Silence.
Finally, Jake spoke. "You know what I hate about apologies? When people apologize to other people instead of the person they actually hurt."
"I know."
"Do you?" Evan's voice was soft. "This feels like you're looking for absolution from us instead of doing the actual work with Pickle."
It was a fair critique. "You're right."
Hog set down his beer carefully. "Pickle sent us the terms document. Kid's got a spine made of fucking titanium when he needs it."
"He does."
"You know what else he's got?" Jake asked. "A heart that bruises easily. And you stepped on it."
"I did."
Rhett spoke. "What are you doing here, Adrian?"
"I'm staying in Thunder Bay. I accepted work from you—product photography, if that's still on the table."
Rhett glanced at Hog. "It's still on the table. But if you're staying for Pickle—"
"I'm staying for me."
Evan pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. A photo: Pickle mid-laugh, head thrown back, eyes crinkled shut.
"That's who you hurt," Evan said quietly. "Not a cartoon meme. Him."
My chest ached. "I know."
Hog leaned forward. "You hurt him again, and I will make you regret it in ways that are creative and deeply personal."
"Understood."
"Do you like having all your teeth?" Jake asked cheerfully.
"I'd prefer to keep them."
Rhett's hand tightened on Hog's knee. "Enough threats."
"That wasn't a threat," Hog said. "That was a promise."
Jake's mouth twitched. "You really staying in Thunder Bay?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
I looked around The Drop. Foggy windows, scarred tables, and the ancient karaoke machine.
"Because I'm tired of leaving."
Something in Jake's expression softened. "Yeah. I get that."
Evan continued to watch me. "Pickle's not here tonight. He's at home. Probably reorganizing his nearly empty pantry or color-coding his hockey tape."
The image was so perfectly Pickle, I almost smiled.
