Page 31 of Keeping Knight

He looks at me for a long moment. Indecision clouds his gaze. “Maybe I’ll just stay here. Read one of these books or something.” He walks over to the shelf and grabs a book at random. “Ah, Moby Dick,” he says in a falsely bright voice. “I’ve been meaning to read that one.”

Really, I wish he would go. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about crying in front of him. But I can’t bring myself to ask him to leave, either. Instead, I walk over to the window and stare out it.

The only time I felt worse was the day after my dad died. That was when it really sank in that he was gone.

I clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle the sobs that want to come out. It was bad enough knowing someone wanted to kill me. But because of me, a man I care about was hurt. He could have been killed. Not just Micah, but Houdini, whose only mistake was getting mixed up with me.

“Ruby?” Micah’s voice comes from the doorway, sending me spinning around.

Jester jumps up from the armchair and drops the book on the cushion. “Knight,” he says. “You okay?”

Micah nods. “I’m good.” He glances at Jester before turning his attention to me. “Rue? Are you okay?”

On weak legs, I half-walk, half-stumble across the room. “Micah.” My voice cracks. “I’m so sorry.”

As soon as I reach him, my gaze rakes across his body. There’s a small cut on his forehead with a butterfly bandage over it and another on his jaw. His dark blue shirt is smudged with black, and there’s a scorched spot on his chest. His light brown hair is all disheveled and dusted with gray.

At first glance, his injuries don’t appear to be serious, just as Jester said. But what if his clothes are hiding something more sinister?

My hands move to Micah’s chest, and I start patting him all over. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” I blurt. “Your ribs? Did you hit your head? Were you burned?”

He takes my hands in his. “Nothing like that,” he replies. His voice is crazily calm, given the situation. “Just a couple of little cuts is all. I’m fine. Didn’t Jester tell you?”

“I did,” Jester says from the doorway. “I told Ruby you were okay. But I think she wanted to see for herself.” As he backs into the hallway, he adds, “I’ll be in the living room. So we can talk once you’re done here.”

I keep looking Micah over, not fully believing that he’s really okay. Nausea is roiling in my belly. The tears are right there, poised to burst out.

“Micah.” My voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Ruby.” His features crease with concern as he gazes down at me. “Ah, sweetie, don’t cry. I’m okay.”

“I’m not crying,” I insist.

His eyebrows jump up. Then he touches my cheek, and his finger comes away wet.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” My attention keeps getting drawn back to that scorched spot on his shirt. “Jester said… he said there was a bomb. Right at the door.”

Micah puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me over to the bed. He sits, tugging me gently down with him. “There was. But Houdini had this feeling. So we got out of the way in time.”

“You were still hurt.” I carefully touch the bandage on his forehead. “Because of me.”

“No.” His voice firms. “Not because of you, Ruby. I don’t want to hear you saying that. I got a few bruises because of some psycho asshole. That is in no way your fault. And shit—” His eyes close for a second. “I don’t even want to think about what could have happened if you’d gone back…”

I’m torn between bursting into tears, flinging my arms around him and hugging him as hard as I can, or howling in anger and frustration.

“Can I make you some tea?” I finally ask. “Or… get you some painkillers? Do you want the arnica ointment? Can I do anything to help?”

Micah stares at me. Something deep and unreadable works in his eyes. “Just being here helps,” he says roughly. “Knowing you’re safe. I knew you were. But still…”

“Don’t worry about me. You’re the one who needs to be taken care of right now.”

He blinks. Then he leans in and pulls me into his arms. “It’s impossible not to worry about you.”

Some of the fear twisted up inside me releases. Wrapping my arms around him, I rest my cheek on his shoulder and close my eyes as I send up a silent thank you for bringing Micah safely back to me. “I worry about you, too,” I whisper.

“Rue.” Micah hugs me closer. His lips press to the top of my head. “I’m so sorry I can’t protect you from all of this. I got your stuff, by the way. It’s downstairs in the living room. We got the fire put out quickly, so there wasn’t much damage⁠—”

“I don’t care about that.” I kiss his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and the reassuring throb of his pulse against my lips. “I care about you. As long as you’re okay, that’s what’s important.”