“I don’t know where to start,” he whispered. Gone was the frantic Micah needing to confess some perceived sin and in his place was someone so close to shattering that I was afraid to breathe.
“You said Brady was there that night because of you,” I offered.
Micah nodded. “He could’ve left if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Left where?”
“Home. Our father.”
My gut wound itself even tighter in my belly. “Was your father hurting you and Brady?” I asked.
Micah nodded. “Our mom too but she died when I was seven. Cancer.” He pulled in a deep breath before adding, “Brady was old enough to leave the house and he could have made it if it’d been just him.”
“But he stayed for you. To protect you,” I suggested.
Another nod.
“Sweetheart, he was your brother. That was his job. The fact that he didn’t leave meant he loved you very much.”
Micah was staring at the floor. This time, he didn’t agree with me. He just sat there, completely still.
I let out a rough breath and put my hand on his knee, more to comfort myself than anything else. I wanted to tell him we didn’t have to do this, but I knew what happened if you kept shit inside and let it fester. Hell, Brady had experienced that firsthand when he’d drawn that knife on me.
“You heard me talking to Christopher, right?” I asked softly.
Micah nodded.
I closed my eyes for a moment as I tried to collect my thoughts… and emotions. My insides felt cold and withered as I opened my eyes and said, “When I was twelve, I was walking home from the park where I’d been shooting hoops with King. We were living in different foster homes at the time, but we’d meet up every day after school to play basketball.”
“You grew up in foster care?” Micah asked.
It was my turn to nod. “From the time I was nine.” I drew in another breath as the chill in my gut spread throughout my entire body. This time I was the one to drop my eyes. “It was late but still light out. I was only a few blocks from home, but I didn’t exactly live in the best neighborhood. King and I, we knew how to take care of ourselves, but that day…”
I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes again until I felt Micah’s hands covering my own. At some point I’d started wringing them together. I tried to draw on Micah’s warmth as I continued. “It was like he came out of nowhere. One second, I was walking on the sidewalk bouncing the basketball, the next I was being slammed face-first against the wall in this deserted alley. I tried to scream but his hand was over my mouth and then there was this cold metal pressing against my throat.”
“Con,” Micah whispered as his fingers tightened on mine.
I didn’t want his pity so I rushed on. “I wasn’t strong enough to fight back. And even if I had been, I was too fucking scared. It all happened so fast, and I just stood there, terrified that if I moved even an inch, he’d cut my throat.”
The familiar rage began to race through my veins, so I quickly stood up and began moving around the room to try and calm myself. The very last thing I wanted was for Micah to witness that rage in action again. He’d seen enough of it when I’d taken his brother down.
I went to the window to watch the kids playing in the backyard but seeing them collecting sticks for Rory’s castle did nothing to cool my anger. If anything, it made it worse because they were just so damn innocent and yet life had already been so fucking cruel to both of them.
And to Micah.
“I thought he was just going to rob me,” I whispered. “I didn’t even tell him no.” I couldn’t stop the half-sob that escaped my lips. Seconds later I felt arms wrapping around me from behind.
“I’m sorry,” Micah murmured as he hugged me hard. “I’m so sorry.”
I reached my hand up to cover Micah’s good arm where it was pressed against my chest. “I never told anyone what happened. Not even my brothers,” I admitted. “When he was finished, he ran the blade along my throat and told me he knew who I was and that if I told anyone, he’d find me and kill me. I never saw his face.”
I drew in another deep breath to fight the sting of tears pricking my eyes. “I swore I’d never let anyone hold that kind of power over me ever again.”
Micah’s forehead pressed against my right shoulder blade as he squeezed me hard. “I didn’t know, Con,” he croaked. I could hear the tears in his voice, so I turned around. Sure enough, tears were streaking down his face.