There is a version of this conversation in which Iamfurious, in which I tell him that my work is mine. My fights are mine, and I don’t need someone managing information on my behalf. I have had that speech prepared for months, aimed at no one in particular, just sitting there ready.
But I know the difference between being managed and being…this.
Whatever this is.
I look at him for a long moment in the warm dark. “We’re going to talk about all of this,” I say. “Not tonight.”
“I know.”
“But soon. All of it, Ghost.”
He keeps looking at me long enough that I start to feel it.
“I know,Sage.”
It’s only my name.
Still, something shifts, as if it carries more than he was willing to say out loud.
The door gives under my hand and swings inward, the wash of clubhouse cool rolling over me in a thick, familiar wave. It settles across my shoulders, sinks into my skin, carries the layered scent of leather, beer, and the low hum of voices that know my name. I pause just inside the threshold, eyes closed for the span of a single breath, letting it all steady me. Then I square myself, smooth whatever still lingers across my face into something usable, and turn toward the room to find Marley.
Thirty seconds later, I count—because I cannot help it—Ghost’s footsteps cross the floor behind me, and he settles back into his corner, his laptop opens, and the click of the keys starts up again.
Everything exactly as it was.
Except everything is completely different.
Marley looks at my face when I reach her and does not say a single word. She simply picks up my wine glass and hands it to me, which is the correct response and also why she is my best friend.
Victoria glances up at me with a ginger smile. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” I lie.
Victoria studies me with that familiar, measured stillness of hers, the look she wears when she’s already reached a conclusion and is simply letting it sit for a moment before doing anything with it. “Good,” she says, and goes back to her conversation with Sin, who is sitting on the arm of her chair with his hand resting on her shoulder in the way he always touches her, like she is both precious and permanent.
I sit back down, sip my wine, and let the room settle around me. Millie’s laugh, Deek’s story, the low sound of Ro behind thebar, the comfortable weight of a Sunday evening among people I would choose every single time.
My phone buzzes.
Piper again. A follow-up to the apartment listing…
Piper:The tile is original 1960s. I looked it up. I know you don’t care about tile, but I feel you should know.
Piper:I’m so excited I could actually die. Six weeks, Sage. SIX WEEKS.
Something cracks open in my chest filling it with warmth and anxiousness.
In six weeks, my sister will be here.
Somewhere out there, a senator believes his declines in my applications are enough to make me fold. Across this room stands a man who has been tracking that same senator for months, not because the work matters to him, but becauseIdo.
He has never said it out loud.
But I know it anyway.
My phone vibrates in my jeans pocket.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Damn, Piper,” I whisper to myself as I pull out my cell again.
