If there’s anywhere I can do it, it’s here. In this little pocket of safety at the Possum.
I lean over the bar, which is deep enough that I have to stand up on my toes to reach, grab Micah by the jaw and kiss him firmly on the mouth. No tongue, no lingering, but a solid enough kiss that it’s unmistakably not platonic. And when I pull back, I keep my hand where it is so I can hover with our faces inches apart for a few more seconds.
Of course, Tobias wolf-whistles from somewhere behind me. The brat.
“Hi, Bambi,” I murmur.
“Hi, doll.”
There’s a hint of flush creeping into his cheeks, and the sleepiness running through him makes him already soft in my hands.
“You want a margarita?”
His smile broadens, lovestruck and kind of dopey, and I’m still getting used to the fact that he makes that face all for me.
“Yes, please.”
“Okay.” I peck him on the lips one more time before I let him go, turning to get him the drink.
Everybody makes small talk for a little while. Micah fills me in on his shift, including a particularly grizzly assault victim that sounds a lot like the work of people we know, even though neither of us says that out loud. Tobias and Gunnar are disgustingly handsy with each other when they’re supposed to be working, because what else is new, and I get to share exasperated looks about it with Kasia, who has sat down to drink with Micah because she’s not working tonight and only came for the liquor.
It’s getting closer to closing time when Micah cracks a joke that makes Kasia snort vodka out of her nose. There are only a few people left inside because it’s only a Tuesday, so it’s noticeable when the door opens, and a new person walks in.
Well, I don’t notice right away, because I’m focusing on my work. And the constant, obsessive situational awareness I used to have has faded more quickly than I expected it to ever since I quit. The nightmares haven’t faded at all. If anything, they’re worse, but according to Bambi, that happens sometimes.
Either way, the only reason I take note of the new person is because Micah bristles in front of me.
I whip my head around, expecting the worst. Father, maybe. So far, it sounds like he’s been keeping his word and sitting his ass in Oklahoma. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, Micah, or Micah’s mom, and is apparently content to pretendnone of us ever existed. Of course, I’ll never feel truly confident that’s going to last.
Maybe it’s Eamon’s fucking ghost, here to haunt me along with the rest of my memories. I don’t know.
It’s only Colm.
He saunters in, looking as calm and subdued as ever. When he points those bright blue eyes at me, I see the same affection and loyalty in them as I always did, and it almost hurts.
I miss him, I guess. I didn’t realize I would.
“Please don’t tell me you’re here to flee your life of crime,” Gunnar says from behind the bar. “I’m out of money to hire people.” He looks at Tobias and then at me, then coughs. “I mean,allegedlife of crime.”
I snort, but neither Micah or Kasia look amused. I’m expecting Tobias to protest and point out that he has his own job now and only helps out at the bar because he can, because the sass on him has become completely unmanageable now that he’s not miserable and struggling to survive day to day. But when I look at him, he’s silent. His eyes are dark and downcast, and his body is preternaturally still. Without a sound, he slowly slinks out of view, disappearing into the back hall, leaving Gunnar looking after him with a frown.
It makes sense. His experience of the Banna was one giant shit-fest of abuse, and it’s hard to distinguish one threat from another. Colm probably looks like another Eamon in waiting to him. He looked at me the same way until I finally broke and told him what I did. He hugged me that day, which is a memory I’ll hold on to for a very long time, even if I’m not quite sure what to do with it.
Colm doesn’t care about the rest of us, though. He’s only looking at me.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks.
“No.” Micah’s voice echoes through the room, much louder than the music, before I even get a chance to open my mouth. “He’s closed for business. You were there, we discussed this. Now get a drink or get out.”
“Calm down, Bambi,” Colm says to him, still in a quiet voice, but now my blood is up, too.
“Hey,” I say, but he keeps talking to Micah.
“I’m not asking him to help me assassinate the president, I just want his opinion on something.”
Micah is fucking fuming. He hasn’t removed Colm’s eyeballs, though, which is nice. I don’t want to have to pull him out of a brawl. I know from personal experience that he’s a lot stronger than he looks.
“Fine. But watch your fucking mouth.” I turn to Micah. “Two minutes. I’ll be fine.”
