Page 289

He hands the microphone back.

No declaration. No public I love you. No forcing me to stand in front of strangers while he turns our mess into festival entertainment.

I did not realize until that second how much I needed him not to.

Mercy glances at me. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“You look relieved.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

I watch Bitter climb out of the hole.

“Because the apology belonged in the garage.”

Mercy's expression softens.

“Exactly.”

Boogie trots over, dirt on his face.

“Sweet, you helping fill Emotional Damage Memorial Plot One?”

“That is not what it is called.”

“It is now.”

Bitter approaches, shovel balanced over one shoulder.

“You don't have to.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I know.”

He immediately steps away from the spare shovel.

Learning.

Painfully.

“I want to.”

His gaze meets mine.

“Okay.”

I pick up the shovel.

My wrist is better, though Mercy makes a threatening sound the first time I toss dirt.

“I am not digging a new one.”

“Three shovelfuls,” she says.