Page 64 of King of Praise
Relentless Loyalty
Naomi
The phone trembles in my hand as I stare at the darkened screen. Micah’s words echo in my head, each syllable carrying undertones I can’t quite decipher.
Don’t worry if you don’t see me tonight.
Something in his voice set off warning bells. There was a tightness, a forced casualness from a man who typically speaks with such direct authority.
My thumb hovers over the call button, tempted to demand more information, to push past his careful deflections. But what right do I have to question him? The complexity of our connection leaves me uncertain of my place in his life, of what I can rightfully ask or expect.
Just some business that needs handling.
The vagueness of his explanation leaves me unsettled. After weeks together in this cabin, I’ve learned to read the subtle shifts in his mood, the minute tells that reveal his thoughts. The careful way he avoids details, the slight hesitation before dismissing my concerns—it all suggests something’s wrong. Something he doesn’t want me to know about.
Restless energy courses through my body, making it impossible to sit still. The cabin’s walls seem to press closer, the familiar space suddenly claustrophobic.
I need air. Need to move. Need to dosomethingbesides sit here imagining worst-case scenarios.
Rising from the bed, I gather warm clothes from the dresser—thermal leggings, thick socks, one of Micah’s flannel shirts. The routine of dressing provides momentary distraction, but my thoughts keep circling back to that phone call. To all the dangers lurking in Columbus that Micah deliberately shields me from.
Powder watches from her perch on the windowsill as I pull on boots and zip up my coat. She has become attuned to my moods during our shared confinement, offering silent companionship through nightmares and anxiety attacks. Now her blue eyes track my movements with what seems like concern.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, though the reassurance feels hollow even to my own ears. “Just going for a walk.”
The cat blinks slowly in response, unconvinced.
Opening the cabin door releases a blast of winter air that steals my breath. Snow blankets the ground in pristine white, untouched except for animal tracks that crisscross the clearing. The sky above hangs heavy and gray, threatening more snow before nightfall. The isolation that initially felt like a prison now beckons with promise of temporary escape from my churning thoughts.
My boots crunch through fresh snow as I follow the path leading toward the lake. The cold bites at my exposed skin, but the discomfort feels clarifying. Each breath of crisp air helps settle the anxiety that’s been building since Micah left.
The forest around me stands silent and still, bare branches etched black against the pearl-gray sky. This hidden retreat isnow the place where I’m rediscovering the pieces of myself that Lucas’s abuse stripped away.
It’s a needed comfort I don’t want to lose, and yet that loss feels inevitable.
The path curves downward, and suddenly the lake spreads before me, its partially frozen surface reflecting the clouded sky like smoky glass. A small dock extends into the water, weathered boards dusted with snow. A boat, covered for winter storage, is tied securely against its moorings.
Standing at the water’s edge, I try to imagine this place in summer. Sunlight dancing on blue water instead of ice. Green leaves rustling overhead rather than stark branches. Micah in short sleeves rather than his usual layers, perhaps fishing from the dock or taking the boat out early in the morning.
The mental image brings an unexpected ache. Will I still be here when the seasons change? Once the investigation into Lucas’s death concludes and the immediate danger passes, what happens to this tentative connection we’ve forged? The questions I’ve been avoiding surge forward, demanding attention.
My relationship with Micah started as necessity—protection offered out of duty or guilt or some combination of both.
But somewhere between shared meals and whispered conversations, between nightmares soothed by his steady presence and passion discovered in his arms, it has evolved into something neither of us anticipated.
Something that terrifies me with its intensity even as it offers healing.
The wind picks up, sending loose snow swirling across the lake’s frozen surface. The cold seeps through my layers, but I remain rooted in place, studying the landscape. No wonder Micah retreats here when the weight of his other life becomestoo heavy. The isolation that initially felt suffocating now seems peaceful.
A particularly fierce gust makes me shiver, finally breaking my contemplation. Time to head back before I freeze solid.
My feet feel half-numb as I retrace my steps up the path, snow crunching once more beneath my boots. The exercise and fresh air have helped clear my head somewhat, but anxiety still simmers beneath the surface.
The cabin’s warmth wraps around me as I step inside, quickly shedding my outdoor layers. Powder greets me with an inquisitive meow, winding between my legs as I move to stoke the fire. The flames leap higher, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls.
But the comfort of this familiar space can’t quite dispel my growing unease. My gaze keeps dragging to my phone, willing it to ring with news from Micah. The silence feels oppressive, heavy with possibilities I don’t want to contemplate.
I need distraction. Something to occupy my hands and mind. The kitchen counter still bears evidence of my earlier efforts—flour dusted across the surface, measuring cups arranged in neat rows.
