His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. I top off his drink with a little more tequila for good measure, which makes him almost snort laugh at me, and then hustle out from behind the bar before Colm can ignite any more drama.
“I’m not going outside with you, if your plan is to jump me,” I say as I drag him by the arm to the farthest corner of the room. “What do you want?”
For a second, he holds the same confident, almost-cocky expression as before, but then he softens. “Damn, Sav. Do you really think I would do that? I’ve always been on your side. I helped you get out and got a big fucking promotion in the process. Why would I come for you now?”
I huff, but he’s not wrong.
“I miss you,” he says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him. “You know you can still say hello without being asked to dig a grave or something.”
I’m about to snap at him, but I stop myself. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. This is all new and weird.”
“Is it good?” he asks. “You’re happy?”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, but it doesn’t work so I repeat the process. “Yeah. I mean, as happy as I can be. I’m still a fucking mess. That might just be who I am, though. It’s easier to deal with it when I don’t have all the other shit to deal with, y’know?”
“And your little woodland creature?” he says, his mouth turning up into a smile that’s just shy of salacious. “He makes you happy?”
“Fuck off.” I punch him in the arm, but it barely rocks him backward. There’s a twist of nerves inside me, like there always is when people finally know that Micah and I are more than whatever we were before. That we’re something. That he’s it. “Yes.”
It’s the only answer I can come up with, because talking about this with anyone, let alone a member of the Banna, makes me want to throw up. I avert my eyes, but Colm pats my arm to get my attention again.
“Good. It’s good. He’s a good kid.” I roll my eyes a little, because he’s barely a year younger than me and I think Colm is about the same age. We’re all kids, really. Some of us are just also murderers. “I like how he is for you. You need someone to protect you. That was always my job, but I think he has me beat.”
Colm quirks a smile, and his expression gets kind of distant. I can’t read it.
“Don’t worry about the guys, by the way. Patrick took most of the old timers with him when he left. I’m not saying they’re progressive or anything—” He laughs. “But most of them don’t seem to care enough about all this shit to go looking for trouble. The world is different now than it was for Patrick. Even our world.”
I can’t help but cock my head. He makes it sound simple. Father always drew this line in the sand and told me that theBanna was on one side and all the weak people of the world were on the other. There were a lot of things that were written on that line, but ‘queer’ was definitely one of them.
And now here’s Colm, acting like it’s no big deal. Like all this can eventually just drift away as people care less and less.
I can’t wrap my mind around it. I don’t even think I want to. It makes too much of my life a fucking waste.
“I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about my sex life,” I say, before immediately regretting the ballsiness of my word choice.
Colm laughs, though. “No. Sorry. I wanted to know if you’ve heard of someone called ‘Fallow’? No first name. I don’t know if it’s a title or a real name or what. People keep talking about him, and it’s dark, violent shit, but it’s very hush hush and I can’t get a straight answer. It’s like trying to ask my nan to tell me about the fair folk. Nothing but rumors and blank fucking verse.”
“I’m sorry, brother. I don’t know. Sounds kind of creepy, though.”
“Yeah.” He looks away from me, chewing on his bottom lip. “That’s the problem.”
There’s a long silence, and once again I can’t puzzle out his expression.
“Are you okay?”
Colm jumps a little, like he’s snapping out of a trance, and turns his attention back to me. “Sorry. Yes. Thanks for your help, I’ll leave you to your woodland creature.” He smiles again, but it’s weaker this time. “Come see me if you want to, okay? No strings.”
When I nod and agree, I think I actually mean it. A few months ago, the idea would have crippled me with anxiety. But now that Patrick has been gone all this time and still hasn’t come lurching back into our lives yet, I find it a little easier every day to convince myself he might really be letting us go free.
We exchange warm goodbyes, and it feels nice. Like the one decent part of my old, shitty life is slotting into my new one. I walk back to the bar with a small smile on my face, even if Micah is still glaring daggers at me.
“What did he want?”
My smile widens, because the vitriol in his voice could melt through the bar.
“Nothing, Bambi.” I murmur the words in his ear and kiss him on the top of his head, taking the opportunity while I’m on this side of the bar. “He had a question that I couldn’t answer anyway. No big deal.”
“Mmm.” No words follow his sound, but the distrust is written all over his face.
