Page 85 of Mercy & Malice

I go to put on one of Micah’s T-shirts but decide against it as soon as the recall of him covering me in the cage is clear and in front of my mind. Instead, I put on my own pajamas and climb into bed.

When I hear the door open slowly, I’m not sure if it’s been a few minutes or hours since I’ve been staring at the wall. Micah slowly walks around the bed, his eyes on me for a few seconds before he stoops down in front of me.

His fingertips feather the side of my face before he tucks my hair behind my ear then strokes his thumb along my swollen cheek. “I failed you again.” He takes my hand, moving it to his mouth as his eyes snap shut and he whispers over my knuckles, “Brooke, I’m so sorry. I should’ve never left your side. I shouldn’t have been fighting. I was distracted and gave him an opening to grab you.”

“It’s not your fault.” I pull my hand away and tuck it under my pillow.

“Yes, it is.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It happened. It’s over.” Everything bad happens no matter what we do.

“And I didn’t stop it,” he mutters, his fingers stroking my arm. “I should’ve⁠—”

“This isn’t about you. I don’t care that you were fighting and being a barbarian instead of monitoring my well-being for five seconds. Just drop it. I’m tired and don’t want to do this right now.” Or ever. It changes nothing. Words, what-ifs, and should’ves change nothing.

Micah remains quiet for a minute before he says, “I’ll make it right. One way or another. I’m going to clean up, then I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t reach for me again before he stands.

“Okay.” I don’t want to argue or refuse to let him come back. I just want to sleep. And it’s not long before he returns and slides under the covers, his arm tucking against my waist as he presses into me. His mouth tenderly feathers a kiss on my shoulder.

“Luca said you got scared and ran off during the match. I won’t fight at the Tomb again. I thought it would help calm the demons in me.” I rotate to face him. His fingertips skim along my cheek as he whispers, “It made them worse.”

I don’t know what to say, so I nestle closer to him and lie there in stillness, feeling the steady breath rising and falling in his chest. We’re both still alive. That’s all I can be thankful for in the moment.

47

MICAH

The sun isn’t up and she’s already completely dressed in her Belgrave uniform and full hair and more makeup than usual, though the bruise on her cheek is still evident along with a small gash.

“Class doesn’t start for another two hours,” I say.

She grabs her bag. “I have to be there early for a makeup assignment.”

“Give me a few and I’ll be ready.” I sit up, feeling the soreness in my muscles that remind me what a dumbass I am.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just see you there.”

Before I can respond, she’s out the bedroom door. I remain seated on the edge of her bed for a few minutes, then head back to my room to get dressed. Even if she doesn’t need me there, I want to be.

On my way out of the house, Tara says good morning, then asks, “Is Brooke up yet?”

“She left already.”

“Really?” Tara glances at her watch. “I guess I should head in too. See you at school, Micah.”

After a stop at Brooke’s favorite coffee spot, I arrive at the school with a paper cup for each of us. I park next to Brooke’s car and go inside. I have all of her classes memorized and figure out which one she had to be here at the ass crack of dawn for when I spot Troy propped up against the locker near her AP Calculus class.

He holds up his coffee, he gives me a good-morning-and-it’s-too-early-for-this-shit nod. I couldn’t agree more.

When I step into the classroom, Brooke is staring off into space and completely alone.

“Where’s LeBlanc?” I don’t care for the guy. I saw how he lingered around Brooke when she was decorating for the winter masquerade. And I didn’t appreciate it then either.

“He should be here soon. I’m hoping.” She glances at the clock on the wall before she asks, “Why are you here early?”

“Making a delivery.” I set the paper cup on her desk then move to the back of the classroom and drop into a seat.

She takes a sip, not turning to face me as she says, “Thanks for the coffee.”