Chapter 396: When The Strong Fell Still
Dean stood inside the hospital room, staring at Clyde and Micah with saddened eyes.
"Young boss," the chief bodyguard said gravely, glancing toward Micah. "Young master Micah... His situation doesn’t look good. He hasn’t moved, eaten, or spoken since he got here."
Dean glanced at Micah. He walked over, crouched slightly beside him. "Hey," he patted Micah’s shoulder. The skin beneath his palm felt too hot, burning beneath his palm.
His brows furrowed in alarm. He pressed his hand to Micah’s forehead. It was scorching hot. "Hey, you are burning up," Dean said urgently. "You’ve got a fever. Come on, let’s get you checked."
Dean tried to pull Micah to his feet. But Micah resisted. His fingers were locked tight around Clyde’s hand.
When Dean applied more pressure, Micah’s other hand shot out, grabbing the bedframe with desperate strength. "Don’t..." he whispered.
Dean froze. The single word carried such despair, such a fragile hopelessness that his heart broke.
The door opened again. Jacklin and Emile entered, their steps halted at the sight before them: Clyde unconscious, Micah clinging to him as though to life itself.
Seeing Micah’s struggle, Jacklin moved quickly and grabbed Dean’s hand. "Stop. Don’t force him. Call the doctor here instead."
Dean let go of Micah and nodded. He stepped back and left the room to fetch help.
Emile lingered by the doorway and pursed his lips, looking at Micah and his little uncle.
He was beside himself with anger when he realised Micah had ditched him again, leaving him with Ramsy’s Family. He had to excuse himself using everything he could think of to slip away. He thought that the moment he had laid his eyes on Micah, he would give him a piece of his mind, make him pay for it. But right now... it seemed childish. His fury felt trivial.
He couldn’t even form a word of comfort to ease Micah’s mind. He felt useless.
Instead, he stood there, watching Micah like a hawk for any sign of his condition worsening.
Jacklin, after checking Clyde was stable, left the room to speak with Dean.
Outside the room, Dean was already explaining to the doctor what he had noticed.
Jacklin stood listening, expression grim. She had pieced together part of what had happened from the driver. But in two days, one after another ended up in the hospital, which wasn’t normal.
While the doctor went to check Micah, Jacklin spoke to Dean. "Do you think it was man-made?"
"You too?" Dean asked, looking at her sharply. He rubbed his jaw. "Yeah. A stranger beating Micah, then abducting him in broad daylight... too bizarre. Then an SUV slammed into Uncle’s car... I don’t know how it could all be a coincidence."
"Exactly," Jacklin said. "We’d better investigate. I am afraid someone is trying to sabotage them. Is not just uncle. It’s Micah, too. Both of them are being targeted."
"Should I call Ramsys?" Dean asked hesitantly.
"Yeah," Jacklin replied firmly. "Emile said they were really worried about Micah. It didn’t seem like the rumours were true. If anything, they might be allies."
"Okay. I’ll call them. Let’s hope Uncle wakes up soon." Dean exhaled heavily, glancing back toward the VIP room.
****
The doctor adjusted his glasses as he finished scribbling notes on the chart, then leaned down to check Micah’s fever again. He removed the thermometer and raised an eyebrow. "He’s running quite high," the doctor said in a low voice. Then, straightening, he signalled to the nurse. "We’ll set up an infusion. Get an IV line ready."
The nurse stepped forward, rolling a small cart closer. Micah didn’t flinch, didn’t make a sound as she swabbed his arm and slid the needle beneath his skin. The clear fluid dripped slowly down the tubing, and the tiny beads slid toward the cannula. One of his hands rested limply on the infusion stand, the other remained stubbornly clasped around Clyde’s pale hand, as though letting go would cause something irreversible to happen.
Not a word escaped him. His bruised cheek looked stark against his pale face.
The room grew quieter once the medical team finished their work. Emile lingered for a moment at the foot of the bed, watching Micah’s stiff posture, before Dean called him out into the hall. He followed reluctantly, leaving Micah alone in the dim, heavy silence.
Micah shifted slowly, his IV hand trembled as he reached out, fingers brushing Clyde’s face with the lightest touch. "Why don’t you wake up?" he whispered, his voice rough, hoarse with exhaustion. His thumb stroked the side of Clyde’s jaw, then to his lips. "Our first kiss...wasn’t supposed to be like this...come on, wake up. You should take responsibility... it was my first kiss... You jerk," he choked, eyes filling with tears. Even though the doctor said Clyde was simply sleeping, Micah couldn’t shake the uneasiness from his mind. He wanted Clyde to open his eyes, looking at him with amusement and teasing him. Not like this.
He never thought that someday he would see Clyde this fragile. He had always been steady, tall, and unbudging, the person whom he could always lean on, the one who gave him strength. But now... lying pale and still beneath the white sheets, he seemed to be so weak, disappearing any moment.
His heart ached. He blamed himself. He should never have dragged Clyde into his mess. It wasn’t Clyde’s battle or problem. It was something between Micah and Darcy. And those four scums.
If only he hadn’t opened his mouth, hadn’t revealed too much, if he hadn’t forced the man into corners, Clyde would never be in this situation. How much torment had the man endured because of him? Thinking Micah was in danger?
Micah curled forward, his forehead brushing against Clyde’s hand. His own fevered skin was hot, his tears wetting Clyde’s knuckles.
"You shouldn’t be here... you shouldn’t be hurt like this because of me..." His voice trembled.
Maybe he was a jinx. Dragging people around him to the depths of hell. Wasn’t it in the novel like that? The Ramsy family was reduced to nothingness. Even his aunts and uncles were affected.
He should have known better.
This was his burden to carry. He should have been more mature, stronger, and more prepared to deal with his problems.
Micah’s eyes burned. He squeezed them shut and whispered prayers to the air. "Please God... if you’re listening.. Just let him be okay. I will give up everything else. I’ll stay away from him. I’ll never bother him again. Just don’t let him get hurt like this ever again..."
He didn’t bear to see Clyde like this. If fate demanded separation, he would accept it. Better to go their separate ways than to see him hurt.