Chapter 375: Micah’s Not-So-Great Rescue
The room was heavy with silence. Clyde kneeled rigidly beside the bed, his broad frame hunched forward. Micah lay against the pillows, pale beneath the bruises staining his face and body, his lips cracked. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked at Clyde since his arrival.
Clyde’s chest ached with the stillness. He reached out, unable to bear seeing him lying in another man’s bed. He leaned closer, his arms shifted under Micah, intending to lift him gently, to get him away from this place.
But the moment his hand brushed against the sheet near Micah’s waist, the boy flinched. His temper acted up again. "Get away from me!"
Clyde froze. His arms stiffened, suspended in the air.
Darcy was startled, too. He had never expected Micah to treat Clyde like that. What had happened between them?
The silence was shattered as another voice entered the room.
"Who are you?"
It was calm, yet edged with coldness. "What are you doing in my house?"
All three heads turned.
Silas Durant stood in the doorway. Steam clung faintly to his skin, his damp hair neatly slicked back from his forehead. He wore a fresh shirt, buttoned all the way to the throat.
Leaving the room, Silas had taken a shower after treating Micah, scrubbing the grime of the outside world from his skin. He heard Micah’s cry from the bathroom while drying his hair. Now his sharp eyes studied the scene before him, gaze falling first on Clyde, the unfamiliar blond man kneeling beside the bed.
He tilted his head slightly. His gaze then flicked to Darcy.
"Explain," he said flatly.
"He’s a friend. I let him.." Darcy couldn’t finish it.
Silas stared at him with frost. "Do you think this is your home?" he interrupted. "Letting the two of you step into my house was already past my limits. You’re well aware of it. Then, rather than gratitude, all you show is hostility and drag another one here."
Darcy faltered, his shoulders tightening under the pressure of his gaze.
Clyde stopped forward, placing himself between Darcy and Silas. "Dr. Durant, thank you for what you’ve done for him. We’ll surely repay your kindness." His jaw tightened. "But your assistance is no longer required."
Silas didn’t look at the man; his gaze was fixed on Micah, curled and breathless in the bed. There was no softening, no sympathy, just pure cold doctor’s calculation. "He needs rest. Stress will break him faster than his injuries. If he refuses to leave, don’t force him..."
"That won’t be necessary," Clyde countered. "He needs proper checkups. Don’t you yourself say his ribs might be broken?"
"By all means, be my guest," Silas said, his expression unreadable as he stepped aside.
Clyde felt there was mockery in his voice. The vein on his temple bulged visibly.
He was trying to control himself. The thought of this man, this pervert, having laid hands on Micah twisted his insides. What right did he have to keep Micah here? Wasn’t he supposed to be a germophobe? Why did he make an exception?
Clyde’s mind filled with remorse and regret. He cursed himself for not calling Micah earlier that day, especially right after seeing that post. He knew how fragile Micah’s mindset could be. How one trigger tied to Darcy, or worse, to their tangled switch at birth, could set him off. He should have talked with Micah before leaving, explaining the reason for his distance, his fear, his nightmares. Instead, he was standing here, facing the consequences of his own negligence.
Clyde took a deep breath and turned to Micah, softening his voice. "Micah... please just this once, listen to me.. Let’s go to the hospital."
The boy’s lashes fluttered. For a moment, he said nothing. His expression was shadowed by exhaustion and hurt.
Micah knew the reasonable choice was to leave. Silas was dangerous. Right now, Clyde’s presence had already crossed the line. A stranger had waltzed right into Silas’s house. The situation was bad. And Darcy was the one opening the door... the more these men had contact with each other, the greater the risk Darcy would be coerced into something irreversible.
But Micah also knew that remaining here was a mistake. Silas might have tended to him for now, but the air around him reeked of calculation.
After all he had done, Micah couldn’t just hand this chance to Silas on a silver platter, could he?
He sighed. His emotions didn’t matter in these circumstances.
Slowly, he looked at Clyde and nodded.
Relief filled Clyde’s heart; his lips curled faintly. He turned toward Silas. "Can you take out the IV?"
Until now, Silas had been studying this blond stranger with clinical interest. He had no resemblance to him. Micah would not mistake him for this man who appeared head over heels for him. Did this young master really recognise him? He had muttered his first name...Or was he just acting?
His thoughts drifted back to Micah’s earlier muttering, details spoken in a haze of pain. His chicken soup, he had only shared with his mother, never with his so-called first love. And his hair... grown long during his time aboard, then cut short in self-punishment after betrayal. Details Micah should not know.
Micah, at that time, should have been a middle schooler or even younger. And this detail was so useless to know, not the least to bring up in front of him to catch his eye.
A puzzle. A mystery so tangled.
But what mattered most, what unsettled him most, was that Micah’s touch earlier hadn’t disgusted him. What if he tried again?
He moved slowly to the IV stand. Normally, he would have slipped on gloves, sanitised his hands twice before touching anything. But this time, he approached bare-handed.
His fingers brushed against Micah’s skin. His touch was tentative, twitching almost imperceptibly.
It was warm and dry... with no recoil.
Something flickered in Silas’s eyes, quickly smoothed. He slid the needle out slowly and placed a Band-Aid over the mark. He quickly jerked his hand back and stepped aside.
None of them noticed these small details.
Clyde stepped forward to lift Micah once more, ready to carry him, but Micah stopped him. "I can walk. Just give me your hand," he said toward Darcy, extending a hand.
Clyde’s stretched hands stilled.
Darcy moved hesitantly, taking Micah’s hand and easing him into a sitting position. All through that, Micah’s expression turned terrible. It was obvious he could not bear it.
Clyde’s head throbbed with frustration. To hell with rejection. He surged forward abruptly, ignoring Micah’s protests, and scooped him carefully into his arms.
"Put me down!" Micah spat a barrage of curses in his arms. His fists pushed weakly against Clyde’s chest. In the end, Micah couldn’t struggle with the pain shooting through his body.
Clyde ignored it, holding him firmly. His eyes, dark and stormy, flicked to Silas. He gave a curt nod, then he strode away, Darcy falling into step behind him.
The door clicked shut.
Silas remained in the guest room. For a long moment, his expression betrayed nothing. Then a small twitch appeared on his lips.