I hate not being able to know what happened to him. I hate that he can’t talk to me. But I know if I push him, it’ll only make things worse.
Instead, I’m watching him sleep, like a lunatic stalker. I can’t help it. My body won’t let me rest until I’ve gone over all these possible scenarios a million more times. I can already feel him pulling away from me. Just tonight, he didn’t look like he wanted to tell me the truth but couldn’t.
He looked… blank. I hate it. It feels like looking at him through a pane of glass. It’s not really him.
Maybe I underestimated how hard it would be for him to separate from the Banna. Which seems ridiculous, because I already thought of it as this insane, insurmountable task. But I think that was looking at it in the practical sense.
Getting them to let him go. Getting him safe and not being followed. That was what I was focusing on.
I never really thought about how difficult it might be for him to let it all go. Even though I know he wants out, I’m sure there are a million layers of guilt and shame and other complex emotions that I couldn’t even begin to understand.
Is that what he was thinking about tonight?
Or was he really hiding something from me?
I trace my finger down the side of his face. Super gently, because I don’t want to disturb him. Although it’s clear he’s not sleeping well. He’s twitching and moaning a little, like he’s dreaming about something that’s agitating him.
If this were a movie, he’d blurt out his secret in his sleep and then all this wondering would be moot. I wait for longer than I should, but he never says anything. At least nothing intelligible. It’s just soft, sad noises and more uncomfortable twitching.
Eventually I put my head back on his chest and hold him tight. It leaves me feeling useless, but I don’t know what else I can do.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Micah
Imust have fallen asleep at some point, because Tadhg is looking at me when I finally open my eyes.
His expression is guarded. Unreadable, except for how obvious it is that something isn’t right with him. And the fact that he’s not talking to me about it makes it clear that something isn’t right withus, either.
“Hey, doll.”
My voice is low and a little hoarse from not getting enough sleep. I reach out to run my thumb over his eyebrow and then down the side of his face, and he immediately closes his eyes. All the breath leaves his lungs—not like a normal exhale, but like a balloon letting all the air escape because it’s just been popped.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, but he stays still, and his eyes stay closed.
I get the impression that today isn’t going to be a day with lots of communication. Part of my brain is already wide awakeand scrambling to find a solution. Solving problems is what I do. Tackling a crisis. It’s in my fucking bones.
But he seems more peaceful right now with my hands on him than he has in a while. I don’t want to be the one to burst that bubble of tranquility. Even if it’s only the illusion of tranquility.
“Tadhg?”
Again, no response. But he presses his face into my hand in a sort of nuzzling gesture, while his hands snake out under the covers to wrap around my waist and pull me closer to him. As soon as I’m near him, he’s pawing at me. Every part of my body is getting tugged until there’s not a single inch of space between us. I try to be mindful of his bruises, but he doesn’t even wince when I touch him. I suppose this level of pain is not something that registers for him, after everything he’s endured.
His eyes stay closed, but that doesn’t stop his mouth from finding me. He works his way over my collarbone, up my neck, all the way to my mouth, while his hands knead and squeeze whatever soft pieces of flesh they can find. His thick thighs wrap around mine, and I can feel how hard he already is as he drags his erection up and down my quad through the thin fabric of both our boxer briefs.
I think he tries to hide it, but I hear him whimper. Not in the horny way, either. It’s a desperate, desolate sound that he immediately tries to swallow before he ravages my mouth with his.
It’s easy to get swept up in the moment. Everything I’ve been thinking about is big and difficult and scary, and the more I focus on it, the more the negative part of my brain is whispering that it doesn’t see any way this situation could have a happy ending for us. I can’t let that happen, though. The bad guys don’t just get to win.
“What’s wrong?” I try for one more question, breaking off the kiss but holding his face close to mine as I run the fingers of my right hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp.
His lip fucking quivers.
Oh, Tadhg.
“Please,” he says. It’s all he says.
How can I say no to that?
