Micah was doing his very best not the think about that at the moment.

He took a deep breath in through his nose. “Damon probably didn’t give our encounter a second thought until the article about the Hooker Hunter being caught broke. While his concern was intense, it was also probably brief. Now that he knows that it wasn’t the kid he helped who was attacked, he’s probably forgotten all about it – and me.”

Abram ran a hand down his tired face. “For your own sake, I hope you’re right.”

“I’m sure I am,” Micah said, wondering how his pants had yet to catch on fire considering he was such a fucking liar. “Now that that’s settled, was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Abram sighed. “No, no, I suppose you can return to work.”

Micah took that as the dismissal it was and stood from his chair.

“But Micah…” his father called out before he’d even reached the door.

Micah reluctantly turned. “Yes?”

“Be careful, alright?” It sounded like a warning.

“I always am,” he assured, forcing a smile on his face that felt wooden.

Abram returned it with a wince, and Micah couldn’t help but wonder if all the stupid, heart attack-inducing stunts he’d pulled as a kid – like that time he jumped from their second story roof and broken his arm because he was convinced he could fly (he was eight, alright?) – were flashing through his mind.

After closing the door to his father’s office, Micah forced his legs to move at a normal pace as they led him to the bathroom. As soon as he confirmed that the room was empty, however, he hurriedly locked himself in one of the stalls and all but threw himself at the toilet, retching as he attempted to empty the contents of his upset stomach.

Unfortunately, nothing came up since he hadn’t had time to eat breakfast that morning. After a full three minutes of dry heaving, all he had to show for his efforts were a sore throat, watery eyes, and a stomach in just as much upheaval as when he’d entered the restroom.

He rested his head against the toilet seat in defeat before immediately regretting the decision and lifting it off. Who knew whose ass had been there last? The thought that it could have been Jensen’s – or his father’s – made him shiver in disgust.

(Micah was fully aware he was coping with the revelation his father had made about Damon in his office by hard-core compartmentalizing and steadfastly avoiding the topic.)

He reluctantly stepped out of the stall and approached the sink. He splashed some water in his face, but a quick glance at his reflection confirmed it did nothing to perk up his ashen complexion or dispel the red splotches crawling up his neck – something that only happened when he was in extreme emotional distress, and at the moment… well, he was feeling pretty gutted.

What the fuck was he going to do?