Micah’s POV
My father was already back home. He had promised to check in on us frequently during the semester, but I never expected him to show up this early or this suddenly.
While my chest heaved with pure panic, Noah did not look worried at all. He stood perfectly still, his expression completely blank, showing zero fear about the prospect of us getting caught by our father.
But then I had to stop and ask myself, getting caught doing what? We were not doing anything wrong. We were just brothers hugging in a bedroom. Still, the guilt inside my chest made it feel like a crime.
"Father is back," Noah said, his voice entirely calm as he stepped away from me. "Fix yourself up. I will go out and see him first."
"Yes," I replied, my voice barely a whisper. I watched his broad shoulders disappear out the door, leaving the room feeling instantly colder.
I hurried over to the small mirror hanging on my wall, quickly fixing my messy hair and tapping both of my cheeks with my palms to bring some color back to my pale face. I forced a stiff, fake smile onto my lips, took a deep breath, and finally walked out into the hallway. I could already hear my father’s booming, authoritative voice echoing through the living room before I even reached the doorway.
Apparently, he had traveled all this way just to scold Noah about the incident at the ice rink.
"Even if that boy said something terrible to you, you should have just forgiven him and moved on," my father yelled, gesturing aggressively with his hands.
Noah just stood in the center of the room with his hands tucked neatly behind his back, taking the lecture like a disciplined soldier.
"You went ahead and punched him in public. That video is already circulating through the entire city. The absolute last thing I want is for this family to have anything to do with the Silvers," my father barked, his face red with anger.
"I apologize, father," Noah said smoothly, lowering his head in mock humility.
My father let out a long, heavy sigh and stepped forward, tapping Noah’s shoulder with a sudden wave of affection. "Even though you are not my biological son, Noah, you know I will always treat you like my own flesh and blood. You are a leader. You cannot let people of the world tempt you into committing such sinful acts."
"I understand completely, father," Noah replied.
My father nodded, satisfied with the response. He turned his head toward the hallway and finally noticed me standing there. I flinched automatically the exact moment his cold, critical eyes locked onto mine.
I moved closer into the living room, keeping my head lowered respectfully. "Greetings, father."
"Hmmm," he grunted in response, his demeanor instantly shifting from warm to entirely detached. "How is school going?"
"It has been good," I answered, keeping my voice small.
"You really need to find something productive to do now that you are in your second semester, Micah," my father said, his tone dripping with disappointment. "Your brother is already the top player on the varsity hockey team. Even after he graduates, he is going to play professionally and make something of himself. But you..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air.
I clenched my hands into tight fists behind my back, my fingernails digging into my palms. This exact behavior was the precise reason I always dreaded seeing him. I was his actual, biological son, yet he consistently treated Noah better than anyone else in the world.
"Father, Micah has actually joined the university media team already," Noah intervened, trying to shift the pressure away from me.
My father’s eyebrows shot up, his expression hardening instantly. "The media team? Is that not the exact same scandalous club that published that disgusting article about the Silver boy this morning?"
I flinched violently, a cold sweat breaking out across my neck. I started trembling right there on the rug. My father had already seen the article. Of course he had. He kept eyes and ears all over the campus community.
"You did a wonderful job joining such a sinful, gossiping club, Micah. What an absolute disappointment," my father sneered, grabbing his small leather Bible bag from the sofa. He didn’t even wait for me to defend myself before he started heading toward the guest room. "I am going to go freshen up, and then I will be leaving."
The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind him, leaving a suffocating silence in the living room.
"Micah," Noah called out softly, reaching a hand toward me.
"I am fine," I interrupted quickly, forcing a tight nod. "I know you were just trying to help me, Noah."
I turned around before he could see the tears threatening to spill over my lashes. I rushed back into my bedroom and slammed the door shut, locking it with a sharp click. I leaned my back against the wood and exhaled a deep, shaky breath, fighting with everything in me to keep from crying.
I could have easily used this moment to burst into tears and let out all the heavy stress that had been building up since this morning, but the truth was, I was already completely used to my father treating me like an outcast. He would always prefer his perfect, adopted son over his own blood.
Nobody in our church community knew that this was the true, ugly nature of the man they worshiped on Sundays, but honestly, I did not care anymore. As long as I had Noah by my side, nothing else mattered. Noah was the only person in my life who actually felt like real family.
I tightly shut my eyes as my back remained pressed hard against the door, a sudden wave of desperate longing washing over me. I found myself wishing my father had never come home tonight. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I would still be wrapped up in Noah’s broad arms. I would be touching him, holding him close, and maybe... maybe I would be doing the exact same dirty things to him that I had just done to Damon in the front seat of that sports car.
The dangerous thought sent a violent spike of heat directly to my lower stomach. I didn’t mind the thought of it at all. I wouldn’t care if Noah gripped my hair tightly, tilted my chin up, and forced his heavy cock straight down my throat until I was begging him for mercy.
"Mmm, fuck," I whispered into the quiet room, a low curse escaping my lips as the friction of my jeans became too much to bear.
Driven by pure, sinful frustration, I slid my hand down the front of my pants, my fingers desperately searching for relief. But just as my palm was about to wrap around my aching cock, a deep, amused voice responded to my curse from the darkness.
"Yeah... Fuck."
My eyes snapped open in pure, paralyzing horror.
Sitting directly in my single desk chair was Damon Silver. He was leaning back comfortably, looking exactly like he was watching an entertaining show staged just for him. He grinned widely up at me, his long legs spread completely apart.
"I had a feeling your bedroom would be so much better than a crowded nightclub," Damon purred, his chaotic dark eyes locking onto my hand inside my pants. "Don’t stop on my account, Micah. Please, continue touching yourself."