Chapter 49 The Pull I Can't Escape
Micah's POV
Dante didn’t speak as he walked beside me—he didn’t have to. His silence pressed against my skin harder than his hand on the back of my neck had moments before. My steps felt strangely unsteady, like the hallway floor was shifting under me. I could still feel his breath ghosting over my ear from earlier, the quiet, dangerous way he’d said come here like he already knew I would. I hated how my body responded before my mind caught up. I hated even more that part of me didn’t hate it at all.
When we reached the end of the hallway, Dante finally stopped. The faint buzz of the gym lights hummed above us, the only thing filling the heavy silence. I swallowed hard, wishing my heartbeat wasn’t so loud. He turned to me slowly. “You shouldn’t have walked away like that.” My breath snagged. “I—I needed space.” “From me?” His voice didn’t rise, didn’t sharpen, but something in it cut straight through me anyway. “You don’t pull away from me, Micah.” He said it like a rule. Like something unchangeable.
I crossed my arms even though it felt like shielding myself with tissue paper. “You can’t—” My voice faltered. “You can’t say stuff like that and expect me to just… just act normal.” His eyes narrowed slightly, but not in anger—more like he was studying me. “Explain.” Explain? The nerve. The audacity. I took a shaky breath. “Everyone’s watching us. Max, Alison, the whole damn team. And you just—” I gestured helplessly. “—touch me like that in front of them. Pull me. Order me around. What do you expect people to think?”
Dante stepped closer, close enough that I instinctively backed up—only to feel the cold wall hit my shoulder blades. His voice was a low murmur. “I expect them to think you belong with me.” My fingers curled into fists before I could stop them. “You don’t get to decide that.” His hand brushed my jaw, slow enough to give me time to flinch if I wanted to. I didn’t. “You think I’m deciding anything for you?” His thumb skimmed my cheekbone. “Micah, you keep choosing me.”
“I don’t—” “You text me the second you’re scared,” he murmured. “You look for me first. You come to me before you even understand why.” His voice dropped lower. “You lean into me every time I touch you.” Heat shot straight through my stomach. I opened my mouth to deny it but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. And that terrified me more than anything.
My breath trembled as I tried to speak. “Dante… this isn’t healthy.” “I don’t want healthy.” His fingers slipped behind my neck, warm and certain. “I want you.” My pulse jumped so hard it hurt. His forehead lowered until it hovered inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness of his breathing compared to my shaky, uneven inhale. My body leaned toward him despite every alarm in my head screaming don’t.
“But this is too much,” I whispered. His lips didn’t touch mine, but he was close enough that the promise of it made my stomach twist. “Too much?” Dante echoed softly. “Or exactly what you’ve been waiting for?” The worst part was—I didn’t know. I squeezed my eyes shut. “You scare me,” I breathed. “I know.” “I shouldn’t feel safe with you.” “But you do,” he said, and I hated how his voice softened there, like it mattered to him. “You trust me even when you think you shouldn’t.”
I didn’t answer. Because it was true. And maybe that made me more messed up than I wanted to admit. A door slammed somewhere behind us, and I jolted away from him like I’d been burned. My skin felt hot, my thoughts scrambled. Dante’s eyes flicked to the sound, then back to me with something sharp in them—territorial, annoyed, almost possessive.
Max’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Micah?” My chest tightened. Not again. Not now. I stepped away from Dante quickly, but not fast enough. Max rounded the corner and froze when he saw how close we’d been. “What the hell is going on?” Max demanded, staring at me first, then Dante. “Micah, did he—did he do something?” Dante’s expression didn’t change. He simply folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall like he was bored. “You’re interrupting.”
“Interrupting what?” Max snapped. My throat closed. “Max, don’t.” “No.” Max stepped closer, eyes blazing. “I’m not letting him isolate you anymore. I’m not stupid. I know what he’s doing.” He wasn’t wrong—but hearing it said out loud felt like being punched. Dante straightened lazily, eyes half-lidded. “Micah,” he said calmly, ignoring Max entirely. “We’re not finished talking.”
Max’s jaw dropped. “You can’t just—” He pointed at Dante, hands shaking. “You don’t own him.” Dante’s eyes flicked to him, sharp—dangerously sharp. “If you’re done yelling, he and I were having a conversation.” I wanted to scream. Or run. Or disappear. Instead, I whispered, “Max… please. Just go.” His head snapped toward me in disbelief. “You’re choosing him? Again?” The shame hit so fast it made my stomach twist. “I’m not choosing—”
“Yes, you are,” Max said, voice cracking. “And you don’t even see it.” Something behind my ribs cracked. He turned to leave, then stopped. “Micah, he’s going to ruin you.” I stared at the floor. “Max, please. I can’t do this right now.” Silence. Then Max’s footsteps retreated. The hallway felt colder the second he disappeared.
Dante let out a quiet breath, almost amused. “You see? He doesn’t know you like I do.” I sank down against the wall, covering my face with my hands. “Dante, please stop.” He crouched in front of me, close but not touching. “You’re trembling.” “Because of you,” I whispered. His smile was slow, dark, unbearably gentle. “Good.”
My breath hitched. Dante reached out, fingers brushing mine. “You came back to me. Even with him shouting and pulling you the other direction. You still came back.” “Don’t twist it,” I said weakly. He leaned in, voice soft as a confession. “I don’t have to twist what’s already true.” I lifted my head, meeting his eyes despite every instinct screaming to look away. “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked. “Because you’re mine,” Dante murmured. “And you know it.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “I’m not—” His finger pressed lightly against my lips, silencing me. “Micah… you don’t run to people who scare you.” His voice lowered again, warm and possessive. “You run to the person you trust most.” My breath shook. “That’s not trust. That’s—something else.” “Then tell me to stop,” he said. “Tell me you don’t want me near you.” I opened my mouth. But nothing came out.
His eyes softened in victory. “Exactly.” Heat spread across my chest, confusing and terrifying and addictive all at once. Dante stood slowly and offered his hand. “Come here.” I stared at it. At him. At the burning mess inside me. Then, with a weak, traitorous breath, I reached up and let him pull me to my feet.
His fingers tightened around mine just a little too long, his smile just a little too satisfied. And all I could think was: I’m losing control. And I don’t know if I want it back.