Page 68 of What We Bury

His body is so close I can feel how furious he is—every line of him wound tight, vibrating with that live-wire rage only Eli ever shows. His breathing is shallow, and his fingers cut into my skin, and I wish he would let go or hit me or do anything except stand there, acting like this isn’t the only real thing we know how to do.

“Go on. Kiss me again. See if you can taste her.” I glare at him. “Better yet, why don’t you suck my fingers? Get your rocks off that way.”

“Fuck you, Micah.”

“No. Fuck you,” I say. “You’re scared, Eli. And you’re pissed at me because I got there first, and you think you don’t deserve to want her.”

“You don’t, either.”

“And you don’t deserve me.”

His eyes flash and he lets go of my wrists. The heat and pressure disappear, and I almost slide to the floor from the drop in voltage alone. Eli steps back, sucking in a breath so deep his chest expands against the stupid heather-gray Henley he always wears to work because he wants to look harmless.

“Go back to her,” he says. Voice frank. Dead steady.

“Shit, Eli. I’m sorry.” The fight drains out of me as fast as the expression clears his face, the mask sliding back on.

“Don’t be. You were right. But she shouldn’t be alone right now.”

I take a step toward her apartment but immediately turn back, guilt twisting in my stomach. For all of Eli’s faults, I can never stop caring about him. “What about you?”

“I’m going to work,” he says.

“That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”

He shoots me a hollow smile. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Then he shoves his hands back in his pockets and walks down the stairs. The door clicks shut behind him, and I’m left standing in the stairwell, heart pounding, head spinning, trying to figure out how the best morning of my life turned into a fucking disaster.

I take the stairs two at a time.

When I get back to her apartment, I do what I can to fix the lock before I go back to the bedroom. I find the door still open. Sage is sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, knees pulled to her chest. Her eyes are red-rimmed. She’s been crying.

My hands are still shaking. I hide them in my lap as I sink down next to her.

“Is he okay?” she asks before I can say anything.

“He will be.”

“Did I mess everything up?”

“No.” I reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You didn’t mess anything up. Eli’s just . . . working through some things.”

We all are.

She nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. Her fingers twist in the blanket.

“He likes you,” I say, because she deserves to know. “That’s why he left. Not because he was angry at you. Or at me.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. “I like him too.”

It should sting. Maybe it does, a little. But mostly I feel relief—that she’s not apologizing, that she’s not pretending, that she’sbeing honest about something complicated instead of trying to make it simple.

“I know,” I say. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” She finally looks at me, and her eyes are searching. “I just—you were so good to me, Micah. Last night, this morning, all of it. And then he walks in and I practicallybeggedhim to join in.” She presses her lips together. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You must think I’m?—”

“Human,” I finish for her. “It’s human, Sage. You’re allowed to feel more than one thing at a time. You’re allowed to want more than one person. That’s not a betrayal. That’s just . . . how this works.”