Page 27 of Micah

Sawyer pulls into his usual spot.

Benji parks beside him.

I hang back.

Watching.

Habit.

Nobody suspicious.

No unfamiliar vehicles lingering.

No one sitting with their engine running.

Nothing out of place.

Satisfied, I park.

Still, I take one slow look around before climbing out.

Hypervigilance.

PTSD.

Call it whatever you want.

It kept me alive.

It still does.

The smell of mesquite smoke hits me before I reach the front door.

Then barbecue.

Fresh-cut fries.

Beer.

Laughter.

Life.

Bit disappears inside first, Sawyer's hand resting lightly against the small of her back.

Benji holds the door for Esme.

She reaches up and kisses his cheek before walking through.

I look away.

Not because it bothers me.

Because it reminds me.

Of what I don't have.

Yet.