22. Michael #3
Michael’s hand came up, ripping the blindfold away.
Henri blinked against the sudden light, pupils struggling to adjust. When his gaze finally focused on Michael’s face hovering above him, something cracked wide open in his expression.
Recognition confirmed, visual proof of what his body had already known.
“Michael,” he whispered again, this time seeing him, tears spilling freely down his cheeks. “You came.”
Michael pulled him into a fierce embrace, crushing him close. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Marc’s face twisted, control shattering. He surged to his feet, fury igniting in his eyes. “What did you say?”
Henri’s voice came stronger now, certain. “Michael. I belong to Michael.”
Marc’s hand shot out, but before it could connect, the door opened.
David stepped through, moving with careful purpose. He crossed directly to Marc and placed one hand on his chest. “Marc,” he said quietly, but with absolute certainty.
Marc’s attention snapped to him, rage burning. “He’s mine. He doesn’t get to—”
“Marc.” David’s voice stayed level, his hand firm. “Look at me.”
Marc did. Something passed between them, silent and intense. David’s expression was calm but immovable, his presence somehow both yielding and unyielding. Marc stared at him, chest heaving, fury and something else warring across his face.
Michael didn’t wait to see the outcome. He pulled his shirt off and shoved it over Henri’s head, wrapping him in it. “We’re leaving.”
Henri clung to him, confused, trembling. “Michael...?”
“I’ve got you.” Michael hauled him up, supporting his weight as Henri’s legs threatened to give out.
They made it to the door. Michael glanced back once.
Marc stood frozen, David’s hand still on his chest, David speaking in low urgent tones Michael couldn’t hear. Marc’s eyes tracked them, burning with rage, but he didn’t move. Didn’t follow. Just stood there staring with terrible intensity while David kept him anchored in place.
Michael didn’t care why. Didn’t care about David’s motives or Marc’s reasons or any of it. He just tightened his grip on Henri and kept moving, down the stairs, across the foyer.
They reached the elevator. Michael hit the call button hard enough to hurt his thumb. The doors opened immediately, and Michael ushered them inside before hitting the button for the private garage level.
“Wait,” Henri whispered, his voice small and broken. He turned back toward the hall they’d come from, as if pulled by invisible strings. “I should... did I do something wrong? Marc will be angry if I—”
Michael caught his face in both hands, forcing Henri to look at him. “No. You’re done. You’re never going back.”
Henri’s eyes searched his, confusion and hope warring in equal measure. “Promise?”
The word nearly broke Michael’s heart. “I promise.”
The elevator descended, and Henri started to shake. Small tremors at first, barely noticeable, then growing stronger until his whole body was vibrating with it. His breathing went shallow and fast, each inhale catching on something in his chest.
“Michael,” he whispered, the word breaking. “Michael, I can’t—I don’t—”
“I’ve got you.” Michael pulled him close, one hand cradling the back of his head. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”
But Henri couldn’t seem to hear him. His hands came up to clutch at Michael’s shirt, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. “He’s going to come after me. He’ll find me. He always finds me when I—”
“No.” Michael’s voice was firm, certain. “He won’t.”
The elevator doors opened onto the garage, and the sight of the waiting car seemed to break something in Henri. He made a sound, small and wounded, and his legs started to give out.
Michael caught him, taking his full weight. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
By the time they reached the car, Henri was shaking so hard his teeth were chattering.
His face was buried against Michael’s shoulder, and Michael could feel hot tears soaking through his shirt.
He guided Henri inside, settling them both in the backseat with Henri practically in his lap.
Michael tapped the “ Return Home ” icon, then spun back to Henri.
He pulled the weighted blanket Ellis had packed around Henri’s shoulders, having to gently pry Henri’s desperate grip from his shirt to do it, then tucked it tight around him.
Henri’s hands immediately clutched at the fabric, fingers white-knuckled, then reached for Michael again as if he couldn’t decide what to hold onto.
“It’s from Ellis,” Michael said softly, adjusting the blanket so it covered Henri more completely.
Henri’s face crumpled. The name seemed to pierce whatever fragile control he’d been maintaining. He collapsed against Michael, dropping fast and hard, his whole body going boneless as sobs tore out of him. Not quiet crying but gut-wrenching, gasping sobs that shook his entire frame.
The car began to move, pulling smoothly from the garage, but neither of them noticed. Michael was entirely focused on Henri, on the man shaking apart in his arms, on bringing him back piece by piece.
Michael wrapped both arms around him, one hand coming up to cradle his head, the other stroking his side in long, steady movements. “You’re safe,” he murmured into Henri’s hair, keeping his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”
Henri sobbed harder, his hands fisting in Michael’s shirt again. “I couldn’t—I tried to stay but I couldn’t—I left and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“Shhh, no.” Michael’s hand moved to cup Henri’s face, tilting it up so he could look at him. Henri’s eyes were red and swollen, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You did nothing wrong. Do you hear me? Nothing.”
“But I left,” Henri gasped, the words tumbling out between sobs. “I wasn’t there, and I couldn’t come back and—”
“That’s not your fault.” Michael’s voice was fierce now, certain. “That was survival, Henri. There’s no shame in that.”
The words seemed to break through. Henri’s sobs turned into hiccupping gasps, his whole body still trembling but the panic starting to ease. Michael kept stroking his side, kept murmuring soft reassurances, kept holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
Because he was.
“Cold,” Henri whispered suddenly, his voice small. “I’m so cold.”
Michael immediately pulled the blanket tighter around him, then wrapped his own body around Henri’s, trying to share his warmth. “Better?”
Henri nodded against his chest, but he was still shivering. Michael rubbed his arms through the blanket, trying to generate heat, trying to soothe.
“Water,” Michael said, remembering Jean’s careful instructions. He reached for the bottle Jean had packed, unscrewed the cap with one hand while keeping Henri anchored with the other. “Can you drink for me?”
Henri lifted his head, confused and exhausted, but let Michael guide the bottle to his lips.
He took a small sip, then another, his throat working.
Michael watched him swallow and remembered Marc’s voice on the phone, remembered what he’d threatened to do, and had to close his eyes against the surge of protective rage.
Henri was his now. To care for. To protect. To love…
“Good,” Michael murmured when Henri had managed a few more sips. “That’s good, sweetheart.”
The endearment slipped out without thought, and Henri’s eyes went wide. Fresh tears spilled over, but these looked different. Softer somehow.
“Say it again,” Henri whispered, voice wrecked. “Please.”
Michael’s chest tightened with an emotion so fierce it almost hurt. He cupped Henri’s face in both hands, thumbs brushing away tears. “Sweetheart. My sweetheart. You’re mine now, and I’m going to take care of you.”
Henri made a broken sound and buried his face in Michael’s neck, body going limp with something that looked like relief.
Michael held him, one hand stroking his hair, the other rubbing circles on his thigh. “You’re safe,” he kept saying, a mantra, a promise. “I’ve got you. You’ll never go back. Not ever.”
The car carried them through the city toward Gabriel’s Lafayette Square home, but Michael didn’t look out the window. Didn’t care about the route or the traffic or anything beyond the precious weight trembling in his arms.
His whole world was right here, finally free, finally his.
And he would burn down anyone who tried to take him away.