“Oh no,” Becca scolds, her hands on her hips. “You’re not killing him. How would you even do that? He’s in jail already, nimrods.”
I don’t know where to look. They want to kill Brent? Can they do that? Would they get caught? Is it wrong that I like the idea of him dead?
Micah’s laugh is dark. The sound raises goosebumps on my arms, and I press my back a little harder into the wall. He’s wearing a simple pair of sweats and a t-shirt, but somehow looks as dangerous as someone wearing full combat gear. “Easy,” he says before continuing in sign,“Everyone in this town owes us. And we know guys inside. One phone call and he’ll be bleeding out by morning.”
My face blanches at the casual way he signs that. Like it’s no big deal. Like it would be simple. I can’t imagine a world Brent didn’t exist in. The shadow he casts over my life is so big, so dark, even from prison, that it seems impossible to escape it.
“Can you really do that?” Crap. I didn’t mean to ask that out loud. Micah and Kade swing to face me. Kade’s features soften. Micah’s scowl deepens and it steals my breath.
“We’re not respectable, Holly.” Kade says slowly. “We may not look like it now, but we’re thugs at our core. So yeah, hypothetically, a phone call to the right person and a bag full of cash is all it would take.”
They’re all studying me, waiting for…what? Do they want me to ask them to do it? I can’t do that. Thou shalt not kill. I can’t knowingly hurt someone. God may have abandoned me a long time ago, but I can’t cross that line. It’s not right.
“He…he’s in jail.” I stammer. “He can’t hurt anyone now.”
Becca nods reassuringly, but Kade and Micah don’t look convinced. They’re both still studying me, faces serious. Finally, Kade turns to Micah and nods. Micah’s lips tighten and he nods back. I don’t like it. I shouldn’t ask. I shouldn’t question. It’s not my place. But I steel myself and do it anyway. “What was that? Kade? What was that nod?”
Kade raises his eyebrows. “Nothing you need to worry about, Holly. You don’t need to worry at all anymore.”
“How can I not worry? It looks an awful lot like you and Micah just agreed on something. You’re not hurting Brent. You can’t do that.”
That dark smile is back on Micah’s face. “We…won’t.”
I push off the wall, stepping closer to him. He’s so tall, I have to stop a few feet away to maintain eye contact without hurting my neck. “You won’t do anything. You won’t make a phone call. You won’t pay anyone. You won’t hurt Brent. Say it Micah.”
Micah’s lips twist, and his eyes cloud over. The smile is long gone. He lowers his face, stepping closer to me. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body.
“No.” He says, his voice like ice.“Why are you protecting that worthless piece of shit? Why Holly?”
I raise my chin, wrapping the fabric of my skirt in my hands to hide the trembling. “I’m not protecting him.” I’m not. I don’t care if Brent dies. I hope he does, truth be told. But I can’t allow anyone to dirty their hands on my behalf. He’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.
“Liar,” Micah spits.“You should want him dead more than anyone. You had to live with him. I’ve seen the medical reports, Holly. He hurt you.”Micah’s chest is heaving, his glare heavier than ever. I feel myself wilting under the weight of his anger.
I’m so tired of bearing the weight of everyone else’s emotions. I rub my eyes, pushing my sunglasses to the top of my head in frustration. I need to not be here. I want my tiny apartment. I want the thin walls and the sounds of families going about their day. I want my threadbare sofa and lumpy bed. I want to not exist for just a little while, just until I can smooth out the rough edges of today.
I drop my hands, the rubbing having irritated my eyes further. I ease back a couple of steps, away from Micah’s overwhelming presence, glancing briefly over at Kade and Becca. “He’s not worth it,” I breathe. “Don’t dirty your hands, please.”
I jump when big hands close over my shoulders. Micah’s grip is powerful and my hands automatically come up to press against his chest, eyes locking on his light brown ones. The blazing anger there steals my breath. The trembling starts in my legs, moving up my body.
He’s angry. Very angry. It’s going to be so much worse than Brent. He’s so much bigger. Stronger. I finally manage to draw in a tiny breath, but I can’t fill my lungs completely.
Gasping, I manage to yell “No,” as I shove him. I didn’t expect it to work. Brent always just dug his fingers in harder, pulled me in tighter. It was the preamble to more pain. So I’m surprised when Micah’s hands release immediately.
I don’t spare him a glance, instead backing up to the wall again. My legs feel like they’re going to give out, but I lock them and focus on the breathing Becca always does with me. Long, deep inhale, slow exhale for a count of five. My gaze is on the ground, shifting between the three sets of feet facing me. They’re all immobile.
I keep breathing as I study them. Becca’s bare feet, long and strong, toes painted with bright red polish. Kade’s in black Vans. I’ve never seen him wear anything but work boots or dress shoes. Finally, Micah’s. They’re bigger than Kade’s, but not by much. He’s wearing a pair of battered running shoes, the toes scuffed. Maybe he drags his feet when he walks? I stay focused on those scuffed toes until my head feels less floaty.
Reluctantly, I raise my head, knowing what I’ll see on their faces. Becca’s is full of empathy, as expected. I manage a small smile for her, and thankfully, she smiles back. Kade’s eyes are tight. He’s trying to mask it, but I can still see the pity. I hate that he looks at me that way, but I’m not even a little bit surprised. I am pitiful.
Finally, when I can’t stand the silence anymore, I slide my eyes to Micah and my heart stutters at the tears filling his eyes.
I don’t understand.
Anger, frustration, disgust. Any of those would make sense, but tears? He looks shattered. He stares at me, his throat bobbing, before carefully backing up. He places some books gently on the kitchen counter before turning and walking away. I’m left wondering, as the front door closes behind him, what hurt him? Who were those tears for? No way they’re for me. And why does the idea that he’s hurting make me so sad?
4
HOLLY
