Page 23 of Rescuing Micah (Prey Security: Cyber Team #3)

Teresa growled in frustration as the pain flaring across her stomach had her lowering her arms.

It shouldn’t be this hard to put her hair in a ponytail.

That was all she was trying to do. Nothing fancy, wasn't planning on braiding it or anything, she just wanted it up and off the back of her neck.

She was feeling too hot as it was, and the added warmth of her thick hair hanging down her back was too much.

Spending the last ten minutes trying to get her hair to cooperate didn't help either.

Sweat was actually dripping down her back, and she was on the verge of tears.

Over her hair.

Which was ridiculous, and yet she couldn’t seem to help it.

Sleep had been fitful last night, better than she would have gotten if she’d stayed in the hospital, but still restless.

Her dreams hadn't quite been nightmares, and they weren't about her abduction. They were more like memories from the past, good times she’d shared with Micah when they were both young and in love.

Now the memories were more painful than sweet because they were a bitter reminder of everything that had once been in her grasp and yet she’d lost anyway. It had felt like a sure thing back then. Why wouldn't she and Micah get married and start a life together when they were both adults?

There was no way she could have foreseen the mess her life would turn into when she was fourteen and falling in love.

With a small hiccup she refused to believe was a sob, Teresa shoved all memories of happy times with Micah out of her mind. She had no time for them right now, and they served no purpose other than dragging her down like a millstone around her neck.

As she lifted her arms to once again try to get her hair up and into a ponytail before the pain across her stomach forced her to lower them again, there was a knock at the bathroom door.

“Everything okay in there?” Micah asked as he opened her door.

Although he looked well-rested, with a clear gaze, hair combed, dressed, and ready for the day, while she felt like she was still half asleep, Teresa had a sneaking suspicion he’d slept on the floor outside her bedroom door last night.

When she’d walked out of her room this morning to head for the bathroom, the floor right outside the door was warmer than the rest, like someone had recently been standing, sitting, or lying there.

Since Micah was the only other one there, it had to have been him.

Before she’d retired to her room, she’d seen him make up the air mattress in the living room, so she’d assumed he was intending to sleep there. Had he, or had he moved closer to her, watching over her in sleep?

“Just doing my hair,” she muttered, suddenly overcome with emotion by the idea—that she didn't even know was true—that he might have slept on the floor just to be closer to her.

It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did.

“Having your arms up like that will put pressure on your stitches. Come and sit down in the living room, and I’ll do your hair for you,” Micah told her.

“What do you know about doing hair?”

“I’m sure I can manage a ponytail.” Before she could argue further, he’d snatched the hairbrush and hair tie out of her hands and was ushering her toward the door.

While she could argue the point, refuse to move, insist that she had it all under control, the warmth of his hand on the small of her back was soothing, she was tired, and it was easier to give in than stand her ground.

In the living room, he gently pushed her down onto the couch. Picking up the blanket he’d tucked around her yesterday, he now spread it over her legs, tucking it in, before moving to stand behind her.

With smooth, gentle strokes, he drew the brush through her hair. The more he brushed, the more relaxed Teresa became until she felt like she could drift right off to sleep.

After brushing for a solid couple of minutes, much longer than was necessary, but maybe he was enjoying the moment as much as she was, he began to gather her locks together.

He fiddled for a while, probably trying to get rid of all the bumps, before he seemed satisfied with his efforts and used the hair tie to secure her hair into a ponytail.

“Still a few bumps,” he said with a critical eye as he came to stand in front of her to survey his handiwork. “Want me to try again? I know how much you always hated bumps in your hair.”

Normally, she did hate to leave lumps in her hair, but today she didn't seem to care.

It wasn't just that, though, she wasn't sure she could handle having Micah brush her hair again without collapsing into a puddle of goo.

She wasn't ready to hand him that much power yet, but more than that, he’d done his best and that meant more than having her hair perfectly done.

“It’s fine, leave it how it is,” she replied.

His eyes widened in surprise, but then he shot her one of those winning smiles she’d loved when they were teens. He looked pleased as punch that she wanted to leave her hair how he’d done it, and that made her smile despite the anger she still held onto tightly.

Just because he didn't know doesn’t mean he didn't abandon you.

It’s almost worse because he actually believed you were capable of cheating.

And he didn't even care enough to stick around and talk it through. Yell at you even.

The insidious voice whispered through her mind, and the smile slid off her lips. Echoing hers, Micah’s smile also fell away, and she felt a pang at its loss.

The thing was, she didn't want to hold onto her anger. It was draining, it had stolen her happiness for over a decade, and Micah was clearly devastated by what he’d done back then. There wasn't really any way to make up for it, but he was trying, and that did mean something.

“I’d better go check on the bread,” Micah announced, heading for the kitchen.

“The bread?”

“You like fresh bread for breakfast. In the summer you used to try to make it every day since you had time because school was out. I'm sure it’s not going to be anywhere near as good as yours. The dough was rising, though, so that’s something.

” His smile came back, and he hurried back into the kitchen.

He was making her bread.

Because he remembered yet another thing about her from when they were together.

Was he hoping to woo her one little thing at a time?

Much as she hated to admit it, that might work.

Already she was softening toward him. He wasn't watering down what he’d done, he was accepting full responsibility and apologizing without reservation.

He was also doing his best to make amends while understanding that it wasn't something you could just make right.

All of that made it increasingly harder to cling to her righteous anger.

Maybe it was time.

To finally forgive, cut the ties that held her stuck in the past, and move forward.

But forgiveness was a terrifying thing because it meant letting go, and in a sick sort of way, there was a layer of stability that came with hanging onto the past.

“Dough is still rising,” Micah said excitedly as he bustled back out of the kitchen. “Should be ready to go into the oven soon. I’m going to go and put on a load of laundry, and then I need to check your stitches.”

He didn't wait for her to say anything, just disappeared off down the hall, and a moment later, she could hear the lid of the small washing machine in the tiny laundry cupboard lifting and then closing, and whirring to life. As much as the idea of him touching her had nerves dancing in her stomach, Teresa knew it was part of what she’d agreed to when she convinced the hospital to discharge her.

Micah was his team’s medic, and he was confident in his ability to keep her wounds clean and monitor them for signs of infection. It wasn't that she didn't trust him to do that, because she certainly did, it was just his hands touching her made it hard to think all over again.

“All right, let’s take a look,” Micah said as he took the seat beside her on the couch, setting the first aid kit at his side.

Unable to take her eyes off his large hands, they eased the blanket down, then gripped the hem of her soft leggings and tucked them down just enough that he could get to the bandages.

With nimble fingers, he pulled back the bandage covering her wound, his eyes assessing the cut with an expression she couldn’t read.

She knew it wasn't pretty, it wasn't like the traffickers had cared enough to be careful with it. They’d intended to keep opening her up and taking more organs. When she chanced a glance at it, she could see it was red, not quite infected-looking, but close.

Was that why she’d been feeling so hot?

It would be exactly her luck for her wound to get infected. Especially with Micah there.

Now he knew the truth of what had happened all those years ago, and that she’d been able to rebuild her life, she felt an almost irrational need not to get sick in front of him, not to show weakness of any kind.

Ever since she stepped up to help her family, she’d worked hard to be the strong, independent, together woman that everyone else saw. Once upon a time, she’d let Micah see her weaker parts, the parts she hid so well, and he’d walked away.

Letting him in again was not an option.

Not if she wanted to survive this intact.

May 4 th

2:36 P.M.

Something felt off with Teresa today.

It wasn't her attitude, if anything, she’d definitely softened toward him, which Micah was eternally grateful for, but she seemed distant in a different way.

It wasn't like they were back to being a couple, or even friends, but she was being polite, and most of the hostility from those first couple of days seemed to have disappeared. It was more than he could have hoped for, but nowhere near where he wanted to wind up.

Now that he knew all their problems from the past were his fault, he felt like he couldn’t rest until he’d fixed them. Righted things, put them back to the way they were always supposed to be.