Chapter 222

Aiden

By the time I reached Micah’s room, I had replayed Noah’s voice in my head a hundred times. I wasn’t even sure how I walked in a straight line. My heart felt like someone had taken a blowtorch to it.

But Micah looked up the moment I stepped in and snorted.

“Wow,” he said, blinking. “You look like crap.”

I raised a brow. “You don’t look like you just stepped out of a beauty parlor yourself.”

He arched an eyebrow dramatically. “Ouch. Okay, brutality accepted. I guess mass misery and emotional distress don’t work wonders for my skin tone.”

I laughed and stepped closer, opening my arms. He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his good arm around me and held tight, and for a full minute we didn’t say anything. Just breathed.

“Hey,” I murmured.

“Hey,” he whispered back. “How’re you holding up?”

I let out a breath that felt too heavy for my lungs. “I’ve had better days. How are you doing?”

“Same,” he said softly. “We should just get ice cream and binge cheesy rom-coms and talk shit about the actors and curse at their happiness. That would totally fix… everything.”

“Well…” I smirked. “I don’t know about ice cream, but I can get you hospital jello and nostalgia.”

“We’ll adapt,” he said. “I’m flexible.”

“Not really,” I corrected. “You literally broke a rib.”

He rolled his eyes. “Details.”

We settled on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, like two idiots hiding from the emotional apocalypse outside. It actually felt… grounding.

The door swung open gently, and Hale stepped inside, hands in his pockets, eyes surveying both of us with quiet affection.

“There you are,” he sighed. “Aiden, I haven’t seen you since yesterday morning. I was worried. I know today…”

“I’m okay,” I said. “Or… I will be. Just needed to be here. It's good for me. Gives me a reason to get up, you know?”

“You hear that, Sir?” Micah cut in. “I move people… I get them going.”

Hale shook his head with a wink. “You surely get me going, boy…”

“I’m gonna blush…” He smiled back at him.

And it was these moments that took my mind away from my own shit. “When he gets discharged, I’ll be back at the Dominion. I’ll need the distraction before I spiral.”

Hale nodded. “You’re welcome anytime. You’re missed. And we’ll keep your spot warm. And as for you, sub, you better get well soon so I can continue your training…”

Micah brightened a tiny bit. “As long as we ease back into the dungeon and torture routines, it’s fine by me!”

Hale smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. When you’re ready, we’ll go real easy. Start with the ropes, work our way up to the chains and shackles. Slowly. Reasonably.”

Micah’s eyes widened. “Can’t we start with, like… silk ribbons or emotional support toys?”

“No,” Hale said dryly. “Chains.”

Micah groaned. “Sadists. All of you.”

For a while we just basked in Hale’s presence—got the updates from the lawyers, news from the club, a whole assortment of get-well wishes and ridiculous gossip from everyone. All in Hale’s solemn, perfectly controlled tone.

“Would you boys be okay without my contagious cheerfulness?” he asked, deadpan.

Micah smirked. “Sir, as overflowing as your enthusiasm is, I think we will manage.”

Hale actually laughed, then reached down and ruffled Micah’s hair before slipping out.

Silence settled once the door closed.

“It’s almost time. Isn’t it?” Micah breathed out.

“Yeah.” The word scraped its way out of my throat.

He looked toward the ceiling. “I messaged Lexie this morning. She hasn’t replied. I know it’s messed up… but I wish I could see them. See what they… look like today.” He hesitated. “Guess I really am a masochist.”

I swallowed and stared at my phone. “Well… if it makes you feel better… I got a notification on Instagram.”

He perked up. “Open it. Please.”

I hesitated… then unlocked it.

It was the collage Emily had posted.

My stomach clenched.

Micah glanced at me sideways. “Sooo… you’re a masochist too, huh?”

“Apparently yes,” I muttered.

He scooted closer, pressing his shoulder against mine, gentleness in the contact. “We’ll do it together then.”

And I opened the photos.

Micah scooted closer, that little grin he always used when he knew he was about to stir trouble. “Okay, rule before we start: baby pictures or younger-than-legal-age pictures? We’re only allowed to say ‘cute.’ We are not being creeps tonight.”

I groaned. “Fine.”

He smacked my thigh lightly. “Say it with enthusiasm. Don’t ruin this.”

I pulled up the first few image—Noah at maybe thirteen with small school trophies, braces, freckles, oversized hoodies.

“Cute,” Micah chirped.

“Cute,” I echoed.

Next few pictures—family outings, Noah and Emily at the beach, Noah shirtless in one of the images, looking lean and tan, holding up a stupid crab with that goofy smile.

“Still cute,” Micah said. “Just… almost leveling up.”

“Cute,” I said, swallowing.

Third set—Noah at sixteen, seventeen, and up, in football uniform, sweaty, muscled, dirt smeared across his face.

Micah sucked air between his teeth. “Okay! Now we can say hot.”

I glared at him. “I can say hot. YOU can’t.”

Micah cackled. “Fair.”

The next swipe showed the championship Gala photo—me on stage in my suit, handing out trophies, Noah by the sideline, Lexie in cheer uniform laughing.

Micah whistled. “Damn. Well now I can say hot, and you can’t.”

I elbowed him lightly. “Congratulations, you’ve graduated.”

We scrolled through pictures of Noah with his family, his first game victory, the engagement announcement images, him and Lexie smiling for cameras, hugging, holding hands…

Every swipe felt like a needle.

Micah leaned into me softly, sensing that weight and starting to feel it too.

Then we got to a picture:

Noah standing next to a white Toyota with a bold red stripe down the side and a matching red top. His father’s car.

Micah frowned, eyebrows knitting. “Huh.”

I glanced at him. “You okay?”

“That car…”

He narrowed his eyes, thinking, then shook his head. “Does Noah still have it?”

“No,” I said slowly. “That was his dad’s vehicle.”

Micah stared harder, like trying to grab a memory floating just out of reach.

Then suddenly—his eyes widened and his mouth parted.

“Oh.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

He nodded, breath catching. “I remember where I saw one just like it.”

I stared at him. He stared at the phone.

“It was,” Micah whispered, “driving one street away… keeping pace with us… the night of the accident.”

Everything inside me went cold.

“…What? It was dark, how can you tell from a street away?”

“It was dark, but I noticed it caught up every time we got to an intersection.” Micah murmured rapidly. “I remember thinking some drunk kid was trying to race us from a parallel road.” He swallowed. “And that’s probably it, Aiden. I mean—”

But I was already standing, heart pounding, brain screaming.

“Noah,” I breathed. “He’s with Lexie. He’s getting married right now.”

I dialed Noah immediately.

It rang.

And rang.

No answer.

“Shit, shit, shit—answer, Noah—ANSWER—”

Nothing. If James Blake was here and had already tried to harm my baby boy, there was no stopping him now. He knew he had failed before, and he knew where to find him now. Everyone knew. The place would be packed. It was the perfect setup.

For the next ten minutes, I dialed like a madman, calling everyone and anyone I knew might be there… But nobody answered. “Damn it, damn it!!”

Micah grabbed my wrist, voice trembling. “Aiden—breathe—I’m sure this is just a coincidence….”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I growled, already scrolling through the last contact in my list.

William Hart’s number.

Found it.

And I dialed.