Michael P.O.V

Charlie and I get back into town at around three in the morning. The drive is silent after the encounter with James. My head is fuming. If it wasn't impossible, I'd swear there was steam spewing from my ears.

I park in Charlie's driveway and let out a soft sigh. 

"Do you think you should go home?" he asks softly.

"No," I tell him. "With James in the area, leaving you would put you in more danger."

Charlie remains silent for a few moments while he gets out of the truck. "Do," he hesitates, "do you really think he would try to attack me again?"

"He'll do anything if he thinks it'll get under my skin," I mutter softly.

I walk Charlie inside and take a glance at the surrounding area before heading in myself. I make sure the front door is locked so James can't get in as easily. I would hope he isn't stupid enough to attack while I'm here, but he's done it before and will probably do it again.

"It's pretty late, I think I'm gonna go to bed," Charlie says softly.

I nod and help him upstairs. Even with his protest, he's grateful for the help. He lays down in bed and sighs softly.

"I won't let him hurt you again," I promise.

Charlie smiles and closes his eyes. "I love you," he says softly.

"I love you too."

I lay down with him, but I refuse to sleep. I chased James off, but he knows where Charlie lives. I wouldn't be surprised if he's stalking the area around the house.

Charlie sleeps peacefully, hugging onto my side. If it wasn't risky, I'd be sleeping too, however, I don't want to take that chance. I stay sharp in case James is stupid enough to try and attack us again.

Hours pass this way. The sun begins to rise and shine in through the windows. Charlie is still asleep upstairs while I'm in the kitchen making coffee. After not sleeping at all, it's the only thing giving me energy.

As I stand in the kitchen, drinking my coffee, Charlie's crutches come crashing down the stairs. The loud sound of the crutches toppling down the stairs is followed by a mumbled curse.

"Damn crutches," I hear Charlie mutter under his breath. 

I hurry over to him and help him hobble down the stairs. He sighs softly as we reach the bottom of the staircase.

"I'm sorry," Charlie utters quietly.

"Don't be, the crutches can survive a fall down the stairs," I remind him.

He snorts softly as I help him to the couch. "I suppose that's true."

Charlie limps over to the couch and practically throws himself onto it. A long exhale leaves his lips and he closes his eyes.

"Do you want some coffee?" I ask rhetorically, already knowing the answer.

He presses his face into the arm of the couch and nods. I chuckle softly as I pour him a cup of coffee, adding creamer to it until the color is light and creamy. I walk back to the living room and hand it to him after he sits up.

"Thank you," he says before taking a long swallow of the coffee. "Mm," he hums softly.

I sit down next to him and smile. Charlie puts his legs across my lap and continues to drink his coffee. The house is almost completely silent; it's peaceful and relaxing early in the morning.

After a while, the silence is broken by a very loud set of knocks on the front door. The door doesn't even have to be opened for me to smell my father's scent. I tell Charlie to answer the door before I shift and hide in the kitchen, where I can still hear everything.

"Can I help you?" Charlie says after opening the door.

"Is Michael here?" my father asks, probably already knowing that the answer is yes.

"No, he's not. It's just me right now," Charlie lies.

Loud footsteps ring in my ears as my father walks into the house uninvited.

"No offense, Charlie, but I'm not stupid. And yes, I know who you are."

Charlie remains silent. I listen as the footsteps grow closer and closer to the kitchen. I mentally plan my escape route to avoid being seen. My father knows where Charlie lives, which is bad. If he wanted to, it wouldn't take much effort to end him.

Just as the footsteps are about to be close enough to the kitchen for him to spot me, I quietly run to the dining room. From here, I can hear what goes on in the kitchen. It gives me the opportunity to run upstairs as quietly as I can.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Charlie give a very worried glance. He doesnt know what I'm trying to accomplish. If I could, I'd tell him what needs to be said. My father is by no means stupid. Charlie will have to be very clever with his words in order to fool him.

"This would be easier if you would tell me where he is," my father says with an itch of frustration.

"What makes you think he would be here? I haven't seen him in weeks," Charlie lies, just as he should.

"He hasn't been home since the attack," he practically spits out the word.

"He's not here," Charlie lies again.

"If he's not here then why is his truck in the driveway?"

For a moment, everything goes silent. In my mind, Charlie is fighting a losing battle at this point. My truck is in the driveway. Just as I'm about to give up hope, Charlie speaks.

"Michael asked me to watch his truck for him since I'm not exactly leaving the house these days. He's not here. I'm doing him a favor while he's away."

If I were my father listening to this, I'd be skeptical, but Charlie was quick to respond to anything he threw at him. He's practically believable.

"Well, next time you see him, tell him to get his ass home."

After that, the door slams shut and my father is gone. I will have a lot of explaining to do when I get home.