Chapter 42 A Line Crossed
Dante POV
Micah’s breath is still hitting my throat in short, shaky bursts. His fingers twist in my shirt like he thinks I might disappear if he loosens his grip. For a moment I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. All I feel is Micah’s body pressed tight against mine, trembling like he’s freezing even though the room is warm.
“Micah,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he drags himself closer, forehead pressed to my collarbone. His body shakes once violently like something finally cracked inside him. And I know, without a doubt, that whatever he dreamed, whatever he thought would happen if he called me… it broke him enough to bring him straight to me. Good.
But I keep my voice low. Soft. Careful. “I’m not going anywhere.” Micah makes a sound half relief, half fear. “Promise?” His voice is so small I feel something dark coil inside me. I shouldn’t like hearing him like this. I shouldn’t. But I do. I like that I’m the one he runs to. The one he clings to. The one who can calm him or ruin him just by deciding which tone to use.
My hand slides up to the back of his neck. He shivers under the touch, and I feel his pulse jump. “I’m right here,” I say. “You asked for me, didn’t you?” Micah nods against my chest. “Yeah. I… I did.” “Then look at me.”
For a second he doesn’t move. Then, slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes are glassy, red around the edges, like he’s been holding back tears for hours. They flicker over my face before locking on mine. And the moment they do, something inside him blows wide open. His breath stutters. His lips part. His throat works like he’s swallowing words he’s too afraid to let out. God, he’s beautiful when he’s scared. I brush my thumb over his cheek. He leans into it without thinking. That tiny instinctive movement hits me harder than any punch ever has. “What did you dream?” I ask.
Micah flinches. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.” “You called me because of it,” I say, letting my tone drop lower, firmer. “So tell me.” His mouth opens, then closes. His eyes dart away. “You were pulling me down,” he whispers. “Max was trying to pull me out. And I—” His voice catches. “I chose you. Even though I was scared of where you were taking me.”
The honesty in his voice cuts through the air like a blade. There’s no hiding what he meant. No hiding who he chose. It sits in the room between us, heavy and electric. I slide my hand to his jaw and tilt his face back toward me. “You came to me in real life too,” I say softly. “Didn’t you?” Micah nods. His breath trembles. “Yeah.” “So what does that tell you?”
He swallows. “I don’t know.” “Try again.” “I—” His chest rises and falls fast. “I trust you.” There it is. The words ring in my skull like a victory bell. They push everything else aside. Logic. Consequences. Restraint. All of it slides away.
I lean closer until our foreheads touch. I feel him tense and then melt. His breath mixes with mine, warm and uneven. “You should,” I whisper. “You always should.” Micah lets out a shaky exhale that sounds too close to a whimper. My thumb grazes his lower lip. He freezes… then he parts his lips wider without even thinking. He doesn’t know what that does to me.
Before I lose control, I pull back a few inches. Micah’s face flashes with confusion hurt even but he hides it quickly. “Dante… did I do something wrong?” “No.” My voice comes out rougher than I meant. “If anything, you’re doing everything right.” His eyes widen. He looks like he’s trying to decide whether that sentence should comfort him or scare him. Good. Let him feel both.
I straighten up but keep my hand on his waist, my fingers resting just above the hem of his shirt. He doesn’t step away. He doesn’t even try. He stays exactly where I place him. “Sit,” I say quietly, nodding toward the stack of mats in the corner. Micah moves without question. He sits on the edge, hands clasped tight between his knees like he’s waiting for a verdict. His eyes stay on me the whole time. I can feel the heat of his stare on my skin.
I walk toward him slowly. Not to intimidate him but to make sure he feels each step. His knees part slightly as I stop in front of him. He doesn’t even realize he did it. “Micah,” I say, “who told you I would leave?” He hesitates. “No one.” “Someone made you doubt it.” A long silence passes. Then, barely audible: “Max.”
Of course. My jaw tightens, but I keep my face calm. “What did he say?” “He said…” Micah swallows hard. “He said you’re obsessed. That you don’t want what’s best for me. That I should stay away from you before it’s too late.” “And you believed him?” Micah’s eyes snap up. “No. I mean...” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just… got scared.”
I crouch down in front of him, close enough that he has to look at me. “Micah.” I take his chin gently between my fingers. He trembles. “I don’t care what Max thinks. I care about what you do when you’re scared.” Micah’s breath hitches. “I came here.” “Exactly.” My hand slides to the back of his neck. His shoulders sag like he’s finally letting go of something heavy.
“You could’ve gone to Max,” I say. “But you didn’t.” “I didn’t want him,” Micah whispers. The words hit me straight in the gut. “Say it again,” I breathe. Micah blushes. “Dante...” “Say it.” He looks away, embarrassed… then looks back at me with something raw and open in his expression. “I didn’t want him,” he repeats. “I wanted you.” A slow, dangerous heat spreads through my chest. My fingers tighten at his nape. “Good.” Micah shivers.
A loud bang echoes from somewhere in the gym hallway. Micah jumps. I don’t. I keep my hand on him, grounding him, watching him settle again only when he feels my grip. That reaction instinctively leaning closer it tells me everything. He’s scared of losing me. Not scared of me. I stand and offer him my hand. “Come on.” Micah places his hand in mine immediately. No hesitation. I pull him up and he steps into my space like it’s natural, like he belongs there.
“Where are we going?” he asks quietly. “Someplace where Max, Alison, or anyone else can’t bother you.” Micah looks up at me with this strange mix of trust and fear that hits me harder than any confession ever could. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Just… stay close?” I brush my knuckles along his cheek. “I’ve been close,” I say. “You’re just noticing now.” Micah’s breath catches. His cheeks flush.
We leave the equipment room together my hand on the small of his back, guiding him, claiming him in a way no one can question but everyone can sense. The hallway is dim. Empty. Quiet. But inside me? There’s a storm. A line has been crossed. By him. By me. By both of us.
And as I guide Micah down the hall, staying close enough that our shoulders brush, I know one thing with absolute clarity: Max isn’t the danger. Alison isn’t either. The danger… is how easy it would be to take Micah completely. And how much he already wants me to.