Page 224 of What We Burn

“I also bought some card games,” she says, digging around in her bag. “This one involves drinking. This one involves spilling secrets. And this one is all about gratitude.”

“Wow. A full spectrum from alcoholism to radical vulnerability.”

Amy drops a deck onto the table. “Jamie says the gratitude one is cringe, but I think that’s just because he can’t handle real emotions.”

“Well, at the end of the day, he is a man. So . . . ”

She smirks. “Exactly. But at least Jamie’s doing his best impression of an emotionally available human—unlike some people we used to know.”

She says it lightly. A throwaway. But I catch it.

“Have you heard from Tyler at all?” I ask casually.

Amy concentrates very hard on peeling back the cellophane. “Not since I blocked his number.”

“I knew you ended things, but I never asked what happened after.”

“You had enough of your own shit going on.” She lifts one shoulder. “He kept calling. Texting. Apologizing, then somehow making everything my fault again.” She finally gets the cellophane off in one clean strip. “I think he thought I’d start begging or something. And when I didn’t, it got ugly.”

“Ugly how?”

“Someone jumped him. He told anyone who’d listen that it was your boyfriends.” She looks at me sideways. “Even showed up here trying to convince me I was in danger. That you were the devil.” She shrugs. “But there was some guy parked across the street and he got all spooked and ran.”

My throat goes tight. “Who was across the street?”

“No idea. I think it was just a random person parked there. It was super weird.”

“I wonder why he didn’t go to the cops if he thought my guys hurt him,” I say.

“Who cares, really? I figured if it was them, they probably had a reason and he deserved it. I mean, I’d be lying if I didn’t suspect it was him that night.” She studies me for a beat, her eyes dropping to my throat and the cameo choker surrounding it. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell the police. Someone attacked you and tried to hang you, Sage. They could’ve looked for him.”

Because the last thing any of us needed was the police looking too closely at my life.

My fingers close around the eyelash extension kit.

“I was scared they’d blame the guys.”

Amy’s forehead creases. “Why would they?”

“Look at us from the outside. Five older men in a relationship with one woman. You just said yourself Tyler was telling anyone who’d listen that they were dangerous.” I make myself meet her eyes. “If I told the cops someone attacked me, they would’ve started with the men closest to me. I didn’t want them deciding unconventional meant abusive and tearing apart our lives while they chased the wrong person.”

It’s a good lie because most of it is true.

The cops would have looked at my men. They just would’ve been looking for the wrong crime.

Amy’s expression softens. “Yeah. Okay. I can understand that.”

Guilt twists beneath my ribs. Amy is the only person outside my guys who knows there was an attack, and I’m repaying her loyalty by lying to her face.

But the whole truth isn’t only mine to tell.

I pass her the eyelash extension kit. “Are you planning to glue these to your face or use them as some kind of weapon?”

“Both,” she deadpans, but she doesn’t let me escape completely. “Do you ever get the feeling there’s still . . . like, some unfinished business with all that?”

I snort. “Which part? The man who attacked me is still out there, or the fact that you and my guys are the only people who even know there was an attack?”

Amy cracks the box and pulls out an individual lash strip, setting it gently on top of the Nutter Butters like she’s crowning them.