CHAPTER 542: PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT (PART TWO)

Micah sat in the passenger seat, staring at his reflection in the car window.

Clyde’s claim that he had memory lapses refused to leave his mind. He really had no clue something like that had been happening.

He turned his head slightly, watching Clyde’s hands gripping the steering wheel, knuckles pale against the leather. "When was the last time?" Micah asked finally. "I mean, besides this morning."

Clyde’s gaze stayed fixed ahead. "When Darcy had a fever," he said after a pause. "You... wouldn’t let the doctor near him. You held onto him so tightly he couldn’t even breathe."

Micah frowned, trying to recall. His mind went blank. There was an image, Darcy sweating and shivering on the bed, but then...nothing. Just a gap, like a film reel that had been cut and spliced.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. "Fine," he muttered. "I get the reason. But your lie was not about that."

Clyde stiffened, turning his head a fraction. "What do you mean?"

Micah’s eyes narrowed. "Don’t play dumb with me. You know something, don’t you? That’s why you were so desperate to stop Darcy from talking," he said, huffing.

Clyde’s heart gave a painful thud. For a brief second, he forgot to breathe. Had Micah begun to suspect something? Did he remember something from before? From their past lives, the ones that ended in tragedy every single time?

"Hah? What? Cat got your tongue?" Micah sneered.

Clyde turned his head fully. Their eyes met, hazel against pale blue, and something in Clyde’s chest twisted. He wanted to speak, to spill every truth he had buried, but the words wouldn’t come. How could he tell Micah that he had lost him countless times? That it hadn’t been their first time living in the shadow of the novel?

It was too cruel. His heart bled for Micah.

Meanwhile, the longer Clyde remained silent, the more Micah’s expression hardened. His hands clenched on his knees. Each breath he took came out uneven, heavier. The disappointment and fear grew more with every passing second inside his chest.

Indeed, there was something Clyde was hiding. But why?

He had been the one who had opened up first, coming clean, telling Clyde about the dream, about that absurd, twisted, and ridiculous plot. Yeah, sure, he hadn’t said outright that they were inside a novel, and he had read until the end. But at least he had been honest about the parts that mattered. And he had believed him, stood beside him. Then...Why did Clyde behave like that instead?

Micah forced a laugh. "So, that’s it, huh? You don’t trust me." His voice turned cold, brittle around the edges. "That’s understandable. I am just a brat, right? A clown jumping up and down for attention. Why would you open up to me?"

Clyde’s jaw clenched. His chest ached hearing that tone, the quiet, wounded kind of anger that said you’ve hurt me, and I thought you would be the last person to go.

He was really pathetic, hurting the one he had sworn to protect. But now...He was doing the opposite.

"Micah," he said through gritted teeth, trying to control his emotions, to stay rational.

"It’s not like that. You know how much I care about you. If you told me to die right here for you, I would..."

"Shut up!" Micah’s voice cracked like a whip. "Who the hell wants your stupid life?" He turned toward him, eyes blazing. "I asked you a question. Why are you lying? What are you hiding from me? Can’t you just answer? Is it really that hard? Is it about me? Did you see it too? Did you have a dream like mine? Am I the person who dies in your dream?"

The last sentence struck like lightning. Clyde flinched as his eyes widened for a split second. But that was enough for Micah to notice.

His temper flared. "You idiot!" he shouted, slamming a fist into Clyde’s arm. "Did you think I would fall apart because of that? For god’s sake! I knew! I already knew I would die!"

The words echoed in the car, shattering Clyde’s heart into thousands of pieces. His body moved before his mind caught up he reached across the console, gripping Micah’s shoulders tightly. He hovered over him, his eyes bloodshot, dark, and wild. "What did you just say?" His voice was rough, breaking at the edges.

Micah winced under the sudden force, but he didn’t back away. He threw his head back and glared at Clyde. "I said I knew about it," he repeated. "I saw it... me dying alone in a rundown apartment, abandoned by all!"

Clyde’s grip faltered. His hands slid up, trembling as they cupped Micah’s face. "Since when?" His voice trembled.

"Since the head trauma," Micah said quietly, eyes unfocused. "After that night, I drank with my classmates and friends. I ended up in the hospital. That’s when I saw it. My end."

By his reaction, Micah was certain that Clyde had seen the same thing about his ending.

Now, it made sense why he was hell-bent on shutting up Darcy.

"You stupid man. I am not made of glass. I can..."

The rest of the words were stuck in his throat when something wet splashed against his face. Micah blinked, startled. Another drop followed... warm and quiet. He glanced up.

Clyde’s eyes were wet, his lashes trembling as tears slipped free and rolled down his face.

Oh shit! He had made a grown-ass man cry! Micah’s hand shot up and clasped Clyde’s face. His palms brushed against damp skin, rough stubble, the heat of his trembling jaw. "You... you..." He stammered, at a loss for words.

Micah’s heart twisted painfully. He pulled Clyde closer, one arm sliding around his shoulders as he pushed him down, drawing him into a tight embrace.

Clyde didn’t resist; his forehead fell to Micah’s shoulder.

Micah’s throat bobbed as his heart filled with bittersweetness, one that he had never experienced before.

Clyde had never been good with sweet words, never knew how to coax him with words of love, and yet, every time they had a fight, Micah fell harder. Because Clyde always showed his heart with such a raw sincerity, it made Micah hopelessly fall for him all over again.

It wasn’t fair.