Page 229 of What We Burn

She doesn’t answer. She’s too busy looking at her hands.

The front door explodes inward.

Holden fills the frame—gun drawn, eyes sweeping the room in one practiced arc. He takes in the scene. Tyler on the floor, the blood spreading across the carpet, Amy standing over him with empty hands and a face like cracked porcelain, me against the wall with red marks blooming on my throat.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. The gun lowers. His eyes find mine. “Wildcat. You hurt?”

I cough, dragging air back into my lungs. My throat is on fire and my voice comes out shredded. “I’m fine. But Jamie’s on his way here.”

“Fuck.” Holden holsters his gun, his eyes cutting between me, Amy, and the body on the floor. “He can’t see this.”

He crouches beside Tyler, two fingers on his neck. His face doesn’t change, but the way he pulls his hand back tells me everything.

“He’s gone.” He grabs my phone, then catches my chin and angles my face toward the light. His eyes track over my pupils and the red marks crossing the damaged skin on my throat. “Did you black out?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He presses the phone into my hand. “Now call Jamie. Keep him out.”

My hands are shaking but they work. Everything works. I’m bruised and my throat is raw and there’s a dead man on my carpet, but I’m upright and breathing and none of my systems shut down, and right now that feels like the biggest victory of my life.

I dial Jamie. He picks up on the second ring.

“I’m right out front!” he says. “I brought rosé and a rotisserie chicken because I’m an overachiever. Also I found a vintage copy of⁠—”

“Jamie. Don’t come up.”

Silence. “What?”

“We had a—” I glance around, hunting for an excuse. My eyes lock on the spray tent. “Amy had too much wine and she’s—there’s been a spray tan incident.”

“A spray tan incident?”

“The spray tan booth exploded. There’s tanner everywhere. The walls. The ceiling. Amy. She looks like a sweet potato and she’s crying about it. It’s bad.”

Behind me, Holden is pulling the blanket off the couch and covering Tyler’s body. Amy is on the floor now. I didn’t see her go down. She’s staring at a point somewhere past the coffee table.

“I’m sorry—the booth exploded?” Jamie sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “How does a spray tan booth explode?”

“I don’t know, Jamie. It’s rented equipment from a woman named Darlene on Facebook Marketplace. Does that sound like quality engineering to you?”

“Fair point. But I brought chicken. An entire chicken. I can’t eat a whole chicken by myself, Sage. I mean, I could, but it would be a dark moment.”

“Take it home. Eat it in bed. Watch something trashy. We’ll reschedule. I promise.”

“Is Amy okay? Should I come in and⁠—”

“No!” Too fast. Too sharp. I force my voice down. “She’s embarrassed. She doesn’t want anyone to see her. You know how she gets. Just—give us tonight. I’ll send pictures of the damage tomorrow.”

“Pictures of Amy looking like a sweet potato?”

“Of the apartment. There’s tanner on the ceiling, Jamie.”

“God. Okay. Fine. But tell Amy I love her and that bronze is her color regardless of the application method.” A pause. “You sure you’re okay? You sound weird.”

“I’m fine. Too much wine. The fumes from the booth. It’s a whole thing.”

“Okay. Love you. Tell Amy I’m saving her a drumstick.”