Chapter 395: A Hand That Would Not Let Go
The sky broke, and a downpour began before Micah could press further or hear Clyde’s response. The sudden rainfall soaked both of them in seconds. The metallic tang of blood that had smeared across Clyde’s forehead thinned as the rain ran down his face, staining his shirt red.
Micah gasped at the sight. His already-damp wig grew heavy under the downpour, so drenched that strands stuck to his skin. His make-up didn’t last either; every bruise and cut beneath came to life.
He lifted a trembling hand, reaching toward Clyde’s face, his fingertips grazing the line of the wound. He barely managed to touch it when he noticed a shadow fall over him.
His pupils dilated as Clyde’s eyes shut closed. The tall man swayed, his body limp, falling over Micah.
Micah caught him, his back hitting the wall from the weight, grunting under the impact. "Clyde?" his voice trembled.
He frantically tried to stabilise Clyde, his arms instinctively tightened around him, refusing to let him fall to the ground even if his knees gave out. Clyde’s head rolled against his shoulder, rain soaking the strands of his hair until they stuck to Micah’s cheek.
Anxious, he turned his head, shouting into the storm, his throat raw. "Somebody! Is there anyone? Help! Please!" His voice cracked.
His shouting finally got through, and several men appeared, rushing forward with urgency. Micah blinked through the rain, recognising one of them as Clyde’s people, a bodyguard. "Come! Quickly!" Micah shouted, struggling to keep Clyde upright. His voice was hoarse. "He is out cold. He’s not waking up."
The men ran forward at once, lifting Clyde carefully, releasing Micah from under him. Then they carried Clyde out of the alley, and Micah stumbled after them, his heart hammering like a drum against his ribs. He clenched Clyde’s hand tightly, refusing to let go even as they loaded him into a car, even as rain poured through the open door. His own discomfort, the soaked clothes, the wig clinging uncomfortably, the ache in his back and chest from the wall faded into nothing. There was only Clyde, pale and unmoving, his hand heavy in Micah’s grasp.
At the hospital, everything sped up. Bright lights, sterile halls, the shuffle of nurses, they all blurred in Micah’s eyes. They wheeled Clyde away the instant they arrived, pushing him through the glass doors marked Emergency, and Micah stumbled to a stop at the threshold. His fingers slipped free of Clyde’s hand as the doors slammed shut between them.
Micah stood there, dripping onto the tiles, his chest hollow. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, uneven and painful. He was terrified.
"Sir." One of Clyde’s bodyguards stepped close, his own coat damp, and draped a blanket over the shivering Micah. The warmth was barely felt. Micah clutched it around himself, his throat tightening as he swallowed against the lump rising there.
"What happened to him?" Micah forced the question out.
"Boss..." The guard hesitated before answering. "He was driving alone after hearing you were spotted near the restaurant. And he had a car accident. We were behind. But..." He clenched his jaw, eyes flickering with guilt. "He didn’t stop and moved the car again, even when we told him not to. We thought he was okay..."
Micah’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His face drained of colour, his hands ice-cold.
It was because of him, wasn’t it?
His arms folded across himself, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the emergency room doors. He just stood there, staring, as sheer willpower alone could help Clyde wake up.
After it felt like eternity, the doors opened. A doctor stepped out, mask pulled down. His gaze swept the waiting group. "Are you with Mr Du Pont?"
Micah stepped forward immediately and nodded.
The doctor’s tone softened. "He is stable. The wound was not very deep. Just superficial. But required ten stitches. We ran a CT scan for his head injury. There is no sign of a subdural hematoma, fortunately. However, because he had lost consciousness, we will need to monitor him closely for the next 24 hours."
Relief washed over Micah. His knees threatened to give way, but he held himself upright by gripping the blanket tighter.
"Is he awake? Can I see him?" Micah asked, his natural voice breaking through his disguise.
The contrast made the doctor blink, momentarily taken aback as his gaze lingered on the long hair and smudged makeup on his face. Yet he composed himself. "Yes, you can, but he is asleep. His EEG showed no sign of damage. So don’t be alarmed. He will wake up soon."
Micah’s expression relaxed. "Thank you."
Clyde was transferred to a VIP section of the hospital. The corridors blurred as Micah followed, his wet shoes squeaking against the floor. When they reached the private room, he stopped at the door, his eyes fixed on the man lying motionless on the bed.
Clyde looked white as paper, a bandage was wrapped around his head. The sight pierced through Micah’s heart.
"Young master Micah," one of Clyde’s men approached, holding out a folded bundle. "Here, you can change your clothes."
Micah grabbed the clothes without a word, his movements stiff. Then he went to the bathroom and got rid of his disguise. Putting on a pullover and pants, he emerged, still looking pale and drained.
He walked straight to the bedside and sat, watching the rising and falling of Clyde’s chest in silence.
Clyde’s men tried to encourage him, bringing a hot beverage, setting a tray of food on the small table, and urging him to get checked himself. But Micah didn’t move. He didn’t drink. He sat in silence, holding onto Clyde’s hand as if letting go would mean losing him forever.
Time passed until the door burst open. Dean rushed in, his eyes darting from Micah’s bruised face to Clyde’s bandaged head on the bed. His heart dropped. "What happened?" he demanded, voice filled with worry.
Still, Micah didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.
One of the guards explained in a low tone. Dean listened, tuning a hand through his damp hair before letting out a long, pained sigh.
Looking at the two of them, Dean’s chest tightened... they weren’t even together yet, and still they’d been dragged through abductions and accidents. Was fate trying to tear them apart before they had even begun? Wasn’t the universe telling them it was doomed?
Dean shook his head, stunned. What was he thinking?