Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Did you just say friends?
SOPHIE
Warmth is the first thing I notice.
Then the quiet. Then the fact that, for once, my body doesn’t feel like it’s been holding itself together all night.
Then it hits me. This isn’t my bed. This is Micah’s bed.
I sit up quickly, my heart skipping. What—
And then yesterday crashes back in pieces. The C minus. My stepfather’s upcoming release. Carter. Micah showing up for me—again—and taking me here, to his apartment, telling me to rest. I must’ve passed out instantly, because I don’t even remember lying down. His mattress is unfairly comfortable.
Then it clicks—Saturday. Work.
I fumble around the bed, looking for my phone. It’s here somewhere—I definitely brought it—but my mind’s still too jumbled, my hands clumsy as I search the sheets. My eyes dart to the clock on the wall instead. Ten in the morning
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m late for my shift at the cafe. Again.
I scramble out of bed, tugging at the hem of Micah’s sweater I have on, rushing toward the door.
“Morning, beautiful,” his voice calls from the kitchen, calm but firm. “And where do you think you’re going?”
I whirl around. He’s standing there holding a coffee and a water bottle, extending the latter toward me.
“I have work. I’m late. Sorry, I’ll take the coffee another—”
“You’re not working.” His tone is final. “I already told them to cancel your shifts for the next week.”
I stare at him, stunned. “Micah, no. I can’t afford to take a whole week off.”
He takes a step closer, expression soft but unwavering.
“Sophie, I paid your rent for the rest of the year. There’s only a month left anyway.
And before you try to argue—don’t. I’m not letting it go this time.
Write down what I paid if you need to, and pay me back later, if that makes you feel better. ”
I open my mouth to protest, but the words don’t come. I’m too tired to fight him on this. And the truth is, it’s help I desperately need.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, surprising even myself by not arguing.
“Good.” His voice softens. “Now, put this on and go lie back down.”
He hands me the same soft top and bottoms I wore the last time I stayed here. “The doctor will be here soon. He works for the family, so don’t worry about the cost.”
“I have to go back to the student center.” I tell him. “I left all my stuff there.”
“We’ll go later. Together. But you need to rest right now.”
I don’t even try to protest this time. Something in me just gives out.
I’m too tired to keep pretending I can carry all of this alone.
Maybe it’s not even a choice anymore—there’s just too much, and I can’t keep hiding it from Micah forever.
And for once, I don’t want to. If he eventually leaves me, I’ll deal with it then.
I take the clothes, nod, and head back toward his room.
He doesn’t follow me right away—he just watches, his expression soft but worried, like he’s making sure I won’t change my mind and bolt.
When I slide back under the covers, the familiar scent of him settles over me. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, my chest loosens.
I curl against the pillow, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and let my eyes close.
For once, I don’t feel like I have to stay alert. For once, I let myself feel safe.
The doctor had just left after asking a few questions and checking me over. He’d been gentle and professional, but I still hated every second of being examined and feeling fragile. I hear his low voice murmuring to Micah on the other side of the door, too muffled for me to make out the words.
A moment later, the soft hum of the elevator signals he’s gone.
I take a breath, tug Micah’s sweater tighter around me, and step back into the living room.
Micah is standing there, leaning against the counter, and when he sees me, his lips tilt into that soft smile that always manages to make my chest ache.
“See?” he says, his voice warm. “Told you—you need rest.”
I roll my eyes, though my heart isn’t in it. “I’m fine, really. You can go. I’m sure you had things planned for today.”
He covers a fake cough with his fist. “I called in sick,” he says, then he flashes that signature golden boy smile.
Relief crashes through me so strong I don’t even think—I move before I can stop myself.
I cross the room in quick steps and jump into his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands catch me immediately, strong and steady, and when he lifts me effortlessly, my legs curl around his waist.
I press my mouth to his, and he kisses me back instantly.
It’s not soft or hesitant. It’s deep, hungry, and feels like everything we’ve been holding back—his hands grip me tighter, my fingers tangle in his hair, and our breaths quicken as if neither of us wants to stop. His chest presses against mine, heat spreading everywhere he touches.
But then he pulls back, his forehead resting against mine, his breathing uneven.
“God, I hate myself for saying this,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, “but I can’t—we can’t—have sex. Not yet. Not until I know you’re okay. Stable.”
My heart twists, because even now, with his hands firm on my waist, he’s still putting me first.
He gently lowers me to the ground, though his arms stay around me, keeping me close.
“Sophie,” he says softly, and when I meet his eyes, there’s something raw there. “I was so scared last night. I’ve never felt that helpless in my life. I didn’t know what to do for you, and I hated myself for that.”
My chest tightens, and guilt pools in my stomach.
“How did you know you just needed a minute?” His voice is quieter now, but it carries weight. “How many times has this happened to you?”
I bite my lip, hesitating, but something in me—maybe the exhaustion, maybe the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters—makes me want to finally let him in.
“It’s…not unusual,” I admit quietly. “I get panic attacks sometimes. I just—I have to do better at avoiding the triggers.” I force a small smile, even if it feels brittle. “It’s not a big deal, really.”
His jaw tightens instantly, his gray eyes hardening.
“Not a big deal?” His voice sharpens, frustrated.
“No. This is not normal, Sophie. Keep avoiding the triggers for now, but let me get rid of them for good. Tell me what they are and let me handle it.” His grip on my waist tightens, protective, almost desperate.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I ever saw you like that again. ”
I swallow hard, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears from spilling. I’ve never had anyone look at me like this, never had someone so willing to fight for me without hesitation. It’s overwhelming, and I don’t trust my voice enough to speak.
But Micah notices anyway. His expression softens instantly, his thumb brushing the side of my waist gently, almost like he’s apologizing for pushing too hard.
“Baby,” he murmurs. “Come here.”
I lean into him, and he pulls me in tight, his arms wrapping around me like he’s not letting go anytime soon. The steady warmth of him seeps into me, and I feel myself start to ease.
MICAH
I love this—Sophie’s curled up next to me on the sofa, tugging at the sleeves of my sweater like she’s trying to disappear into it. God, she’s beautiful. Chestnut brown hair a little messy, cheeks still flushed from earlier, drowning in my sweater that’s too big for her. And I can’t stop staring.
We went back to campus earlier to grab her bag and laptop, and she was tense the entire time.
I walked in with her, just in case, and I could sense that she was scared.
She has this way of pretending everything’s fine, brushing it off like it doesn’t matter—but I’ve learned to see through the tough act.
Now, she finally seems more at ease, her body relaxed against mine. Still, she stays quiet for a long moment before she speaks.
“Micah, do you remember the day we first met, at the cafe? The guy who—”
“Yes.” My answer is immediate, clipped. I don’t let her finish. I don’t want to hear the rest, don’t want to recollect what he said to her.
She swallows, taking a shaky breath. “He found me after that. He must’ve seen my name tag that day. And he was the one who requested me as a tutor.”
My heart sinks like a stone. Rage burns hot in my chest, and for a second, I can’t even move.
“Shit.” I drag a hand through my hair, the weight of it all crashing down on me. “I saw him. At the student center—one of the days I saw you walk in there.” My voice tightens. “I brushed it off because the timing didn’t line up with yours. But I saw him.”
I swallow hard, shame burning in my chest. “I could’ve helped you months ago. I should have. God, Sophie—I’m so sorry.”
The ugly and relentless truth settles in. I could have stepped in. I could have protected her from all of this. Prevented it before it ever touched her again. Instead, I missed it. And now she’s carrying the weight of another wound she never should’ve had to bear.
I clench my jaw. I failed her.
Her hand brushes my arm quickly, her voice soft but firm. “No, Micah. It’s not your fault. I was the one who didn’t tell you.”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “What’s his name?”
“Carter.” She hesitates for a moment. “Carter Delaney.”
“What year?”
“Same as you. A junior.”
I don’t even think. I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Nico.
“Micah?” Nico answers.
“Hey Nico,” I say quickly, though my voice is tense. “I need you to look into a Carter Delaney for me. Junior at Westcliffe. It’s urgent.”
“Got it. I’ll be in touch soon.” He hangs up.
When I look back, Sophie is sitting so quietly on the sofa, her fingers tugging nervously at the sleeves of my sweater, like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Her teary brown eyes meet mine, and she looks uncertain, maybe even scared of what I might do.
“Who was that?” she asks, concern in her voice.
“Nobody you need to worry about.” I take her hand gently, squeezing it. “Sophie, listen to me. I don't want you wasting another second thinking about him.” My voice softens even as the anger burns low in my chest. “I'm going to handle it.”