Page 138 of End Game

“We should probably figure out Christmas,” he says—which is not where I expected this to go.

I groan.

Micah laughs. “Is it that bad?”

“My mother has already texted me three times about Christmas Eve, and whether or not I’m going to be there.”

His amusement disappears. “Is it about Ben?”

“Not directly.”

Which is worse in some ways.

He waits for me to say more, but doesn’t push.

And I don’t—not tonight.

The problem will still exist tomorrow, and I don’t need to ruin a perfectly nice night by giving my brother any more space in my head or the room than he already occupies.

“I’ll deal with it,” I finally say.

Micah’s fingers tighten slighting around my wrist. “We’ll deal with it.”

I look at him.

There are several reasons I want to correct him.

My family. My brother. My problem.

Except Micah’s thumb is still resting over my pulse like he has every intention of staying long enough for it to be his problem too.

I turn my hand beneath his.

Micah loosens his grip immediately, giving me room to pull away.

I don’t.

I rotate my wrist until our palms meet and lace my fingers through his.

His breath changes. Barely, but I hear it anyway.

“Okay,” I finally agree.

Something crashes in the kitchen.

“I’m fine!” Dex shouts immediately.

Micah closes his eyes.

“Do you believe him?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Neither do I.”

We still don’t move right away.

Micah stays beside me, his hand in mine, while Dex and Cami start arguing about whose fault whatever happened was and Griffin attempts to determine whether anything actually broke.