Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“Are we… are we going back home?” Christopher asked, his voice shaky.
I automatically shook my head. “Never again.”
It was a promise I shouldn’t have been making, but I had to. I didn’t care what happened to me, but I would do everything in my power to make sure Christopher and Rory never set foot in that house of horrors ever again.
Christopher wrapped his arms around me once more. I held him for a long time before he relaxed in my arms enough for me to realize he was starting to doze off. I released him and got him settled back on the loveseat.
“Sorry, Uncle Micah,” he murmured as his bleary eyes met mine.
“For what, buddy?” I asked.
“Couldn’t stay with you,” he said tiredly. “Was worried.”
“Worried about what?”
Christopher drew the blanket up to his chin and rolled onto his side. His eyes were already half closed. “Was making them worse. The nightmares.”
It took me a minute to figure out what he was trying to say and my stomach dropped out when I finally got it. “Christopher, were you sleeping in Con’s bed with me?”
Christopher nodded.
And I died a little on the spot.
I remembered the blanket and pillow on the couch.
So Con hadn’t been in bed with me. It had been Christopher.
Which meant Con hadn’t touched me.
“Oh God,” I whispered to myself. What had I done? What had I accused the man of?
I forced myself to focus on my nephew. “Christopher, do you want me to stay in here with you to help with the nightmares?” I asked.
Christopher shook his head. “Not my nightmares, Uncle Micah.” The boy rolled away from me so that he was facing the back of the couch. My breath caught as he uttered one final word before drifting off.
“Yours.”
Con
Physical punch? Check.
Mental punch? Check.
Emotional punch? Big fucking check.
I threw back my head and swallowed the remainder of the scotch before once again settling my eyes on the skyline in front of me. Even at the late hour, the city was teeming with activity. It reminded me of home, but I couldn’t say I had any particular interest in returning to Sin City anytime soon. Current circumstances aside, I should have been itching to return to Vegas so I could prep for the final fight of my career but that desire, that need just wasn’t there. I could’ve tried to blame my reluctance to return home on what was happening with Micah, but the reality was that he had nothing to do with it.
I sighed because the last thing I needed to do was delve into my screwed-up psyche.
What I did need to do was consume enough alcohol so I could forget the fact that the young man I was trying to help believed me capable of something as ugly as rape. The mere image of Micah’s accusatory look had me turning on my heel to go back into the apartment for that third drink.
I was in the process of tipping some of the lovely brown liquid into my glass when my senses finally kicked in and I realized I wasn’t alone in the living room. I stopped pouring and glanced over my shoulder. Micah was sitting on the corner of the sectional. Though sitting probably wasn’t the right word. With his broken-down frame and the slight rocking of his body, he was more hunched on the piece of furniture than anything else.
I wanted to ignore him.
I really did.
I hadn’t managed to shore up my defenses enough just yet to face whatever he was going to throw at me next. But for the life of me, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t turn my back on him. Not even to put just a handful of feet and a glass wall between us.
I also found that I couldn’t make myself move forward either. When had I become such a fucking coward?
“I’m sorry.”
The words were spoken so softly, it was a miracle I heard them at all. As I took them in, I wished I hadn’t heard them.
I stared at the glass in my hand, the pretty amber liquid shimmering beneath the lights from the bar that was built into my entertainment system.
“Please don’t ever say those words to me again,” I murmured. I felt sick to my stomach, but it had nothing to do with the alcohol. I might as well not have drunk a single drop of it.
“Christopher told me he was the one who was in bed with me. He said I was having nightmares. He said something about making them worse.”
Micah’s dejected and very confused voice was like knives slicing at my skin. I forced myself to look at him and saw that his position hadn’t changed much. He was half bent at the waist with his elbows resting on his knees. His hands were cradling the back of his neck as he stared at the floor.