Page 22 of Safe Place

I exhale. Nico picked up on it without me having to say it. This isn’t something I want my father knowing about. And that’s probably the biggest sign that this thing with Sophie isn’t just a distraction. It’s something I want to protect. Especially from him.

I see Sophie finally walk out. She's slower now, not in a rush like before. Her face is pale, and she’s clutching her bag tight against her chest. Why does she look like she just cried? I sit up straighter, something uneasy curling in my gut.

I hop out of the car and keep my voice light. “Hey, Sophie. Coincidence? Or are you following me again?”

She jumps slightly, but I notice it. Then that small, practiced smile appears. “Micah. What are you doing here?”

“Just finished up on campus,” I lie, keeping it casual. “Figured I’d swing by and head out this way. Need a ride?”

There’s the smallest hesitation before she shakes her head. “No, I’m okay.”

I study her for a moment before speaking again. “Please let me drive you. Just so I know you get home safe.”

She hesitates again. “Fine,” she says quietly.

That was easy.

I open the passenger door for her. She slips inside, settling into the seat in silence. Her fingers pick at a loose thread on her sleeve, eyes focused out the window. Something feels off. No, I’m certain there’s something wrong. But I don’t push.

The timing doesn’t line up. That guy left ages ago. She could just be tired. Maybe school and work is catching up to her? She does work three jobs, after all.

She’s quiet. Quieter than usual. As I drive, I glance over and catch the way she stares out the window, eyes distant, like her body’s here but the rest of her isn’t. Her face is blotchy—barely noticeable unless you’re looking close. But I am. I realized I always am when it comes to her. She definitely cried. And for some reason, it makes me feel uneasy.

“Sophie,” I say gently, “You okay?”

She flinches slightly, like I interrupted her thoughts again.

“You can tell me,” I say. “Whatever it is.”

She hesitates—then replies, voice a bit louder than before, “Everything’s fine. I’m just tired. Long day.” But her voice wavers. Like she’s faking confidence. She blinks fast, like she’s trying to stop tears from coming, and my grip tightens on the wheel.

I don’t know what happened, but something did. So I pull over to the side of the road.

She looks over, confused. “What are you doing?”

I turn to face her. “What’s wrong, Soph?”

She shakes her head quickly, avoiding my eyes. “I said everything’s fine.”

Her voice is soft and strained. Like she’s using everything she has just to hold it together. And it fucking kills me and I don’t know why. I want to fix whatever this is, but I can tell she’s not ready. So I give her space.

“Okay.” Instead, I ask, “Did you eat today?”

She nods too fast. “Yeah.”

Right on cue, her stomach growls, loud and clear. She flushes, then mutters, “I had breakfast.”

I raise a brow. “No lunch?”

“No, I was busy.”

“Let’s get dinner,” I say.

“I just want to go home.”

Her stomach rumbles again. I try not to laugh. “What if we eat at my place? No people, no pressure. I’ll cook, or we can order. Whatever you want.”

Order. I don’t even know how to cook. The hell is wrong with me?