Page 127 of What We Become

“Maybe.”

“Micah.”

He pulls out of the lot, sunlight flashing over the windshield. “You’ve had a hard first day back. I thought we might mark your successful reentry into society with something other than collapse.”

“Okay then. I’m all yours, Micah,” I murmur, leaning back in the seat. “What are you going to do with me?”

THIRTY

MICAH

“You brought me to a honky-tonk,” Sage says, staring at the antlers above the bar.

“Gastropub.”

“Those antlers disagree.”

“Those antlers are ironic.”

“Micah.” She turns to me, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Those antlers have never been ironic a day in their life.”

She’s right. The antlers are deeply, aggressively sincere. But the bar is good.

The Porch is tucked into a converted warehouse on the edge of the arts district, with a live three-piece band in the back corner playing bluesy music and a bass line you feel in your molars. An old work friend of mine owns it. Val spent a couple of years tending bar at Unholy Desires, where the pay is good and the clientele tips even better, before she saved enough to branch out on her own.

We move through the crowd. It’s young and loud and civilian, and not a single person in this building has ever disposed of a body—at least as far as I’m aware. The normalcy is almost a drug.

Val spots me from behind the taps. Her face lights up. “Micah! Holy shit. It’s been too long.”

Sage goes a little still beside me in that way she does when she’s taking in new variables fast. New woman. Familiar with me. Pretty enough that it might matter if you were in the mood to be territorial.

Honestly? It’s a little adorable.

“Val.” I grin and lean over the bar for a quick hug. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been off-grid.”

“No kidding.” She pulls back and looks me over. Dark braid over one shoulder, black tank, tattoo of a swallow on her collarbone. “You look disgustingly healthy.”

“I’ve been eating vegetables against my will.”

“Tragic.” Her gaze slides to Sage and brightens further. “And who is this stunning woman?”

I turn, already enjoying this. “This is my Sage.”

Val sticks a hand out immediately. “Hi, Micah’s Sage. Anyone he brings here gets the VIP treatment and at least one free drink. Unless you’re a cop.”

Sage shakes her hand, expression easing into dry amusement. “Not a cop. Just emotionally suspicious.”

Val barks out a laugh. “Beautiful and funny, I like you.” She leans her forearms on the bar. “What are you both drinking?”

I scan the menu above the bar. “How about you quit hitting on my girlfriend and give us two of whatever you’re currently proud of.”

“Wounded. Deeply wounded.” Val clutches her chest, but she’s grinning. “Fine. Two of my fanciest drinks. On the house for your ego’s recovery.”

She turns to build the drinks, and Sage shifts closer to me, her shoulder pressing against my arm. I feel the question in her body before she speaks it.

“Old work friend,” I murmur against her hair. “Years ago. She’s harmless.”

“She’s pretty.”