I feel like a pathetic little kid, but I would give my left nut for him to stroke my hair right now, I swear. Where the fuck have my nuts gotten me, anyway? My skin is prickling with the screaming need to be touched in any kind of comfort, and I’m sodesperate for it, but so unwilling to ask, the conflict makes my insides turn to sludge.
Micah’s hand stays put, barely touching me, just resting on the back of my head like a tease of the kind of familial comfort I’m not allowed to have.
I try not to feel the disappointment that’s tugging at the edge of my awareness when I think about the fact that Father isn’t here anymore. Of course he left. Why would he hang around to watch me sleep off an injury?
I’m still a little shocked he went to so much effort to save me in the first place. It probably has more to do with asserting his dominance over the Aryans than actually protecting me, so it makes sense that he’d farm me out to Micah’s care as soon as he could and then head back to take care of the Banna. They’re hisrealfamily, after all.
That’s what he’s always told me. Well, he always told me that they’remyreal family and deserve my allegiance over anything else in life, even over the woman I end up marrying and the children I end up having, but the underlying message was always clear.
The joke’s on him though, because he has no idea that I’m way too fucking broken to ever have children. It’s his fault, of course, but I wouldn’t want to give him the sick satisfaction of knowing that.
“And you don’t mind having a fucking criminal bleeding and puking all over your floor?” I try not to sound vulnerable when I say it. I’m digging around in my chest for my normal tough-guy gangster voice, but it seems to have wilted away in the power of Micah’s unflappable presence.
Because the truth is, now that Micah is next to me again, my entire existence is screaming that this is the way it was always meant to be. That he was the missing chunk from my life—theapproximation of a family I’ve always secretly craved—and if I let him go one more time, I won’t survive.
He laughs softly. “I mean, I could do with less vomiting in the future, but it’s always better out than in. And you’re not a random gangster, you’reyou. You always have a place here.” There’s a pause, and I can tell he’s working out how to say something. “As long as you don’t mind living in the same apartment as a homo.”
It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room, although I’m not sure why. Micah is looking me straight in the eye, leaning back with an unwavering, confident expression. There’s a grim set to his face, like he’s aware that I might freak out or say horrible, terrible things to him, but there’s no hesitation.
Once again, I’m overwhelmed by how fucking strong of a man he’s grown into.
“I will not tolerate homophobia in this house. I know you live and work with Neanderthals, and they were all fucking rude while they were here, but I expect you to do better if you ever loved me. You don’t have to like it, but you have to respect me enough to keep your mouth shut and be polite, or I’ll find someplace else for you to stay. I still love you, brother, but I’m not undoing a lifetime’s worth of work on getting comfortable with myself to let someone stay here who’s going to chip away at that.”
I couldn’t describe how I’m feeling if you microwaved it directly from my consciousness. All I know is that whatever it is, it’s strong. Overwhelming. I’m looking into Micah’s river-blue eyes, and I can’t believe how much he’s changed.
The nervous, terrified kid has turned into this formidable person who’s telling me—someone who could normally bench press him—to take him as is or get out.
I can’t even conceive of what it would be like to do that.
All of my inarticulate, unnamable emotion swells and swells inside me until I’m choking on it, and it starts leaking out of my eyes. I don’t know why, because I’m not crying. I’m not making any noise. There are just tears slipping out of my eyes and wetting my cheeks in still silence.
It’s weird and embarrassing, but that’s been such a theme of the day that I think I’ve become numb to the feeling of it.
Micah cocks his head at me when he notices, his eyebrows quirking and his eyes boring into mine.
“Tadhg?”
I shake my head, trying to shake off the weird, fractured pieces of emotions that are causing the storm inside my head. The motion dislodges his hand from the back of my head, and I immediately miss it.
Clearing my throat, I try to sound normal when I answer him. I can’t explain to him what’s wrong. I can’t even explain it to myself. I need him to stop looking at me and not ask any more questions than I’m prepared to answer right now, which is zero.
“I’m fine,” I croak out. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want you to be anything other than yourself.”
For some reason, that last part makes that swirl of emotion rage instead of relax, and I make a choked sound that might have wanted to be a sob.
God, I’m such a disgusting mess of a human being. No wonder Da fucking hates me.
I swallow the noise down and don’t make it again, and then force the most wooden, unbelievable smile onto my face.
“It’s fine,” I say again.
Micah keeps frowning and doesn’t let his eyes drift away from my face. He tightens his grip on me a little bit and I can see him working out what to say, but eventually he seems to settle on not making me talk about it anymore, thank fuck.
“Okay, Tadhg,” he says, reaching out to wipe away the wetness on my cheeks without acknowledging it out loud. Which only makes more tears slip out, obviously.
Jesus fucking Christ, Savage. Get it together.
I take in a deep breath through my nose, shake my head a little bit to try to shake loose all this bullshit, and then pull myself out of his grasp. I don’t have the strength to fully move away from him, but his closeness is making the world feel too soft and delicate, it’s making me soft and delicate. It’s confusing me.
