Page 21 of Save Me

“Micah?”

I blink. In front of me is a parking lot and a familiar car, my car, and next to that is Maddox. He gives me a look that, for a second, almost looks soft. Then it’s gone again, and dang, I really must be seeing things.

I jump into action, darting around the front of the car and starting it. “Yeah, it was just the battery, no biggie,” I say with a big smile on my face.

Maddox is stiff next to me as we drive before his deep, quiet voice says, “I can pay you back. Just give me a week.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it.” I wave him off, the feeling of being able to help wearing off some of the odd feelings from my memory.

“No.” His tone startles me so much I almost miss a stop sign. I glance over at him, and there are bags under his eyes. I wonder how much he drank last night.

“It’s really not a big deal.” My voice is soft, wavering almost, and I don’t know why I keep pushing it. I just want to help. Maybe if Maddox had some help, he wouldn’t feel like he had to drink to escape whatever demons he’s running from.

It’s quiet except for the rumble of tires on the pavement. Then, Maddox’s deep voice says, “Just take it out of my next paycheck.” Then he’s turned to the window, and for some reason, I feel like I’m not good enough. Like I’ll never be good enough.

My gut feels weird, and I turn on some pop-punk music to break the silence. Soon, the upbeat music has me tapping my fingers to fill in the space, although Maddox stays silent.

The drop-off in my driveway is silent. Maddox hesitates, like he’s going to say something, and then he’s gone to the sounds of pop music.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I almost stayed. I almost apologized for being so…weird, but it’s like I can’t stop. Micah, who has been nothing but nice to me, was close to tears, and I did nothing to help.

There’s an icy pit in my stomach. Why did I do nothing?

I’m sitting in my car, paralyzed. Since when did I turn into the person who watched someone else suffer and did nothing about it?

My throat tightens. I always do something about it. Except right now, doing something would mean I have to either let Micah help me or explain to him why I can’t. And the thought of explaining makes nausea creep up my throat. So instead I sit here, staring at the hood of my car.

“Princess?” There’s a muffled shout.

Slowly, my eyes drift to Micah’s door, where he’s running outside, looking panicked. “Princess? Come here, boy!”

The panic on his face melts the fog.

Something’s wrong.

Before I know what I’m going to do, I’m out of the car, striding up to his door. “What’s up?”

“Princess!” Micah turns in a circle, eyes wide. “I don’t–I can’t find him!”

In that second, Micah’s panic zips to me like an electrical current. Princess can’t run free; he’ll get run over by a car or chased by dogs or, fuck, starve. I see those same thoughts in Micah’s wide blue eyes, and it’s like a stab to my heart.

“We’ll find him.” I say the words, but they’re mostly for Micah. Because finding a skunk that doesn’t want to be found?

Micah is breathing fast, and his eyes are getting glassy. I have the impulse to grab his arm and squeeze. To comfort him somehow.

An impulse I refuse.

Instead, I straighten. “Tell me the last time you saw him.”

Micah swallows hard, then starts looking around the yard. I follow.

“Right before I left to get you!” He ducks, checking under bushes.

“Where was he?”

“In the kitchen? I don’t know!” Micah’s voice spikes with panic. “I was in a hurry, and I think I saw him but…”