Page 2 of What We Bury

“That’s encouraging. I think.”

He grins. His front teeth overlap, just slightly. Just enough to make him human. He shifts a millimeter closer and my chest goes tight.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

The therapist I could afford for exactly three sessions before my checking account staged an intervention walked me through this.Your nervous system is going to react to safe men the way it reacted to the dangerous one. Don’t punish yourself for the reflex. Just breathe through it.

I breathe through it.

“What about you?” I ask. “Does Tyler keep you around as decoration, or do you also have a job?”

“I work for myself. Freelance marketing consultant. It’s mostly corporate nonsense, but it lets me work anywhere with WiFi.”

“Hence the bluff with the view.”

His grin widens. “Hard to beat the commute.”

“Don’t let him be modest,” Amy says. “He also makes excellent sangria, takes annoyingly gorgeous sunset photos—you should see his Instagram—and he once rescued a dog from a freeway.”

“That’s generous,” Brock says. “I almost died for a stray who ate an entire bag of Milky Ways in my backseat—called her Mars after that.”

“Your dog is named Mars?” I ask.

“Felt thematically appropriate.” He pulls out his phone, swipes, and turns the screen toward me. A scrappy terrier sits on a kitchen floor wearing a cone of shame and looking delighted. “Remorse has never been her strong suit.”

I laugh before I can stop it. It shocks me, because I don’t think I’ve laughed like this in over a year. Amy doesn’t even pretend not to notice. She’s beaming at me, openly, like she’s just watched me take a first step.

Brock looks down at the sand, fast, like he’s giving me the privacy of not being watched. The decency lands somewhere it shouldn’t.

Keep it together. Normal girl at a normal party. Don’t let the past dictate the future.

The mask fits so well tonight I almost forget I’m wearing one. Almost.

When my cup runs dry, Brock pushes up. “Refill?”

I open my mouth to sayI’ll come with you, because the rules are the rules—don’t let anyone bring you a drink you didn’t see them pour. Before I can, he holds up both hands.

“Sealed only. I’ll bring you whatever you want and crack it in front of you. My mom drilled it into me when I was sixteen. The talk had visuals. I never recovered.”

He says it lightly. Like a joke. But there’s something underneath—the rhythm of someone who’s said it enough times that the line is automatic, polished, ready for exactly this moment.

I don’t know if I’m relieved or suspicious, but I push the feeling down.

“A beer, then. Whatever you’ve got.”

He comes back with two bottles, still sealed. Pops his own in front of me and hands me the unopened one with a small mock-bow that should be cheesy and isn’t.

“Smart mom,” I say, accepting it.

“She is.”

Amy makes a pleased sound. “I love that you guys are getting along. I knew you would.”

Brock rolls his eyes and laughs as he leans in. “Not sure if you’ve noticed this about your roommate, but Amy has strong opinions about people being single.”

“Because it’s a waste!” Amy protests. “You’re funny, you’re nice, you have a great job, host an amazing party. Plus, look at you.” She waves a hand in his general direction. “It’s like keeping a perfectly good sports car in the garage.”

“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?” Tyler asks, bumping her playfully.