The questions gnawed, pulling me from the haze.
I had to find out. For Joy. For us.
Because whatever this was, it wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
20
JOY
Morning came softly.
Not the sharp, demanding kind that dragged you back into yourself whether you were ready or not—but a pale, filtered light that slipped through the hotel curtains and settled across the bed like a suggestion.
I woke slowly, aware of warmth before thought.
Micah lay behind me, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. In sleep, the sharp edges of him eased again. He didn’t look like a man who ran. He looked like a man who stayed.
That realization did something dangerous to my chest.
I lay still for a moment, listening to the muted sounds of Charleston waking outside the window—traffic somewhere distant, a gull calling, the low hum of life moving forward whether anyone was ready or not.
Last night replayed in fragments. The pier. His father’s name in my mouth. The way Micah had folded inward like a wounded animal and then—slowly, carefully—let me close enough to touch the hurt.
I didn’t regret it.
Not the chase.
Not the way I’d chosen him when everything inside him screamed to be alone.
If anything, the clarity was unsettling.
Because once you chose someone that deliberately, pretending you hadn’t changed was impossible.
Micah shifted behind me, his arm tightening reflexively, pulling me closer. Possessive—not in the performative way I’d seen men use before, but instinctive.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
I turned in his arms, facing him. Up close, I could see the fatigue under his eyes, the lines tension carved into his face when he wasn’t guarding them. He watched me like he was cataloging something fragile and necessary all at once.
“You don’t have to fix anything today,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
But he didn’t look convinced.
We stayed like that for a while, the quiet doing what it always did—making room for thoughts that refused to stay contained.
Eventually, reality intruded.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I groaned softly. “I should take that.”
He nodded, rolling onto his back but keeping a hand on my hip, anchoring me even as he let go.
