Page 123 of What We Become

“Congratulations, Detective,” Micah says. “Big night.”

“Fuck off.”

Sage shifts across the couch and curls into Holden’s side, grinning at both of us. “I’m so happy right now.”

Holden’s gaze finds mine across the room and stays there.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

TWENTY-NINE

SAGE

“Welcome back, Sage!”

A little over a week after coming home from the cabin, I’m back at the diner with an apron in my hands.

Rosa pulls me into a hug before I’ve even got it on, her perfume and the smell of diner grease hitting me at the same time. Behind her, the kitchen radio is playing something country through the pass window, and I can hear Danny, one of the line cooks, already banging around the grill.

“Hey, Rosa. Good to be back.”

“Back here?” She scoffs, holding me at arm’s length and studying my face with the concern of a woman who considers herself everyone’s mother. “You’re looking good. Refreshed. How was the vacation? You’ve got some color in your cheeks. And oh! That’s a pretty neck piece.”

“Oh, this.” I touch the collar I put on this morning to cover my throat scar. “I lost my choker while I was away. It feels weird not wearing something now.”

Rosa smiles. “Looks badass.”

“Thanks,” I say, while my mind remembers how badass wearing this felt the night Eli put it on me and led me through the club on a leash.

And now I’m turned on at work.

“Hey, Sage.” Danny leans through the pass window, spatula raised in greeting. “Heard you were coming back today. Good to see you.”

“Thanks, Danny. You too.”

And it is. Or it should be. The counter, the stools, the specials board in Rosa’s handwriting. The coffee machine hissing. The smell of bacon grease and pies. It all looks the same. Sounds the same.

My body hates it.

The last time I stood behind this counter, a man I called my best friend was sitting in that booth tapping away at his laptop, drinking coffee, and planning to seal me inside a wall.

“You okay, hon?” Rosa asks, catching something in my face I didn’t mean to show.

“Yeah. Just getting my bearings.” I tie the apron. Pin the name tag. Hair up. “The boss around?”

“Left early. Said to tell you the Tuesday–Saturday roster is yours, if you want it.” She shrugs like this is normal. “He’s been weirdly chill lately. Hasn’t even been pressuring us to upsell the way he usually does. Danny and I have been speculating.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, looking between her and Danny.

Danny nods. “Rosa thinks maybe he won the lottery or inherited some money. I think he had a stroke. Either way, the man is acting weird.”

Weird is right. I’d come in to talk to him last week, expecting the conversation to be painful—more than a month gone without notice, no doctor’s note that makes sense. But Gary just leaned back in his office chair, asked when I wanted to start back, and that was that. No questions. No probation. No write-up.

I’m not in a position to question easy when everything else in my life has been the opposite. And in a way, I’m happy to be back to structure, to routine, to the predictable logic of breakfast rush and endless coffee refills. Even if my palms are sweating, even if every time the door chimes I have to pretend I’m not expecting Jamie—Stephen—to walk in. I guess that’s trauma for you.

Or maybe it’s just Hunter Harbor.

Rosa gently nudges me out onto the floor. “I’ve got the counter and section one. You take two and three, okay?”