My throat threatens to close up, and I swipe at an angry tear. I let out a shuddering breath, staring at the stars, trying to keep my composure. Micah moves closer. Not touching me, exactly, but close enough that I can feel his warmth through my sweater. I’m so, so tired, it’s as though I could melt into him and never resurface. Which is entirely too tempting.

“Mom, I love you. I’m not coming home. Please don’t be mad at me.” My phone falls from my ear, and I stab the End button with a shaky finger.

“Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhit,” I spit out, slouching onto the bench. Micah’s arm presses against mine.

We sit there in silence, side by side, for a long time before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

For some reason, this makes me snort. Because, holy smokes, there is nothing I want to talk about less than what he overheard. To be fair, it was my impulsive idea to involve him.

“No. Thank you, though.”

“Ice cream?”

“Please.”

He stands and offers his hand. I take it, letting go after I stand, faking the need to brush off my shorts. Part of me wants to hold his hand forever, but another part, one that sounds remarkably like my mom, wants to lock myself away in a tower, warmed only by the heat of burned fan fiction kindling.

I’m not sure which part is winning.

“What are the odds you didn’t just overhear all of that?”

“I have excellent hearing.”

“Of course you do.”

“My dad’s in prison,” Micah says, wincing in the low light of the streetlamps.

I scramble to remember what he’s said about his dad, but he’s only talked about his stepdad, Brian. “Whoa.”

“See? Not so bad in comparison, right?”

“Did he…” I want to ask if he killed someone, but that feels … tactless?

Micah shakes his head, reading me correctly. As usual. “Not that. He was a pastor. He was living this double life and stole a ton of money from the congregation and slept with a lot of women on his staff … It was messy. I was only thirteen when it went down. My dad was my hero, you know?”

I do know. Until a month ago, there wasn’t a person on Earth I looked up to more than my mom.

“And, like, that kind of idolatry doesn’t just end when the police show up. At least, it didn’t for me. I thought they were wrong. I believed him. I was an idiot.”

“You were a kid.”

He nods. “I was.”

I consider his profile. His serious brow. His broad shoulders. His protective presence. “Probably not after that, though, I bet.”

His head jerks to look at me, his eyes searching mine briefly. “No,” he says. “Not after that. Not since that day.”