a long moment, Michael said nothing. Then, in a voice raw with vulnerability, he admitted, "I'm not used to this. Letting someone see me like this. It's scary."

"Good," Juliana said, her smile breaking through the tension. "Because scary means it matters."

Michael laughed—deep, unguarded, free. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's not," Juliana replied, her hand brushing his. "But you're not alone anymore. Not unless you choose to be."

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken emotion. Michael's voice softened. "You're somethin' else, Juliana. You make me feel... worthy."

"Because you are worthy," she said simply.

And for the first time, Michael let those words settle. He didn't deflect, didn't brush them aside. He just nodded, his smile softening as he held her gaze.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

In the stillness that followed, the hum of the outside world faded into silence. And in that silence, something profound took root—a realization shared without words. For the first time, they weren't alone.

And neither of them ever wanted to be again.