Page 180 of Where Broken Wings Fly

He closes the kit. “The others are probably losing their shit out there.”

“I just… need a moment. Please.”

Stroking his knuckles against my cheek, he nods. “Take all the time you need. They can wait.”

Running the tap, Micah holds my hands in his and rinses them off. Every stroke of his fingertips is gentle, reassuring. He swirls soap into my palms and washes them for me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he whispers.

I silently shake my head.

“Okay. Mind if I talk?”

Turning off the tap, he rests against the edge of the bathtub. That almost imperceptible second skin of sadness has slipped back over him, obscuring the smiles and confidence I’ve come to love. Our torment is entangled in this small room.

“The first time I did it, I was eleven.” He stares down at the scars on his arm. “I never meant for it to get out of hand. It was only meant to be one time.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I missed my dad. It hurt so bad, I needed to get it all out.”

I stroke an unsteady hand over his hair. “Did it work?”

“At first,” he admits. “But the high didn’t last long, and I had to do it again. And again. And again. Each time sooner than the last. I lost control so fast, I couldn’t stop it.”

Micah looks up, stabbing me with the determination brewing in his eyes. That clinging sense of sadness dissolves, like storm clouds sweeping on to douse their next victims.

“Don’t fall down this slippery slope, Willow. Don’t start something that you won’t be able to stop. I need you to promise me that if you feel like this again, you’ll tell me.”

When I don’t immediately answer him, Micah takes my hand in his and rests it against his cheek, forcing me to acknowledge him. Barbed wire is slicing deep into my throat.

“Promise me, Willow.”

“It won’t happen again. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t care what you were thinking. All I want is your word that you’ll talk to me before hurting yourself again. You’ll ask for help.”

“Mi… I promise.”

“Swear to it?” he pushes.

Leaning closer, I rest our foreheads together. “Swear to it.”

“I can’t fucking lose you. Not like this.”

Lips meeting in a frenetic kiss, I let him take the assurance he needs. While the other two demand physical possession of my heart, Micah’s content to sneak into the darkest corners of my mind and set up shop in the shadows.

I’ll take it.

Whatever he needs of me.

Sliding his arms under my legs, Micah lifts me into his arms and lets me hide my face in the soft fabric of his shirt. He still smells like fresh oil paint, even in normal clothes.

The cabin is weirdly quiet as we pad towards the master bedroom. Everyone has gone home and left us in peace. Nudging the door open, Micah settles me under the tangled blue sheets on my bed.

“Arianna’s gone home with Aalia.” He sits down next to me. “Figured you could use some space after that fiasco. Killian threw Lola and Katie out.”

I nod numbly. “Good.”

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