Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
MASON
Dakota fell into a deep sleep in the car on the way home from her parents’ place and stayed asleep as I carried her up the walkway to Micah’s house. She was exhausted. She also looked like she’d been crying before I pulled up to the street corner she’d instructed me to pick her up at.
I could only imagine what a day like today would do to her.
It was really difficult for me to accept the fact that there was nothing I could do to fix this, nothing I could do to make this any easier.
But I could understand the complexity of a relationship like that.
She didn’t want me to kill him, even after everything he’d done to her, because adding a new twist to the pain she carried would only make it that much more unbearable.
That much more difficult to ever overcome.
Complex wounds were the most difficult to heal. The type that were created in stages, spreading deep and wide, touching all vital organs.
It was why I tried to hate Micah with every breath I took.
I’d never get over him if I didn’t. I’d never heal if I allowed myself to feel anything else for him, because those other feelings gave him more room to hurt me again.
If I remained at the bottom of my pit of hatred, he couldn’t push me down any farther.
Micah opened the door before we even got to the step, holding it wide so I could carry Dakota through it. He silently followed us upstairs, trailing behind me as I paused in the hallway, looking between Micah’s bedroom and the guest bedroom.
As much as I hated it, I knew where Dakota wanted to be.
Chest squeezing, I turned towards his bedroom.
He’d already set out some pajamas for her on the bed: his own t-shirt and a pair of Dakota’s little cotton boxer shorts.
I laid her down on the comforter then knelt to unzip her heavy boots. Micah joined me, tugging down her tights and skirt, then putting on her sleep shorts, cradling her body over the mattress. He tossed me the t-shirt then disappeared into the bathroom.
I worked her sweater over her head, unhooked her bra, then slipped on the t-shirt, trying not to linger on the way it smelled so strongly like him. In another lifetime, I was the one still wearing clothes that smelled like pine forests and darkness. But in this one, it was her.
Micah reappeared with a few items.
He moved Dakota up, putting her head on the pillow and laying the blankets over her curled-up body.
Then he cradled her face, bending forward as he started carefully wiping off her makeup, his expression focused.
Micah glanced up at me, then motioned to the hairbrush laying on the comforter.
I grabbed it and sat on the bed with him, on the opposite side of Dakota.
It was slightly difficult to brush her hair at this angle, but I managed well enough, doing my best not to snag on any tangles enough to hurt her.
She stirred a bit, mumbling something before slipping back into dreamland.
I could sense the way Micah stiffened for the moment he thought she might wake up, then relaxed once she did.
I sensed it because I’d done the same thing.
Being in tune with her made me in tune with him.
I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want to notice anything about him.
Micah had finished taking off her makeup and was now gently applying lotion to her face, then Aquaphor to her soft lips. In a way, the sight of that stole my breath.
He loves her.
He genuinely fucking loves her.
Blinking away the sting in my eyes, I focused back on my task of braiding her hair. He knew things about her I’d never taken the time to remember.
Her nighttime skincare routine, her favorite pajamas to wear, the way she liked to sleep with her hair braided when she was sad so it’d be less tangled in the morning. Less work for her when she was already struggling just to get out of bed.
He knew how to take care of her, for real. Better than I took care of her. All I’d ever noticed about her pajamas was they were always Micah’s clothes now and I didn’t know anything about her skincare routine except that I liked when she came to bed bare and soft and smelling like lotion.
For weeks, I’d hated Dakota for trying to tell me something that was true. Of course he kept her safer than I did. Of course she’d want to sleep here. Of course I would be the one to get left in the end.
I understood more the longer I actually watched him with her. Usually, I refused to see anything positive about him, refused to see the ways he helped her, but I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
And I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know how it felt.
I did. I fucking did.
I knew how it felt to be loved by him. Knew how fucking special it was to be known by Micah. Knew how steady he was, how perceptive, how caring.
Knew. Past tense.
I didn’t get to feel that anymore. I was almost jealous of her receiving all his devotion the same way I used to. I fucked it up, though. I didn’t deserve that shit.
He didn’t deserve anything from me, either. That was what I needed to keep reminding myself of. He was the one to walk away with my heart in his hands, the one to leave me without a second glance, without a real conversation.
But every time I tried to remind myself of those things, I reminded myself just as strongly that I was the cause of him leaving. I’d been too much for him. Too much to handle, too much to hold, too much to keep loving.
The same thing would happen with Dakota eventually. She’d leave me for all the same reasons.
Unless I could change.
Her back rose and fell with her steady breaths, her lips softly parted, eyelashes dark on her cheeks.
I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was the most precious thing on Earth and in Heaven alike.
I wished I was better for her, wished I’d been better to her, wished a million different things regarding Dakota, but things would always be hard for us.
Even if she liked it, she deserved better.
I was wrong for letting myself treat her the way I did.
Am I capable of changing that? Can I make myself into a better person for her?
Micah moved closer to her and propped his head up on his elbow, staring down at her face while he brushed his thumb along her arm. Heart in my throat, I glanced over at him. He met my stare, an infinite number of unspoken words lingering in his blue eyes.
A + K
Ash and Kill.
We used to be something, and now we weren’t. Not really. Not outside of her.
I looked down, tracing Dakota’s hairline with the pad of my index finger, then along her neck and shoulder. She was my whole fucking world, the only pocket of goodness in my life, and I was wrecking her.
It was so quiet in the bedroom, so dark.
Micah’s eyes caught on mine again, a painful yet familiar understanding passing between us.
We both loved the same girl.
And she was everything.
Dakota Masters was more of an angel than either of us could’ve ever been. Sleeping, dreaming, so vulnerable and trusting as she laid between us, her body curled up small.
My fingers traced over her shoulder and down her arm, my chest aching. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and I wanted to die for all the ways I’d hurt her. I knew Micah felt the same way when he made eye contact with me.
Neither of us treated her the way she deserved. Being known by Micah didn’t mean you’d get to know him. I could see that in their relationship, see the distance he enforced with every bit of his strength. I knew how that felt, too.
Slowly I dragged my touch down, and Micah dragged his touch up, and our fingers barely brushed together. But both of us were mostly touching her. Touching each other through her.
I swallowed against the ache in my throat. We were both watching the silent connection, our hands on her body together. His was so warm, so gentle.
For a final time, I looked over at Micah’s face.
He looked back.
Neither of us spoke. We didn’t want to wake her.
But I knew I wouldn’t have had any words for him even if she wasn’t here.
Not the sort of words I should’ve had.
I had no idea how I was supposed to convey every painful emotion wrecking my mind. All the love I had for him that I’d bled out of my body over years, that I’d ripped out of myself because hating him was easier than missing him.
He was staring at me like it killed him to do it, but like looking away would kill him even faster. We were both dead men, no matter how this played out.
His face was gorgeous in the dark. And there was a softness to him now, something he’d only developed for her.
Nothing had ever filled the hole he’d left inside of me, the dark chasm, the piece of my soul he’d carved out.
I removed my hand from Dakota’s arm, broke our eye contact, then left the room, retreating to the guest bedroom.
And when I slept, I dreamed about Micah.
Dakota had asked me once if angels could dream, and I’d told her we could. What I’d neglected to mention was that I’d only ever seen one face in my dreams.
Micah’s face.
Whenever I dreamed about anyone else, I couldn’t quite make out any of their faces. But after I met him, he became crystal clear.
I didn’t know why. It’d just been that way since the day I met him. I suspected it would be that way until the day I died.
Even Dakota didn’t have a clear face in my dreams, as much as I wished she did.
It was only ever him.
I’d told him that before, but I had no idea if he remembered it now. I hoped he didn’t.