I fucking hate it.
But she needs the space. Needs to figure out what she wants without me hovering. So I wait.
I’m good at waiting.
“You gonna stand there brooding all night, or you gonna actually enjoy the party?” Kya appears at my side, Lee trailing behind her with an empty bottle in hand.
“I’m enjoying,” I say.
“You’re lurking. There’s a difference.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re being antisocial.” She pokes me in the ribs. “Go dance. Even Stone’s up there with some random from out of town.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Liar. I’ve seen you dance.”
“That was years ago and I was drunk.”
“So get drunk and come dance.”
Before I can argue further, Lee intervenes. “Leave him alone, babe. Not everyone wants to be dragged onto a dance floor.”
“Thank you,” I tell Lee.
“Though you do look like you could use some fun,” Lee adds, completely undermining his defense.
“I’m having fun.”
They both give me identical looks of disbelief.
“Fine. I’m having an adequate time.”
“There’s the enthusiasm we were looking for,” Kya says dryly. She links her arm through Lee’s. “Come on. Let’s go show these people how it’s done.”
They head for the dance floor—really just an open space near the stage where people are already moving to the music. I watch them go, Lee tugging Kya against his body, Kya laughing at something he says when he leans close to her ear.
I push off from the bar, suddenly needing air myself. The crowd parts for me—not out of respect anymore, but habit. Even without the intelligence officer patch, I still carry myself like I own the room. Some things don’t change.
Outside, the night air is cool and fresh compared to the hot press of bodies inside. I take a deep breath, letting the tension ease from my shoulders as I scan the parking lot. The whole place is packed with bikes and cars, people spilling out onto the sidewalk with drinks in hand.
I spot Duck by the edge of the lot, sitting on a wooden bench we installed last week. He’s alone, nursing what looks like a whiskey and staring up at the stars. Even from here, I can see the slight slump in his shoulders, the way his thick white beard catches the glow from the string lights.
“Mind some company?” I ask, approaching slowly.
Duck glances up, pale blue eyes crinkling as I set myself on the bench next to him.
“Maggie still dancin’?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nod.
“She’s gonna be complaining about her knees for the next week.” Duck chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “She’ll say it’s worth it though. She loves to dance. Always has.”
I nod, watching as a couple stumble out of the bar, laughing and hanging onto each other. They’re young—probably barely old enough to drink—and completely wrapped up in each other.
“You doing all right, son?” Duck asks after a moment.
