Clyde urged his horse forward, the hooves pounding against the dirt path as he followed the trail Micah had taken through the trees. Branches whipped past on either side, swaying with the wind, but Clyde's gaze didn't waver, locked into the fading silhouette ahead.
Clyde took several deep breaths, struggling to control the chaos in his chest. Beads of sweat dropped down, slipping into his eyes. He carelessly wiped it with his sleeve, never taking his eyes off that blurry silhouette.
He thought today he had totally lost it. First at the hospital, then again with a string of poor decisions and misjudgments toward Micah. What was wrong with him?
He was on the edge, wired with a frantic energy he couldn't shake. He ran his thumb over the wooden prayer beads at his wrist, but even they couldn't calm the storm inside him. He needed to talk to Micah. To tell him he didn't care about anything else except Micah himself.
