Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I forced my unruly body to focus on other things as I handed the T-shirt to Micah. He took his time working it over his body and after a few bumps of his bad arm, I stepped into his space and helped him smooth the fabric down. His arms were both still lifted as I draped the material over his lean hips. I silently urged him to drop those hands of his to my shoulders for support but unfortunately, there wasn’t any reason to. Fuck, it would be so easy to take one more step and close the distance between us. I’d get to feel his slim body pressed against mine and I’d finally get to know what he felt like when he wasn't terrified, pissed off, or out cold.
We hung there in this weird state of suspended animation for several long seconds before Micah seemed to catch himself and stepped back. I did the same and asked, “That okay?”
Instead of answering, Micah had a question of his own. “So… so we’re still free to go, right?”
Thankfully, Micah’s eyes were downcast so he didn’t see the protest in my eyes as every part of me wanted to scream the one word that would make it clear that he wasn't free to go. But I knew that telling him no wasn't an option. The fact was that I couldn't and wouldn't keep the young man and his charges against their will. Not after they’d been Ricky’s prisoners for so long already.
What was worse, though, was that I had a very strong feeling that my role in his life had been the reason he’d ended up a prisoner in the first place.
“Yes,” I forced myself to say. But when Micah made a move to leave the room, I reached out to grab his good elbow. He let out a little gasp but didn't jerk away from me like I was expecting.
“How far do you think you're going to get on that wad of cash in your backpack, Micah?” I asked. “Because Alaska is a hell of a long way away and like it or not, you and those kids are going to be a target the entire way there.”
Micah's head snapped up as soon as I said Alaska. His eyes went dark, and his lips pulled into a tight line. I knew I was in for a fight, but I didn't care. Better that than letting the young man walk out the door and think that he was invincible. I'd seen far too many cases where the cold hard truth hit someone too late.
“That's none of your business—” Micah began, but I cut him off by pulling him forward enough that I could close my bedroom door. I most certainly didn’t need the kids hearing what was about to go down between me and their uncle. Micah jumped when I flipped the lock. His reaction hurt, but there was nothing I could do about it now.
“It’s just to keep the kids from overhearing us or walking in on us while we talk,” I murmured before I took several steps away from Micah to give him space. When he didn't visibly relax, I knew I had no choice but to barrel forward.
“I get it, Micah. You've got this elaborate plan to get you and those kids someplace where you can start over. It's probably a dream the three of you guys have been hanging on to for a long time, isn’t it?” I asked.
Micah didn't respond at first but when I didn't continue, he finally nodded.
“Does your dream include having to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder?” I asked. “Because that's what will happen the moment you set foot out of the state with those kids. Hell, technically you’re already committing a felony since we’re no longer in New Jersey.”
My comments didn't seem to surprise Micah at all. “You're assuming Ricky or Clara would even bother to go to the cops about Christopher and Rory,” he said crisply. “They’re not exactly eager to have the police sniffing around.”
I shook my head. “Whether they file kidnapping charges against you or not is irrelevant. You don't have legal custody of either of those children. That means any cop or official who asks you to prove you’re their legal guardian can have you arrested when you can't prove that you are. Five years from now when you're working some dead-end job in Alaska because you can't use your real name or Social Security number, Rory might slip and fall and hurt herself and she ends up in the hospital and some doctor starts asking the right questions. Or maybe she forgets that she’s supposed to be keeping her previous life a secret and she accidentally tells a friend or teacher. What happens then?”