Page 91 of Phantom Faceoff
“He’ll be back.”
What if he’s not? What if I fucked up so bad he doesn’t feel safe here anymore?
That thought hurts.
I want to be there for him the way he’s been there for me. To show him that he isn’t giving to me with nothing in return; we take care of each other.
He’s my Daddy, and I’m his boy.
A thought hits me, and I sit up. “Julian? What if hedoeswant to be found? What if he’s just scared to come back?”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and squeezes his fingers around my ankle. “Mal can have a hard time getting a grip on hisemotions, so, yeah, that’s possible. He’d probably go somewhere important. Somewhere that tells him if we find him, then we actually care.”
“Of course we care!”
Julian taps his temple. “He know that up here. But down here?” He leans forward and splays a hand over my heart. “It’s hard for him to believe it.”
Where would Malachi want to be found? What place would be special enough?
I wrack my brain, unable to come up with anywhere he’s shown extra interest in.
What about somewhere important tous?
I replay our entire tumultuous relationship. Most of our time has been spent in bedrooms or alleyways.
Would he have gone back to The Den in the middle of the night? Waiting out in the alley for someone—friendly or not—to find him.
The idea makes me antsy, so I throw my legs over the edge of the bed and slip my shoes on.
The least I can do is check. If I’m wrong—good.
Another snapshot plays in my head: moonlight shining through the trees, labored breaths as we fight the pull urging us together.
“You want to kiss me, too.”
Somewhere safe. Somewhere special.
Where we first kissed. Where he first told me we couldn’t be what we are.
My breath comes out of me as more of a sob.
“I think I know where he is.”
It’s late. The moon is high in the sky, and the air takes on a chilling bite. It’s worth it, though, because all of the worry and fear is abated by a silhouette beneath the willow.
I don’t even need confirmation that it’s him. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest on sight, and I cross the space with all of the speed of the winger I am.
It takes all of my self control not to drop to my knees and throw my arms around him, but I also need to justsee him.
He looks up from where his knees are pulled tight to his chest, and all of my breath rushes out of my chest.
“Malachi.” Because that’s who needs me right now. The person behind the name. He can’t be Daddy if Malachi is hurting.
He doesn’t smile or show any outright joy, just stares up at me as if I were see-through, and as the seconds tick on the tension building inside starts to make my body physically ache.
After what feels like an eternity, he drops his gaze and—in a slight, barely noticeable movement—pats the ground beside him. I take it slow—so I don’t spook him—and mirror his position.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I whisper, knocking my knee on his.
