After a while, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “What-?” he started to ask, but immediately regretted the attempt when his throat seized around the word, forcing out a painful cough.

“Use the whiteboard,” his father urged.

Micah huffed, but obliged. What happened?

He left the question vague and open-ended on purpose – a common enough interrogation tactic, employed to worm as much information out of someone as possible, and gauge what they knew.

But, of course, Abram was the captain of a police force, and he sidestepped it easily. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Micah worried his bottom lip, deciding to be honest without giving much away.

Damon.

Abram scowled in reaction to the name. “Fucking Romano. That egotistical bastard – that goddamn criminal who thinks he’s above the law, above justice-” Abram abruptly paused, his tone – which had started snide and angry, taking a turn towards incredulous, “…he found you. He saved you.”

Micah nodded.

“Apparently, he had given you some sort of fancy watch for Christmas that you were able to send your coordinates from. He should have informed the police immediately – as soon as he got the alert. We’d already summoned him in for questioning twice since we found out you were missing. Instead, what does that bastard do? He marches into McCormick’s place, guns blazing, and shoots the fucker in the head. Feds are on our asses, and paperwork has been a goddamn nightmare.”

Micah tried not to feel hurt that his dad was apparently more concerned about paperwork than the fact his only son had almost died.

“But you know the worst part of it all?”

Micah forced himself to shake his head.

“I’m indebted to that fucker – genuinely fucking grateful for him. Because at the end of the day, he saved your life. Rest assured, Micah, I would have shot McCormick dead just the same as he did. I know I’m not always great at expressing it, but… I love you, son, and I’m so glad you’re okay.”

There definitely weren’t tears in his eyes when his dad bent over and gingerly took him into his arms, careful not to jostle the sling as he hugged him. And even if there were, Micah would pretend it was the pain meds starting to wear off. (Not that his father was in any state to notice. The man was dabbing suspiciously at his own eyes.)

I love you, too, Dad.

Abram shook his head. “Don’t think this means I approve of him. No one is good enough for my son, let alone some violent mafioso who’s up to his eyeballs in organized crime. That doesn’t even take into consideration how you two met. The man thought you were a prostitute, for Christ’s sake, and he was paying you to spend time with him. An unorthodox arrangement to say the least.”