Page 102 of What We Bury

I want to put it on. I want to walk it back to her and not say a word and let her see my face when I do. I want to climb inside the version of my life where that’s a thing I’m allowed.

Which is exactly why I set it back down on the bar.

“Tell her I don’t need it back.”

The silence that follows is different from the others. Heavier. I can feel all of them looking at me—Milo’s sharp curiosity, Holden’s raised brow, Knox’s unreadable stillness. Micah, gone completely still.

I grab my bag and head for the door.

“Eli—” Milo starts.

“Send me the Hudson file. I’ll make a start on planning.”

I push through the door and keep walking.

No matter how impressive the inside of a building is, the alleys are all the same. This one smells like garbage and rain. I lean against the brick and press the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see stars.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Count to ten.

The door opens behind me. I don’t have to look to know who it is.

“Go back inside, Micah.”

“No.”

Quiet footsteps on wet concrete. He stops a few feet off. He’s got the jacket in his hand, like he knew I’d want it back the second I was too far away to take it without anyone watching.

“Have you talked to her?” he asks. “Since last Monday?”

The question tightens my stomach. “That’s none of your business.”

“Fuck you, I’m making it my business.” His voice comes out steady but wired tight. “I saw your face, Eli. With this.” He lifts the jacket. “And in that room eight days ago. That’s not the face of a man who doesn’t care.”

“I never said I don’t care.”

“Then what is it? You care from a safe distance? You care in the ways that don’t cost you anything?” He shakes his head. “You want her. Just fucking say it.”

The words hit bone.

Not just her.

I shove the thought down before it can finish. He’s closer now, chin lifted, those ridiculous blue-gray eyes locked on mine.

“I know it’s her you’re tearing yourself up over,” he says. “Because you sure as hell won’t let it be me.”

The world goes to a pinpoint.

“I never said that either.”

“You don’t have to. It’s clear as fucking day.” His jaw works. “So which is it? You pissed at me for putting my hand on her? Or at yourself for what you felt watching me do it?”

Something in me snaps loose.

I move before I’ve decided to. One hand fisting in his shirt, hauling him in, my mouth already going for his—because it’s the oldest exit I have, the one road out of this that’s always been open. When the want gets too big to hold, Micah’s the place I put it down. Heat instead of words. His mouth instead of the truth.

He lets me get close enough to feel his breath.

Then both hands hit my chest and shove, hard, and I stumble back into the brick.