“Yeah, sure. That’s fine. Just, uh, if you hear from Everett, let me know.”
“And if you hear from him first, let him know you okayed Micah staying the night. Deal?”
“Deal.” Damien ends the call.
I can hear Micah laughing in the house behind me. When I walk in, I see the cause. Beau has a chocolate milk mustache.
“That suits you,” I tell him.
He laughs and wipes it away.
“Did you talk to Damien?” Micah pipes in. He has an empty glass of milk in front of him. I also see what suspiciously looks like cookie crumbs next to it. Maybe I was on the front porch longer than I’d thought.
“I did. I said we’re staying at my place until tomorrow to try to give the nice Mr. Montgomery here alittlebit of privacy. But Micah, lying is bad, so don’t do it.”
The boy rolls his eyes. “I’ve never lied to you,” he says, proud again.
It warms my heart.
Breaks it too.
Micah might be twelve, but now I see the little boy. The toddler crying something awful, confused and terrified.
I want to protect him.
I share a look with Beau, not meaning to let my eyes drift to him, but it’s their new easiest course it seems.
He’s intent on watching us, but I see it in him.
The questions.
It’s time I told Beau some truths.
But maybe in the morning.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Beau
I’m not sleepingany time soon, so I head to the kitchen when the clock strikes two in the morning.
I haven’t been in Robin’s Tree long, and the big house around me isn’t as familiar as my apartment in Orlando. I’m not used to it yet. I’ve also only known its quiet.
That quiet is different now as I take my time across the hardwoods down the hall. It’s a quiet I need to keep since I’m not alone anymore.
“You sure you don’t want to read?” Kissy asked me, standing outside of the bedroom Micah had claimed as his. “Micah falls asleep so quick, it won’t take long at all.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I think he might want some time with you,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind taking a quick shower anyway.”
That shower didn’t happen, but when I was in my room, the guest bedroom on the other side of Micah’s, I was able to hear Kissy reading anyway. Muffled enough to where the words weren’t always translating between the wall but just right to where Kissy’s voice became a background noise that nearly took me under.
But then she stopped, and the house fell deep into silence.
I wanted to check on them but couldn’t remember if the door squeaked like the master bedroom door did when opened.
There’s so much I want to do, but so much I can’t, so I take my phone to the couch opposite the kitchen and drop onto its worn fabric.
I haven’t had the time to talk to any of my brothers. Should I do it now?
