Chapter 4
Michael had spent years waiting at this point. Perched awkwardly at the edge of a fence, or in this case chair, fingers nervously tapping out some unknown rhythm against the wooden armrest. He’d waited for years for his family to come back, to see him. And now that he had finally forced himself to acknowledge his family had already found him, had shown up with diner burgers and a milkshake to take him home. Now he felt he’d waited long enough and the impatience was beginning to wear at his seams.
And Isobel’s. If her side glances everytime he paced the room was anything to go off of, though he’d finally settled in a chair after Kyle had finally arrived. Fifteen minutes late.
Fifteen minutes of Michael being at his most frazzled and nervous. Like some kid getting ready for his first date. He leans further back in his seat, kicking his feet out from him as he watches Kyle check Max’s vitals. Watches Liz gnaw on her lip as she murmurs something about his blood pressure.
Isobel hovers, not much better than Michael’s nervous twitching.
Cautious optimism abandoned in favor of a heady joy. The bonds between the three of them seem stronger and sturdier when they share a space, even with Max still unconscious, his presence trapped behind glass.
“We good to go?” Isobel asks. Voice strained. She’s wearing all black, her exercise clothes and thick black eyeliner, a kind of armor. One that is supposed to protect her from the hurt that will follow any fight with Max.
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