Page 196 of What We Bury

And Tyler.

Tyler’s jaw is clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitching from across the room. He’s staring at Micah’s hands on my waist, then at Milo still clutching the side of my shirt.

I can watch the math happening behind his eyes. Two guys. One girl. Hands everywhere.

“This is fucked,” he mutters. He stands, shakes his head, and disappears down the hall toward Amy’s room. He slams the door behind him.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Amy stands slowly. She’s in sweats and one of Tyler’s hoodies, her hair piled on top of her head, and she looks tired. She glances toward the hallway, then sighs and turns to face me.

“I felt bad about taking off on you last Sunday,” she says. “I wanted to stay here tonight, so I talked him into it.”

The tiny pause before “talked” tells me it wasn’t as easy as she wants it to sound.

A small, rueful smile. “Surprise.”

“Amy, I?—”

“Don’t.” She holds up a hand. “You don’t owe me an explanation.” Her eyes move to Milo, who gives a little wave. “Hey, Milo.”

“Hey, roomie.” Milo smooths my shirt back down to my hips and tries to look casual.

“And you are . . .?” She looks at Micah.

“Micah.” He’s stepped back from me, his hands at his sides, but he doesn’t look embarrassed. He gives Amy a polite nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Amy’s gaze makes the full circuit—Micah, Milo, the wreckage of my shirt, the fact that thirty seconds ago there were four hands on me—and I watch her do the math between the version I gave her over coffee and the version currentlycatching its breath in her living room. I brace for the judgment, the careful change of subject.

Instead she huffs a quiet laugh, more to herself than to me. Her eyes flick toward the hallway, then back to my face, taking a second to rearrange what she just walked in on.

“I guess you were serious when you said they all knew about each other.”

“Shit, Amy. I can explain.”

She shakes her head, and the smile that breaks through is real. “You don’t need to. I’m glad you’re bringing them around. You look . . . good, Sage. Happy.”

The word lands somewhere soft and unguarded, and I have to blink hard to keep my composure. “Thanks, Aims.”

I glance at Milo and Micah. “Can you guys give us a minute?”

“Sure. We’ll wait in your room, baby girl.”

Milo gives my hand a squeeze as he passes. Micah catches my eye and nods once, and then they disappear down the hallway. I hear my bedroom door click shut, and now it’s just me and Amy and the low hum of the fridge.

“Tea?” I ask, because I have no idea how to start this conversation.

“Wine?”

I laugh. “Perfect.”

I pull the open bottle from the fridge while she grabs the glasses. For a second, with her leaning against the counter and me fighting the cork, it almost feels normal.

“So,” she says.

“So.”

“I’m happy for you. Honestly. I meant it last week when I said I was proud of you.” She chews her lip. “But I am sorry about Tyler. He’s being . . .” She trails off, searching for the word.