Page 112 of What We Burn

“Yes! He can rest his arm over the back of my chair any time.”

I laugh despite myself. “I’ll pass that along.”

“Please do. Tell him I said he has the bone structure of a Renaissance painting.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Seriously, though. When was the last time you had some fun?”

I blush.

“That didn’t involve sex, you saucy minx!”

“We play lawn bowls on weekends. We’re dead last because we’re terrible. But it’s fun.”

He stares at me, mouth open. “Lawn bowls?”

“Yeah. It’s⁠—”

“Do not say it’s ‘fun’ again.” He holds his hand up to stop me. “Lawn bowls is for retirees and people who are scared of fun.” He leans closer. “When was the last time you did something for you, Sage? Just you.”

I open my mouth. Close it.

“That long, huh?”

“Things have been . . . complicated.”

“I know.” His voice softens. “And I get why they’re obsessively watching you. I do. After what happened, it makes sense that the people who love you would want to keep you close. But, Sage...” He leans forward. “You know what doesn’t help someone who’s been through a dark patch? Being monitored every second of every day like she’s going to shatter if no one’s holding the pieces.”

The dark patch. I know that’s how he frames it—what I led him to believe. But it still twists my gut hearing the worst moment of my life turned into something I did to myself.

“They mean well,” I say, knowing it’s the truth. “I’m just⁠—”

“Going insane?”

“I was going to say struggling with not feeling smothered. But insane works.”

Jamie tilts his head. “When was the last time you saw Amy? I’m betting it was that coffee date we all had together.”

I wince. “She keeps texting and I keep . . .” I trail off.

Making excuses. Dodging. Letting the friendship wither because I can’t figure out how to see her without the whole production—the escort, the route planning, someone in a parked car watching through tinted windows.

And I know she’d understand, but I just want the freedom to sit across from my friend at a café and not worry that if a waiter flirts with me a little too hard it’ll turn into a confrontation because Knox decides his smile is suspicious.

“You miss her,” he says.

“Yeah.” The word comes out small. Honest. “I do.”

“Then see her.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

Because she’s already too involved in the shit show my life has become, and I don’t want to risk her more than I already have.

“So, you miss her and you keep blowing her off, huh?” Jamie prompts when I don’t answer.

“Not on purpose.”

“Doesn’t matter. Effect’s the same.” He says it gently, but it lands. “Look, I know your guys mean well. But I’ve been in a place where the people around me were so scared of losing me that they forgot I was still here. And the tighter they held on, the smaller I got until I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t tell them I couldn’t breathe because they were doing it out of love and how do you fight that?”