That's What You Get

Chapter Thirty-Two: That's What You Get

There wasn't a single moment when everything felt okay again.

No sudden breath of clarity. No triumphant music swelling in the background. Just... mornings. Mornings that came quietly, one after the other, until the weight on Mikey's chest felt a little lighter. Until his steps didn't drag quite so much. Until the nightmares dulled into bad dreams, and the bad dreams gave way to restless sleep.

His new place was small. A one-bedroom walk-up with old wood floors that creaked like they were remembering something. The windows stuck in the summer and let in drafts in the winter, but it was his. His name on the lease. His clothes in the closet. His toothbrush by the sink.

Safe. Not completely, not forever. But enough.

There were locks on the doors. A baseball bat beside the bed. Pepper spray on his keychain. And just in case: that bag again. Not packed like before, not with panic. But with preparation. Because Mikey had learned that healing didn't mean forgetting. It meant knowing what to do next time.

He still had nightmares, sometimes. Still checked the shadows. Still startled too easily when someone raised their voice or moved too fast. But he wasn't waiting anymore. Not for Pete to call. Not for someone to save him. Not even for an apology that would never come.

It had been six months since Pete's trial. And although it was the easiest decision Mikey had ever made, it still filled him with incessant anxiety.

The kind that gnawed at you until you felt your bones breaking. The kind that made you question if it was worth it.

Dani had been there the whole time, holding his gaze when he couldn't breathe, reminding him with her eyes: You're not alone. You're not crazy. You're not the one who did this.

The jury had deliberated for six hours. Pete was convicted on all counts.

Mikey knew Pete wasn't getting out for a long while.

Still, he checked the locks, every night and every morning. Still, he woke up in a sweat some nights, heart hammering, brain convinced that somehow, somehow, Pete would find a way back to him.

But he didn't live in that fear.

He lived around it.

Dani hadn't cried when Patrick was arrested.

She'd sat on the edge of the couch in Skye's office, her uniform wrinkled, her badge heavy on her chest, the thin fabric of her blouse still hiding the bruises beneath. Skye had asked the right questions, gently, her voice careful and steady, but Dani had cracked the moment she saw the look in her friend's eyes.

It wasn't pity. It was recognition.

And that had undone her more than anything.

She hadn't cried when she took the kids, Luca, clutching his backpack like armor, Lincoln already trying to make her laugh, the baby strapped against her chest, and drove away from the house she thought she'd raise them in. She hadn't cried when Mikey opened the door without asking a single question, just held her for a long, silent minute while the kids explored the unfamiliar hallway behind her.

She hadn't cried when Patrick begged.

Told her he loved her. That it was the stress. That it wouldn't happen again. That she was the only person who had ever really understood him.

She didn't need to cry. She already knew what it meant.

She'd already believed him once.

But now, she had three kids, two she'd chosen, one she'd carried. And she wouldn't let them learn that love meant waiting for the next explosion. She wouldn't let Aria grow up thinking this was normal. She wouldn't let Lincoln flinch every time someone raised their voice anymore. She wouldn't let Luca pretend he hadn't seen what he saw.