Page 115 of Faith and Fury

“Caleb.” Micah looks up. “I–I love you, and I respect you.” He takes a breath. “But I don’t think I can do this right now.”

The words go straight to my heart, making it swell and shatter. I retract my hand.

As I get up to leave, fear takes over. “Just tell me it’s not like before. You don’t want to … hurt yourself. Promise me that.”

Micah smiles weakly. “Do you think, if I did, she’d come back?”

“Micah—”

“I know.” He pulls the blanket up. “I promise.”

I want to believe him. Just like I want to believe Jaxon is going to forgive me, and come back to the den in his own good time. Or that I’ll ever forgive myself for hurting my family so severely. For letting Faith go.

But as I walk out into the living room, shutting the door behind me, I start to feel it creeping in. Eating away at me.

Doubt.

Chapter Fifty

Faith

We don’t go back to Maverick’s house for hours. He wheels me around the discount hardware store in one of those massive shopping trolleys, followed by a brief joyride in the parking lot. We smash two-dollar vases with hammers and then, when we’re told off by a ranger, we clean it all up and drive to the local junkyard.

“C’mon,” Maverick grins at me in the passenger seat, “you can’t sit there and tell me this day hasn’t been cathartic as hell.”

Somehow, he persuades—or, more likely, bribes—the junkyard guys to let us smash some old TVs. By the end of it, we’re both out of breath, and I’m floating on a rare dopamine high.

He takes me to dinner at his favorite taco truck. It’s only then I notice him looking around, keeping his eyes peeled, as night descends.

THIS WAS CRAZY, I type. SOMEONE COULD’VE SEEN ME.

“C’mon—what’s an underground fighting ring gonna be doing in the suburbs? The neighborhood watch would be on their asses in a heartbeat.” At my look, he laughs. “I’m serious! Those guys are ruthless.”

Only as we’re finally driving back to the house does the day start to catch up to me. My ankle throbs, reminding me how long I’ve been without my pain meds.

Maverick pulls onto his cul-de-sac. “Alrighty.” He drums the wheel. “Home sweet … what the fuck?”

I stiffen, seeing the motorcycle first, parked next to Maverick’s drive. Then I see him.

Jaxon.

I can scent his anger from ten feet away. God knows how long he’s waiting, but judging on that glare, it’s been long enough.

Maverick rolls down his window. “Hey, bud. Pretty sure what you’re doing right there is classified as loitering by New Caniss law.”

“Get out of the car,” Jaxon growls.

“Oh, good,” Maverick mutters, pulling the car into park. “We’re not gonna overreact.”

Jaxon opens my door before Maverick even cuts the engine. He checks me all over, growling lowly, and reaches to help me out.

“Faith,” he says, stung when I recoil. “Hey. It’s just me.”

Yeah, that’s kind of the problem.

Maverick’s door slams. He walks around. “Stand down, soldier. She’s still in one piece. Plus—” he shoulders past Jaxon, offering me his arm, “I’m not so sure she wants to see you.”

Rage explodes out of Jaxon’s scent. He glares as Maverick lifts me out of the car. “Where are her crutches?”

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