Chapter 303: Chairs Apart
The sun was already high enough to glitter across the water, spreading warmth across the lake. Yet, the people sitting ashore felt a chill run down their spines at the sight of Micah and Clyde approaching.
"Ah, good morning, Micah," Lin Heye called out first, rising a little from his seat as if to smooth away the tension. "Did you have breakfast we made for you? It was... a kind of apology." He let a nervous chuckle out, rubbing the back of his neck. "I especially made my famous porridge for you."
Micah froze mid-step, his eyes narrowed, then he shifted his head sharply toward Clyde. "What porridge? What breakfast?" His tone was sharp, each word lined with accusation. "Why didn’t I see it?"
Clyde didn’t flinch, but his eyes, cool and unreadable, flicked toward Lin Heye in subtle warning. He had, in fact, packed the containers away before Micah could notice. A selfish impulse he hadn’t fully thought through. Last night’s memory was still too sharp, too tangled with the strange urge he had felt, to make something himself for Micah, to watch him eat it. No one else’s cooking would do.
Lin Heye’s laugh came out crisp. He sensed something was off and quickly tried to patch it over. "Ah! I am sorry! I think I forgot to tell Clyde that we made them and packed them for you," he said and laughed nervously again. His eyes darted between them like a man watching a storm form.
Micah raised an eyebrow, his suspicion obvious, but after a moment, he gave a short exhale and didn’t press further. "Thank you. Then. When I go back, I’ll definitely eat them," he said, giving Clyde a look, then he shifted his gaze toward the empty buckets. "Anyway, no luck fishing?"
At once, Lin Heye stood up in a flash, moving with almost comical speed to unfold two spare chairs. But instead of placing them near the group, he carried them several paces away, far, far enough that a casual chat would take effort.
"Sit down little brother," he said, gesturing stiffly toward the chairs. "Well, we have to go to the middle of the lake for the good catches, but well, circumstances didn’t allow us." His eyes, for just a breath, slid toward Clyde with unspoken meaning.
The man didn’t allow them to use the boats.
Micah turned to Clyde. "There is no boat?"
Clyde’s jaw shifted slightly. He hadn’t wanted to come here at all. His original plan, a mountain biking route up to the peak, a quiet picnic just the two of them, had been thrown out the window the moment Micah insisted on the lake. Fishing. Of all things. Clyde knew the boy couldn’t sit still; how would he tolerate hours of motionless patience, staring at water?
And this morning... Micah had been different. Jumpy. Every time Clyde got near, he would retreat like he had touched a poisonous wire. Yet last night, he had been the one asking for sharing a bed, asking for warmth, asking for...
What had happened? Suddenly, he became shy?
Clyde itched to tease him, but held back. That would be dangerous, would be asking for trouble. So against his wish, he had brought Micah to the lake. Besides these noisy people. He hoped they had gotten his warning and wouldn’t butt in again.
"There is, but not for this many people," Clyde lied. "If you want, we can go..."
His words hadn’t completely come out of his mouth before Micah plopped on the chair with a faint thud, arms folding loosely over his chest. "No, I am fine here."
Lin Heye gave them a tight nod and went back to his seat near the group, putting an obvious good distance between them.
Clyde shut his mouth, collected two fishing rods, and crouched to prepare the bait. The muscle in his forearms flexed with the motion, his hands steady as he tied and hooked with practised efficiency. Without looking up, he held one rod out to Micah, then straightened to cast his own line in a smooth arc. The line sailed over the glittering water, the plunk of the lure barely audible.
Micah, despite himself, watched. His gaze tracked the roll of Clyde’s shoulders, the deliberate way he shifted his weight, the sharp definition of muscle under his sleeves. Everything about his movements was... what was the word? Attractive...
Micah’s throat bobbed, and he quickly averted his eyes.
He lowered the rod Clyde handed him, letting it rest untouched against the side of his chair. He wasn’t going to pretend. He had never liked fishing. And anyway... He felt he would embarrass himself if he tried.
And why the hell was their spot so far from the others? Was this deliberate? Clyde’s friends...were they trying to make it like a date or something?
Ahhh...
Micah had come here partly to avoid being alone with Clyde... yet those noisy people suddenly wanting to keep their distance...
With a quiet sigh, he leaned his chin into his palm, elbow propped on the armrest, letting his gaze drift over the lake. His serenity was disturbed by a buzz of arriving texts. He looked at his phone’s screen.
Hacker: I’ve finally gathered full information about those four. I sent it to your email.
Micah’s thumb hovered over the notification, but he didn’t open the file. His jaw set slightly.
It had taken two months to get this far. Hiring the hacker hadn’t been his first choice; he had avoided it for as long as possible, preferring to dig quietly on his own. Someone like Archie had been easy enough to read and track. But the other three? Too well-connected, too tangled in influence and power. Any obvious inquiry risked alerting them, and Micah had no intention of letting his interest be known.
But after all the things that happened... last night, he had finally contacted the same hacker who had once erased the CCTV footage from that hotel, the night he had pulled Leo out before things turned ugly.
Back then, he had thought he could handle threats without outside help. That was too naive. What was the result?? He had mistaken Clyde for Aidan. And Aidan fooled him into thinking he was Alex something. What about others? He wasn’t confident anymore.
His fingers tightened around the phone. No, he needed to change his strategy. He knew he did not have the brains like the Ramsy family, but he didn’t think that difference was so significant. He scoffed inwardly at his own stupidity.