That's What You Get

Chapter Twenty-Four: Smoke in the Wake

Mikey didn't sleep.

He lay curled on one side of the bed, back to the door, the same hoodie still clinging to him from the night before. The imprint of Pete's fingers on his wrist was long gone, but his mind kept returning to the flash in Pete's eyes, that edge of something sharp and buried coming alive again.

He didn't cry. He didn't shake. That scared him more.

At some point, maybe around dawn, the hallway creaked. A knock on the door, light and tentative.

"Mikey?"

Dani's voice.

He turned his face toward the door. "Yeah."

The door opened slowly. She hovered there like she wasn't sure she'd be welcome. She looked like she'd aged five years overnight. Her eyes were puffy, hair pulled back in a clearly rushed knot, and her expression unreadable.

"I'm heading out," she said softly. "Didn't want to go without saying something."

Mikey sat up slowly, the mattress creaking beneath him. "You're really going back."

"I am." Her eyes fell to the floor.

Silence stretched between them.

"I don't know if it's the right choice," she admitted. "But it's the one I'm making."

"Is it for the baby?" He asked quietly.

She hesitated. "Partly. And partly because I still believe there's something in him worth fighting for."

Mikey swallowed hard. "That sounds familiar."

Dani's gaze dropped. "Yeah."

He gestured vaguely at the chair near the bed. "Sit for a sec?"

She nodded and eased down, folding her hands in her lap like a child waiting for scolding.

"I should've seen it sooner," Mikey said. "With Patrick. I should've said something."

"You did," she said. "You always checked in. Even when I pushed you away."

"I still feel like I failed you."

Dani gave a small, broken laugh. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you."

Mikey looked away. "What if it gets worse?"

"It might." Her tone wasn't cold, or angry even. It was flat, almost resigned.

"You going anyway?"

"I am." She replied, quieter than before.

He nodded. There was nothing left to argue.

"I'll call you. Every day," she added, voice firmer now. "And if something feels off, anything at all, I'll run. I'll come here. I'll bring the baby if I have to."

Mikey reached out, brushing her knuckles with his fingers. "Same goes for you. You're not alone in this."

She nodded once, tears welling but not falling. Then she rose, kissed the top of his head like an older sister might, and left without looking back.

The front door closed fifteen minutes later. Pete didn't say a word.

-----

The silence that followed had weight.

Mikey wandered the apartment like a ghost, pausing at doorways, catching his reflection in mirrors and windows like he didn't recognize the man staring back. He thought about Dani, about the look in her eyes when she left. Thought about Luca and Lincoln, about what it meant to let someone go when you weren't sure you could trust them to be okay.

In the afternoon, Pete stood in front of the liquor cabinet.

Mikey lingered by the kitchen entrance, quiet. Watching.

Without a word, Pete pulled the nearly full bottle of bourbon out and carried it to the sink.

The sound of it splashing down the drain was soft, almost gentle.

Pete didn't look at him.

"I don't want this in the house anymore," he said, voice rough.

Mikey leaned against the doorframe. "Because of last night?"

Pete nodded. "Because of everything."

"That wasn't the first time."

"I know."

"And I'm not just talking about the drinking."

Pete turned to face him. His eyes were bloodshot. "I never meant to hurt you."

"You say that a lot."

"I know." Pete's voice cracked. "I don't know how to fix this."

Mikey stepped into the kitchen, arms crossed. "Maybe you don't. Maybe that's the problem. You think you can fix it like a leak or a broken door hinge. But I'm not something to repair."

Pete winced. "You're right."

Silence fell again.

"I've been trying," Pete said. "For months."

"You have. But you also slipped. And you grabbed me." Mikey's voice didn't shake, but the weight behind it landed heavy. "You got mad and you didn't think. That's what scared me."

Pete sat at the table and dropped his head into his hands.

"I want to believe you can change," Mikey admitted. "But I can't keep betting on the version of you that might never show up."

Pete looked up slowly. "Do you want me to leave?"

Mikey didn't answer right away.

"I don't know," he finally said. "Like I said before, I need space. And honesty. And maybe... maybe to stop hoping you'll become someone else."

Pete nodded. "I can sleep on the couch. Or at my brother's. Whatever you need."

"I need to feel safe in my own home," Mikey whispered. "And I don't know if I do anymore."

Pete's eyes shone. "I'm sorry."

Mikey believed him.

But he also remembered all the other times Pete had said the same thing, just as earnestly.

-----

That night, Mikey sat alone on the edge of the bed, flipping through an old photo album. One picture caught his eyes: him and Pete, years ago, smiling wide at a beach neither of them had seen since. Mikey traced the edge of it with his thumb.

He didn't want to erase the good. He just wanted to stop bleeding for the bad. Stop hiding from what was and live in what is.

He stared at the photo for a while longer before finally closing the album. It was hard to keep looking. Hard to justify still looking at it. As if it would change anything.

Eventually, he opened the bottom drawer of the dresser.

The bag was still there. Half-packed. Quiet.

He didn't pull it out. Not yet.

But this time, he didn't close the drawer either.