At the airport, Darcy hailed a taxi and slid into the backseat after Micah. The sun had just risen, casting a pale light over the autumn morning as they drove to that shabby apartment in Munster Street. Neither of them spoke.
Micah folded his hands tightly in his lap, fingers interlocked until his knuckles turned white. Half of his heart felt… settled, relieved as Darcy didn't push him away this time. He had let him follow after their brief conversation in the restroom. But the other half of Micah's heart was in turmoil, knowing full well Clyde would be heartbroken if he learned what he had promised Darcy.
He couldn't even offer a proper explanation to the man. He didn't know what words would make sense.
