20. Michael #2
Henri flinched away, pressing harder against Michael.
“It’s my fault. At that dinner, I was just being friendly, flirting a little.
David blushed so beautifully, so innocent…
And Marc had someone watching. Taking photos.
He saw.” His voice turned self-loathing.
“Marc took particular offense. Said I was ‘showcasing’ what belonged to him. But David had blushed, smiled, and been so genuine, and Marc wanted that. Wanted to own that innocence.”
Henri’s breathing became more erratic. “If I hadn’t flirted with David, Marc never would have noticed him. David would still be free.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Michael said firmly, tightening his arms around Henri. “This isn’t your fault.”
Henri shook against him. “But it is. And now, I don’t know how to save him.”
Silence followed. Michael could see the truth of it in Nika’s reluctant expression. Perhaps, at times, people chose what appeared to be chains from the outside.
Henri’s grip fisted in Michael’s shirt, eyes wild. “You have to stop. If you keep pushing, he’ll keep hurting us. He’ll never stop.” His voice broke down to a whisper. “You have to stop.”
Michael cupped his cheek, brushing a thumb over the bruise that bloomed there. “Is that honestly what you want? To go back to him?”
The answer tore out of Henri instantly. “No.”
Gabriel’s voice was iron. “Then we move forward.”
Alain leaned back with a bitter laugh. “Then we still need someone who’ll make this stick. A reporter with teeth. Otherwise, it’ll just get buried again.”
They circled the names, dismissing them one by one. The anchor from LA, too corporate. The blogger out of Sydney, too reckless. The Montreal team, too slow. Nothing fit.
Henri finally lifted his head from Michael’s chest. His voice was ragged but certain. “Jaheel Sabato.”
Ellis frowned. “Who?”
Henri swallowed hard, his hand trembling against Michael’s chest. “He was with us at university. We had a group project together in our final year. Jaheel suggested we meet at this diner to work on it.”
His voice grew quiet. “I remembered what happened when I was seventeen, so I told Jaheel no. Said we should work in the library instead. But Jaheel was charming. Persistent in that harmless way.”
Gabriel leaned forward, something dangerous entering his expression. “What happened when you were seventeen?”
Henri’s eyes widened, surprised he’d mentioned it. “Nothing. It’s not—it doesn’t matter.”
“Henri,” Gabriel’s voice carried weight.
Henri tried to wave it off. “Really, it was just—”
Michael’s voice was gentle but firm. “Tell him.”
When Henri shook his head, Michael looked directly at Gabriel. “Henri was invited to coffee with some classmates. Marc said no, but Henri went anyway. Marc was supposed to be out of town, but found out.”
Henri pressed his face against Michael’s shoulder. “Marc tied my arms behind my back when I came home,” he whispered. “When he pulled too hard, my shoulder dislocated.”
Gabriel’s face went white. “That injury... You said you were thrown from one of your horses—”
“I couldn’t tell you the real reason.” Henri’s voice was barely audible.
Gabriel’s voice came out strangled. “You missed the rest of that season. The tryouts for the National Youth Tournament Series. You were practically guaranteed a spot.” His voice cracked.
“Your coach kept calling. You told me maybe polo wasn’t your future anymore, that you wanted to focus on academics. ”
Henri nodded against Michael’s chest. “I went back eventually. Took months of physical therapy. But it was never the same.”
Gabriel stood abruptly, hands shaking. For a moment, Michael thought he might put his fist through the wall. “He took everything from you,” Gabriel said, his voice barely controlled. “Your future, your passion, your freedom. Everything that made you happy.”
Henri pressed into Michael’s arms, and Michael held him tighter, his own rage a living thing in his chest at what Marc had stolen. Not just Henri’s shoulder, not just months of recovery, but years of dreams, a future that had been ripped away.
Henri’s voice came muffled against Michael’s shirt. “So at university, I told Jaheel we should work in the library. But he kept asking. I never encouraged it, never flirted back. But Marc saw Jaheel as competition.”
His voice turned bitter. “Marc made sure Jaheel was frozen out of social circles. Invitations stopped. Study groups excluded him. Marc destroyed his university social life because he dared to find me attractive.”
“But Jaheel survived,” Henri said, voice hoarse but gaining strength. “He rebuilt after university. He’s independent now. An investigative reporter. Podcasts, feeds, long-form pieces. Half the time, his work gets picked up by international networks.”
His voice lowered, carrying guilt and hope. “He’ll talk to you. He won’t pass up a chance to bury Marc.”
Michael felt it settle over the room. Not just a name. An opening.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Jean shifted against Lucas, sniffling. Ellis stood and touched his hair gently.
“Come on. Let’s go swimming.”
Peter glanced toward Jean. “Do you need to change first?”
Jean sighed and lifted the hem of the sweater, revealing the glitter-slick strap of his top and, beneath, a flash of small swim trunks already clinging to his thighs.
Michael’s mouth twitched despite the knot in his chest.
Jean caught it, gave a damp little smile. “See? Already dressed.”
Lucas rose with him, one arm firm around his waist, Ellis following with his towel draped loose over his shoulders. Peter shadowed them to the hall, watchful as ever.
The air felt thinner when they were gone.
Jacob entered a moment later with a folded shirt draped over his arm. He set it neatly on the back of Gabriel’s chair. Gabriel peeled off the towel at his shoulders, water still dripping down his chest, and tugged the shirt on without a word.
He sat down without any of the polish Michael was used to seeing, only the grim stillness of an older brother who had no idea how to help.
At Nika’s quiet call, Alain moved toward the desk. The glow of the laptop washed over their faces as Jaheel Sabato’s name and feeds filled the screen. Scrolls of podcasts, viewer metrics, and links to investigations lined the display, the numbers climbing.
“This isn’t some blogger,” Nika said, voice tight with conviction. “This is reach. His audience dwarfs those of some networks.”
Alain leaned in, muttering, “Marc won’t be able to buy him. Not this one.”
Michael only half-heard them. Henri was still in his arms, curled tight. Every so often, Henri twitched as though he meant to pull back, but Michael only tightened his hold.
“Don’t,” he murmured, quiet enough for Henri alone. His hand stroked slow circles down his back. “Stay with me.”
Henri shuddered, pressing his face harder into Michael’s chest. His voice came muffled, broken. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
Michael bent his head, tears stinging as he whispered back. “I thought of nothing else. And I don’t want to let go.”
Henri shook against him. “I can’t stay. You know I can’t.”
“You don’t have to go back,” Michael said, firm enough to make Henri look up.
“I do.” Henri’s voice cracked. “If I don’t, David will pay for it.”
Michael brushed his thumb gently over the bruise on Henri’s cheek, grounding him. “Henri... what if David wants to be there?”
The horror that swept across Henri’s face made Michael wish he’d bitten the words back. “No. You don’t know Marc. He’s twisting him. He has to be. No one could want that.”
Michael’s thumb lingered on his cheekbone, softer. “There are people who do. People who want the rules, the control. Even the surrender. It doesn’t excuse what Marc did to you. Nothing ever will. But it might mean David isn’t trapped in the same way you were.”
Henri shook his head hard, panic in every line of him. “No. I lived it. I know what it is. No one would choose it.”
Michael didn’t argue further. He just stroked Henri’s hair, calm and steady, his own heart breaking.
Henri sagged against him, trembling. “I should go,” he whispered, voice frayed. “If I stay too long, he’ll suspect something.”
“You don’t have to leave,” Michael said quickly, catching his wrist before he could pull away. His voice cracked with the force of it. “Stay. Just stay. We’ll figure out the rest.”
Henri lifted his face, raw and wet-eyed. “I wish I could.” His fingers curled into Michael’s shirt, desperate. “God, I wish I could.”
The admission nearly undid him. Michael pulled him tighter, breathing him in, memorizing the feel of him.
Across the room, Gabriel’s voice cut quiet but firm. “Jacob. Call a car.”
They stayed like that while the others gathered around Nika’s laptop, murmuring over Jaheel’s name and the reach of his audience.
Alain pointed at figures scrolling across the screen, asking clipped questions, but Michael barely heard them.
His world was the man in his arms, warm and shaking, clinging as though both of them knew the clock was running out.
Time thinned to silence until Jacob reappeared in the doorway. “The car is waiting, sir.”
Henri stood on unsteady legs, and Michael rose with him. “I’ll walk you down,” Michael said, voice rough.
Henri shook his head. “Marc will ask questions if the car is delayed.”
“I don’t care,” Michael said, but his hand was already loosening its grip. Because Henri was right. Every extra minute increased the danger.
Henri’s hand lingered on Michael’s chest, fingers spreading as if he could hold this moment a little longer. His eyes were red-rimmed, desperate.
“I have to go,” Henri whispered.
Michael’s throat closed. He wanted to beg, to demand Henri stay, to lock the doors and never let him walk back into Marc’s reach. But he could see the fear in Henri’s eyes, the terror of what would happen to David if he didn’t return.
“Then come back to me,” Michael said, his voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll come back.”
Henri’s breath hitched. “I’ll try.”
“Not good enough.” Michael’s hand cupped his face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “Promise me.”
“I promise.” Henri breathed.
Gabriel moved toward them, his presence heavy. Henri finally stepped back from Michael’s arms, shoulders rounded, shame hanging on him. He didn’t look at Gabriel, or Alain, or Nika. Just at Michael, one last time.
Gabriel’s voice was quiet steel. “This isn’t over. We won’t stop.”
Henri paused, not turning back. “I know,” he whispered. “That’s what scares me.”
Michael watched Henri walk to the door, every step pulling something vital out of his chest. At the threshold, Henri stopped, hand on the frame, and looked back one more time.
Their eyes met. Henri’s lips parted as if he wanted to say something more, but no words came. Then he was gone, Jacob following, and the door clicked shut with terrible finality.
Michael stared at the empty doorway, his chest aching with the ghost of Henri’s weight against him. His hands shook as he reached for his phone, fingers moving without conscious thought.
Gabriel returned to his chair, his face carved from stone. “We contact Jaheel tonight.”
“Agreed,” Alain said quietly. “The sooner we move, the less time Marc has to hurt him.”
Michael looked down at his phone, voice hoarse. “I’m going to London tomorrow. I need to arrange things there, close some projects. If this works, when this works, Henri’s going to need somewhere to go. Somewhere Marc can’t reach him.”
Gabriel nodded. “We have a jet you’ll take. It’ll remain in London with you until you’re ready to return.”
Nika was already typing, pulling up contact information for Jaheel Sabato. The glow of the screen cast harsh shadows on his face. “I’ll reach out through encrypted channels. Set up a meeting.”
They had to move fast. Every minute Henri spent with Marc was a minute too long.
“Then we end this,” Michael said quietly.
Gabriel’s voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. “Oui. We end this.”