Page 95 of The Sound of Him

This doesn’t mean it’s all over. We have so much more to do. We have so many more loose ends to track down. We have so many more victims to save. We haveElliotto save.

It’s not over, but it’s a start.

It’s a goddamn start.

The song begins to fade out, preparing for the next song to start. I sit forward, managing to get my hand on the mouse and pause before the next song can start. The silence is deafening.

I swallow hard, twice, before clearing my throat and calling, “Matt?”

Only a second or two passes before his head pops up from his corner like a little gopher. It’s kind of adorable - the kind of thing that would make me smile if my mind wasn’t spinning a million miles an hour right now.

“I wanted to-” I falter.Is this the right thing to do? Should I wait for Nolan or Bryce to tell him later? Or maybe Adam would in group therapy?

He’ll be happy, there’s no way he won’t be happy, but sometimes happiness is overwhelming, especially when you’re not used to it. Sometimes happiness can be fucking terrifying.

Matt’s eyebrows are pinched together now, everything about his expression wary as he climbs over the arm of the couch to perch carefully on it.Shit. I didn’t mean to make him leave his hiding spot.

I find myself smiling automatically. It’s my job to put him at ease. To put everyone at ease. I’ve been practicing since a man who was barely even a man at all pulled me out of a closet and let it fuck him up forever.

Keaton always relaxes at my smile.

Matt does too.

But maybe he can see through me, maybe I’ve given him too many real ones and now he can tell the difference, because this time my smile doesn’t make him relax, it makes him tense even more. .

I have to tell him. Just rip it off. Get it over with.

“He’s dead,” I say. “Mica. They killed him.”

It takes a few seconds for the information to fully process. I can actually see the moment it happens. I can see when, from one blink to the next, tears start to fall down his cheeks. His breath catches when he tries to pull in air. He tries again. It catches.

“Woah, hey. Alright. It’s alright.” I stand with my hands up placatingly, trying for another smile. It doesn’t work so well this time around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” I cut myself off when he starts to sign.

I’ve never been more grateful for all of the ASL studying I’ve been doing lately instead of sleeping, because I understand what he’s saying to me. I know that when he raises his eyebrows and points his index finger at me before bringing the tip of it to hischin and pushing it forward from there that he’s signing,Are you sure?

“Yes.I’m sure,” I promise him, signing it as I do, making sure my expression shows the confidence I’m feeling instead of the tentative hope his face had telecasted. Then I put my hands out, one palm face up, once facing down, and turn them over at the same time. “Dead. That’s - uh. Christ, I don’t know why I’m teaching you that right now? Sorry. Was that inappropriate? I don’t fucking know. I - well, you know what? No. Youshouldbe able to know how to say it. I want you to be able to say it. He’sdead, Matt. That’s the sign fordead.” I do it again. “And yeah.I’m sure. I’m really sure.Mica is fuckingdead. I promise you.”

His hands are shaking when he does it - when he signs,Dead.

He does it over and over, then, like he’s been sucked into a loop.Dead, dead, dead, dead-and then he’s lurching forward with a hitched breath. He nearly falls, stumbling in his haste. I barely have the time to realize what’s happening before I’m catching him on instinct alone.

He presses himself against my chest, one hand gripping the front of my shirt, the other busy holding something blue and soft. I wrap my arms around him on instinct, catching myself just in time to make sure the hold is loose in case he changes his mind and wants to pull away.

He doesn’t change his mind.

He doesn’t pull away.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s alright. He’s gone.”

I have so much to do.

I have to let Kellan know Mica’s dead and Keaton is heading home. I have to file the official report. I have to notify Jake. Notify Maison. I have to remove Mica from our current watch list. I have to tell one of our still-undercover guys that he canstop nosing around for information. I have to get ready to sift through all of the tech they found where Mica was living.

Not to mention the never-ending to-do list I was already working through before the notification came in.

I don’t do any of it, though.

I just hold Matt close and tight, for as long as I can, until my legs start to give out and I have to lower into my desk chair with a soft, “Sorry, ‘m sorry. I gotta sit. You can stay, you’re fine, stay or go, no pressure, I just gotta sit, ‘m sorry.”