Page 39 of Keeping Knight

“He makes me happy, too,” I reply. “The timing… it’s not the best. I guess that’s the main thing I’m worried about.”

Nodding, she thinks for a second. “I get it. But sometimes that makes relationships stronger. Like if you can get through the really bad stuff together, everything else will feel so much easier. I know that’s how it’s been with me and Nico. When we first came back together, it was a mess. I was angry, he thought I’d lied to him… and there was all this other crazy stuff happening at the same time. But we got through it. And now I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

A spurt of optimism hits me. “That’s a good point.”

“My advice would be, just be honest about how you’re feeling,” she says. “Even if you’re having doubts. That way, you can talk them through together.”

“Micah’s easy to talk to,” I reply. “More than any other guy I’ve known.”

Sofia smiles. “That definitely sounds promising.” She pauses. “You don’t have to answer this. But have you kissed him yet?”

My immediate smile gives me away. “Yes.”

“And?” She drags out the word.

I beam at her. “It was amazing.”

“How was it?” Micah asks.

Rogue and Sofia just left, so now it’s only me and Micah again. And Sampson, of course, but he’s fast asleep on his favorite armchair, his legs twitching as he dreams.

I turn so I’m facing Micah, tucking my legs pretzel-style in front of me. “Really good. I like Sofia a lot. I’m glad I got to meet her.”

He stretches, leaning back against the couch cushion and lifting his arms before sitting up again. “She’s great,” he agrees. “I’m glad she and Rogue found each other again.”

“She told me a little more about it,” I reply. “About what happened in high school, and after. I can’t even imagine dealing with all of that. It puts what I’m going through in perspective.”

Micah’s expression tightens with concern. “Did it bother you? Hearing about it? When Sofia asked about coming over, I didn’t consider that it could be upsetting for you.”

“It wasn’t upsetting. It was nice—well, maybe nice isn’t the right word. Comforting. Knowing she’d been through something similar. So she understands how it feels.”

Micah touches my hand. “Is there anything else I can do to help? I know I can’t understand like Sofia does. But if you need anything⁠—”

“You’re helping so much already,” I assure him. “You don’t need to do anything else.”

“Rue.” His fingers wrap around mine. “What did I say about that?”

“I know you said you don’t do things unless you want to. But I also know what kind of man you are. At least I’m figuring it out. And⁠—”

“The kind of man I am?”

“A gentleman. A protector. A man who risked his life for our country. The kind of person who goes out of his way because he thinks it’s the right thing to do. But that doesn’t mean you want to do all of it. Like…” I cast about for an example. “When my dad was alive. He had this thing about picking out a live turkey for Thanksgiving.”

Micah gives me a questioning look. “Okay?”

“I never understood it. He wasn’t a hunter, it wasn’t some family tradition, he just wanted to do it. He said it was more respectful. Every year, he insisted on driving to this turkey farm upstate. I hated it. I saw all those turkeys running around, all free and happy, and I felt bad about it.”

Micah rubs my hand. “I can understand that.”

“One year, when I was in college, I told my dad no. I wouldn’t go. He didn’t argue. But the look on his face… I could tell he was disappointed. So I ended up going after all. And every year up until he died, I made the trip with him. Did I want to? No. But I would have felt worse if I hadn’t.”

When Micah doesn’t answer right away, I feel my face going hot. “I know it’s not even remotely like the sacrifices you made,” I add quickly. “It was a dumb example.”

“It wasn’t a dumb example. I get what you’re saying. But.” His blue eyes meet mine. “You did want to go. Because you wanted to make your dad happy. Did you love everything about the actual act of it? No. But looking back, are you glad you did it?”

I don’t have to think about it. “Yes. For whatever reason, it meant a lot to my dad. So I’m glad I could make him happy. And I’m glad I have those memories with him. Driving upstate with the oldies station on, listening to seventies rock, stopping at these little out-of-the-way general stores to buy road trip food, and he always wore this silly turkey sweater…”

My throat goes thick as the memories flood in. My nose prickles. “Yeah. I’m glad I did it,” I finish. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”