That's What You Get

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Echo in the Bones

Three months without Pete.

Some days, Mikey still woke up tense, heart thudding like it expected a voice behind the door or footsteps too heavy in the hallway. But most mornings now, it was quiet. Not a loaded quiet. The normal kind. The kind that smelled like coffee and laundry and the faint trace of soap left behind in the sink.

He was staying in a small apartment above a bookstore owned by a friend of his brother's. The walls were thin, but the rent was cheap, and nobody asked questions. Mikey didn't need much. Just space. Just time.

His days were filled with quiet habits. A walk in the morning. Coffee from the same corner shop where the barista already knew his order. Sometimes he read. Sometimes he just sat and listened to the hum of the city outside, letting the noise remind him he was still here. Still alive.

He hadn't gone back to Dani and Patrick's. Not once. He couldn't risk it.

Dani understood. They talked nearly every day, usually over text but sometimes on the phone. She never pushed, just let him know she was there. That Luca still asked about him. That Lincoln drew him a picture last week, a blue scribble labeled Mikey hero.

That part made him cry.

Dani was almost eight months pregnant now. Her voice had changed, softer, slower. She sounded... happy. Or like she wanted to be. Mikey didn't ask questions about Patrick. She didn't offer answers. Some things they kept out of reach for a reason.

But Dani asked him once, a few weeks in, "Do you think he'll come looking?"

Mikey had paused. Then said, "He already is."

Because he knew Pete. Knew the way silence made him spiral. Knew the way obsession lived behind his teeth. It was only a matter of time.

Still, Mikey didn't hide. Not exactly. He just didn't stay in one routine too long. Changed his path to the coffee shop every few days. Used cash when he could. Never posted online.

He'd even started going to therapy again. Quietly. Just once a week. But it helped.

"I don't know if I'm safe," he told his therapist once. "But I feel safer. That has to count for something."

She told him it did.

-----

It happened on a Thursday.

Late afternoon. The sky was overcast, heavy and low, and Mikey had just left the corner shop with a paper bag tucked under his arm: bread, a few apples, toothpaste. He wasn't thinking about Pete. He wasn't thinking about anything except maybe what to cook for dinner, or whether he had the energy to fold laundry.

He rounded the corner.

And there he was.

Pete.

Standing by the alley between the bakery and the laundromat, half-shadowed, wearing the jacket Mikey had once stolen for warmth and Pete had made him return.

"Mikey."

His voice cracked on the name. His eyes were wide and dark, sunken from weeks of no sleep. He looked thinner. Messier. The beard had grown out uneven. But the desperation... that was familiar. All-consuming.

Mikey froze.

For a second, they just stared at each other. Wind tugged at Mikey's sleeves. Somewhere, a car honked.

"I've been looking for you," Pete said, stepping forward.

Mikey stepped back. "Don't."

"I just want to talk."