Page 52 of What We Bury

Her hand on mine.

Her voice saying she felt like a monster.

My jacket around her shoulders.

My own mouth telling her sometimes you have to become one to be the hero, like that wasn’t the most self-serving bullshit I could have possibly offered a woman still covered in the aftermath of what we made her part of.

She believed me.

That’s the worst of it.

Not because I lied.

Because I meant it.

“Fuck this.”

At 2 a.m., I’m standing in my kitchen with my keys in my hand.

I don’t remember picking them up.

That scares me more than the wanting.

The next thing I know, I’m in the car, pulling out of the driveway and heading south.

This is how it starts.

Not with a decision.

With a deviation.

One broken rule. One unnecessary drive. One hour of sleep traded for a window I have no right to watch.

By the time I reach her building, Knox’s car is still there. Of course it is. He’s a stubborn motherfucker, and he gave me his word.

I park behind him, kill the lights, and text him.

Me:

Go home. I’ve got this.

A moment later, his reply comes through.

Knox:

Don’t you have work tomorrow?

Me:

Yep.

Knox:

Then go catch a few before then. I’m good to stay.

I stare at the message until the words blur.

He’s right.