Page 75 of A Sea of Unspoken Things

“What the—?”

“It’s nothing.”

I batted his hand away when he reached for me, but Micah cupped my chin, forcing me to look at him. He inspected the cut on my lip, tension hardening the look in his eyes.

“What’s going on?” His hand slid from my cheek.

I stared out the windshield, a cold, empty feeling flooding my veins. “He didn’t do it.” I whispered. “Johnny didn’t do it.”

Twenty-Five

I came down the stairs in one of Micah’s old sweatshirts, pulling my hands into the sleeves. Smoke was curled up on the rug, sleepily watching Micah stoke the fire, the dance of the flames reflecting in his eyes.

I sank down onto the sofa, tucking my legs up beneath me and reaching for the half-empty glass of whiskey on the coffee table. I finished it in one swallow, eyes watering as it burned down my throat. As soon as I set it down, Micah refilled it.

He sat down beside me, close enough that his hip touched my leg, and I tried not to let it summon to life the memory of him touching me. For days, he’d been putting distance between us, but here, between the walls of the home he’d made without me, I felt like maybe there was part of him that was within reach.

“I think we should talk,” I said, taking another sip from the glass and handing it to him.

“Yeah, I think so.”

He shifted so that he could turn toward me, hooking one hand inside my leg, and the feeling of it anchored me. Made me feel steady.

“I don’t blame you for what happened. I only said that because I blame myself.”

Micah stared into the glass before he leaned forward, setting it on the coffee table. “You blame yourself for what?”

“All of it. All of Johnny’s problems. Not protecting him enough. Leaving him.” My voice was already on the verge of breaking. “What happened with Griffin.”

“How was that your fault?”

I drew in a long breath, trying to gather the courage to say it. “For weeks before what happened, he was trying to…I don’t know, start something with me. I’d told him about Byron and I think he had it inhis head that we were both leaving and that once we did, there would be something between us. That day in the gorge, he tried to”—Ipaused—“touch me.”

Micah’s hand slid from my leg and I caught it with mine, holding it there. My fingers wound into his.

“I shoved him off and he was pissed. That’s why he got wasted. Why he pointed the gun at me.”

“James, there’s no way you could have known he was going to do that.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t.”

“Then how can you be responsible?”

“I just feel like everything Johnny did was my fault. I felt like it was my job to keep him safe. Contained. Every minute of every day, I could just feel this anxiety about what he might do or say. How other people perceived him. And eventually, it just all got to be too much.”

“You loved him.”

I nodded, my mouth twisting. “And he was all I had.”

“You had me,” he said.

I should have been used to the way Micah just came out and said things, but still, it seemed to always catch me by surprise. The truth was, I’d known that. I’d known that Micah was in it with me. That he got Johnny like no one else did. That’s the only reason I’d been able to leave.

I smiled, but it hurt. “You were right, you know.”

“About what?”

“That we could fill an ocean with the things we never said.”