Page 119 of Breathe Like Hell

“Nah. Where are we going now?”

“The diner?” I glanced over at Micah for his permission. He nodded, but didn’t seem happy about it. His jaw was tense.

“Let’s go.”

We went back up the rocks to Micah’s truck, where Mason took a handful of napkins out of the glovebox to wipe extra blood off his torso before putting his clean shirt back on. Then Micah started to drive.

After a few minutes, he pulled into the parking lot of the same diner Mason and I had gone to on the first day we met, truck tires crunching over pebbles and cracks in the pavement. The sign glowed above the roof, green and red.

The three of us went inside together, then sat at a booth, forest green vinyl covering our seats. There were a few seconds where it looked like Mason and Micah were going to throw a fit over who got to sit next to me, but I made them sit next to each other. Problem solved.

They barely fit together in the booth sitting side by side, their shoulders pressed together every time either one of them moved. Mason said something into Micah’s ear too low for me to hear, but I didn’t get a chance to complain about that before a waitress came over to take our order, which Mason placed for the table. He got almost the same thing as before, but made the waffles a double stack this time.

The waffles came out not long afterwards, warm and fluffy and fragrant. I unwrapped the foil around a small pad of butter and dropped it on top of the stack, then used my knife to smear it around while it melted into each individual square of the waffle. I poured a generous amount of maple syrup on, the sweet liquid dripping over the sides and puddling on the plate.

My eyes flicked upwards, hooking on Micah’s over the stack of blueberry waffles. The yellow light above the table made him look softer, too. More tired, maybe. My heart ached.

My foot bumped into his under the table, but his expression wasn’t happy.

My guilt was coming back in full force, and I regretted forcing this interaction between him and Mason and myself. It would’ve been better to just spend the afternoon with him alone. I was hurting him. I was always hurting him and always regretting it too late.

He pulled his foot away when I tried to tap the toe of my boot against him again.

“Micah,” I said, drawing both his attention and Mason’s.

His eyes cut into me like angry knives. “What?”

“Don’t be angry.”

His expression shifted, no longer soft or tired. He was fucking pissed.

“Do you think this shit is cute, Dakota? I don’t want to be around him,” he snapped. “You knew this was going to make me angry, and you did it anyways. So don’t ask me to not be angry now.”

I cowered back on my side of the booth.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought you didn’t care.”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not putting up with that shit anymore.”

“Okay!” I slammed my fork down, the metal rattling loudly on the table. I could feel people staring at me now, and my face started getting really hot. My eyes remained locked on Micah’s, my pulse beating too hard, too fast. I wanted to cry. “I did something wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Great.” He motioned for Mason to get out of the booth so he could stand up.

“Are you leaving?” I questioned, my voice small.

“Yeah. He can figure out how to get you home.”

“Okay.” My lower lip wobbled. What did Mason say to him?

Micah grabbed my head and leaned down, kissing my hairline. “I’ll see you later. Alone. Please don’t do this again.” He smoothed my hair, then left without a glance back.

The lump in my throat was growing, my throat tightening, until I could barely get enough air into my lungs.

“Hey,” Mason said, grabbing my wrist and tugging my hand across the table so he could hold it. “Fuck him. He’s just grumpy. You’re alright.”

“No, I’m not. What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t say anything.”