The room was heavy with silence. Clyde kneeled rigidly beside the bed, his broad frame hunched forward. Micah lay against the pillows, pale beneath the bruises staining his face and body, his lips cracked. He hadn't spoken, hadn't moved, hadn't even looked at Clyde since his arrival.
Clyde's chest ached with the stillness. He reached out, unable to bear seeing him lying in another man's bed. He leaned closer, his arms shifted under Micah, intending to lift him gently, to get him away from this place.
But the moment his hand brushed against the sheet near Micah's waist, the boy flinched. His temper acted up again. "Get away from me!"
Clyde froze. His arms stiffened, suspended in the air.
Darcy was startled, too. He had never expected Micah to treat Clyde like that. What had happened between them?
The silence was shattered as another voice entered the room.
"Who are you?"
It was calm, yet edged with coldness. "What are you doing in my house?"
All three heads turned.
