Michael froze, as Alex spoke, whole body going as still as a statue. His face went pale under his tan, and he felt his pulse racing, though he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
After the first sentence, he barely heard Alex over the roaring in his ears. My father knows about you, about Max, about Isobel. As he tried to breathe, unusual activity since the crash filtered in. Running surveillance. But it all went back to my father knows, and Michael felt a flicker of panic and an ache in his hand, a phantom memory.
He was silent when Alex fell silent, processing, trying to make sense of it, because this was nothing he'd imagined Alex saying. Reviewing the text messages, he realized maybe he should have, but he hadn't. If filters in, finally, the realization that this means Alex knows. Other things from the texts start to make sense, the ones that gave him chills, the things about his family, about everyone having died, the things that he thought he was reading into too much, because Alex couldn't know.
But Alex knew. Though the text about beliving the best about Michael could be reassuring, as was Alex running his father out of town, telling Michael, now. But his head was still reeling.
The cabin was too small, too close, and he still couldn't breathe. So, he turned around, opened the door, and walked back out onto the porch. He left the door open, didn't go far, just braced his hands on the railing, trying to make himself breathe, to keep things from rattling around the porch, or sending his truck bouncing backward.
no subject
After the first sentence, he barely heard Alex over the roaring in his ears. My father knows about you, about Max, about Isobel. As he tried to breathe, unusual activity since the crash filtered in. Running surveillance. But it all went back to my father knows, and Michael felt a flicker of panic and an ache in his hand, a phantom memory.
He was silent when Alex fell silent, processing, trying to make sense of it, because this was nothing he'd imagined Alex saying. Reviewing the text messages, he realized maybe he should have, but he hadn't. If filters in, finally, the realization that this means Alex knows. Other things from the texts start to make sense, the ones that gave him chills, the things about his family, about everyone having died, the things that he thought he was reading into too much, because Alex couldn't know.
But Alex knew. Though the text about beliving the best about Michael could be reassuring, as was Alex running his father out of town, telling Michael, now. But his head was still reeling.
The cabin was too small, too close, and he still couldn't breathe. So, he turned around, opened the door, and walked back out onto the porch. He left the door open, didn't go far, just braced his hands on the railing, trying to make himself breathe, to keep things from rattling around the porch, or sending his truck bouncing backward.