That is All I Ask For: Chapter 7: Fault Lines
Micah had started to notice
it—the subtle shift in Dante's behavior. The way his glances lingered with more
suspicion than curiosity. The way his laughter was more restrained. The
silences between them had stretched longer, tighter, until they felt like the
taut wire of a detonator waiting to snap.
Micah didn't need anyone to spell
it out. Dante was pulling away.
He didn't know how much Dante had
uncovered, but the change was unmistakable. And dangerous.
The mask he wore—the quiet,
efficient, slightly distant Micah Slade—had always been a calculated choice. He
couldn't afford to be Micah Blade around them. Not when everything he wanted
hinged on staying close. Close to the team. Close to Dante.
Especially Dante.
But something had cracked. A
moment during the mock race. A look too sharp, a comment too revealing. Micah
had seen it happen. He'd felt the weight of Dante's eyes settle on him in a
different way. Not as a teammate, but as a question.
Now, Dante's distance was
growing.
And Micah couldn't ask him why.
Not yet.
He stared at his phone more than
once, thumb hovering over Meredith's contact, but didn't press call. She'd
know. Maybe she already did. But he couldn't involve her this time. Not until
he knew how deep the damage was.
Worse, he could tell Dante hadn't
told Daniel about what he found. That silence—intentional or not—was already
creating a divide. Daniel had started questioning Meredith's secrecy, and Micah
had overheard fragments of a brewing argument. He didn't want that. He couldn't
be the reason the people he admired fell apart.
They belonged together.
The day was long and tense. The
team worked quietly in the garage, preparing for an upcoming track event. Micah
had excused himself for a meeting—official Eclipse business—and left early,
though his heart remained wired to the garage. Something felt off. It had since
morning.
As he sat through a board
presentation at his office, unease crawled up his spine. He ignored the
presenter droning on about quarterly stats and reached into his coat pocket for
his phone. He opened the app connected to the hidden CCTV cameras he had installed
around the garage.
And then he saw it.
Astral.
Storming into the garage like he
owned the place, flanked by three men in suits with cold eyes and clenched
fists. His voice wasn't clear through the feed, but Micah didn't need sound to
understand the threat.
The team looked confused at
first. Then wary. Then scared.
Dante stepped forward, speaking
calmly, but Astral jabbed a finger into his chest. Meredith stood between them
a moment later, but the push she received sent her sprawling. Daniel lunged,
and that's when the violence began.
Fists. Chaos. Blood.
Micah's blood ran cold.
Micah shot to his feet, chair
crashing backward.
He didn't care about the meeting.
He didn't care about the board.
All he cared about was getting
there before someone died.
He ran.
He texted Meredith immediately:
"Get Daniel and leave. Now.
Don't argue. Please, Mer. I can't risk you being exposed with me."
Seconds passed. Then Meredith
nodded through the camera feed, grabbed Daniel—still trying to fight—and
dragged him out the back.
When Dante saw the black McLaren
slide into the alley beside the garage, he didn't know what to expect. Not
until the door opened.
Micah.
Not in racing gear. Not in his
usual hoodie and jeans.
But in a black tailored suit,
shirt open at the collar, wristwatch gleaming, and eyes cold with fury.
Micah Blade.
Dressed in a fitted charcoal
suit, eyes blazing with cold fury, he didn't say a word at first. He took in
the sight of Dante bloodied, Silas slumped against a wall, Juno groaning from a
bruise to the ribs.
And Astral—standing at the
center, grinning.
That grin vanished when Micah
grabbed the nearest tire iron and knocked the first of Astral's men
unconscious.
The second came at him with a
swing. Micah ducked, pivoted, and slammed his fist into the man's gut before
elbowing him in the face.
Astral stumbled back, wide-eyed.
"Micah—what the hell—"
Micah was on him in an instant,
slamming him against the metal tool cabinet.
"If you ever—and I mean
ever—touch my team again." He growled, "I will destroy everything you
own. Everything you are. I'll erase you."
"You'd blow your cover for
them?" Astral spat blood. "For this team?"
Micah leaned closer, voice ice.
"In a heartbeat."
He released Astral with a final
shove. "Get out. Before I change my mind."
Astral didn't need telling twice.
Dragging his unconscious men, he scrambled out of the garage.
Micah looked around. Bloodied
tools. Bruised teammates.
Dante was still standing.
And watching.
Not with suspicion.
But something else. Something
heavier.
Micah turned to leave—he had to.
He couldn't stay and face them like this.
But Dante caught his arm.
"You're not running away
this time. Get in the car."
"I can't—"
"Now, Micah."
Dante's tone left no room for
refusal.
The silence in Dante's car was
deafening.
Dante drove in silence, his
knuckles white on the steering wheel. Micah sat beside him, staring out the
window. The tension between them was no longer vague or speculative—it was
tangible.
Dante pulled into his driveway
and led Micah inside. No words. Just locked doors and heavy breaths.
Finally, in the quiet warmth of
Dante's living room, Micah broke.
"I'm sorry." He
whispered.
Dante turned. "Why?"
"For lying. For hiding. For
manipulating the truth. I thought if I came to you as Micah Blade, you'd never
let me close. And I... I wanted to be close."
Dante didn't move.
"I've admired you for years,
Dante. From the sidelines. From the shadows. You were always the fire I wanted
to chase, and I—I built everything just to be near you."
His voice cracked. "This
team... it wasn't just nostalgia. It was the only place I could be near you and
not be hated for who I really was."
Silence stretched.
Dante let out a breath.
"Micah..."
"I like you." Micah
said, softer now. "More than I've liked anyone. I didn't lie to play
games. I lied because I was terrified you'd never look at me the same way if
you knew the truth. That all of this—all we built—would shatter."
Dante stepped closer. "It
almost did."
Micah swallowed. "Then let
me fix it."
Dante's eyes searched his face.
"I forgive you."
Micah blinked.
"But I don't trust you. Not
yet."
Micah nodded, pain etched into
his expression. "That's fair."
"I need time. And you need
to be honest with the rest of us."
"I will. Just... not Daniel.
Not until Meredith's ready."
Dante nodded. "Agreed."
Micah let out a shaky breath, the
dam inside him breaking just enough to let some of the guilt go.
This wasn't over.
But it was a start.
And for the first time in years,
Micah Blade didn't feel so alone.
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