Page 30 of What We Burn

“Then why did you call me?”

His eyes snap to mine. “What do you mean?”

“You called me. That night. Right before it happened.” I keep my voice level, but I can feel the thing in my chest pulling at its leash. “I was outside her building. I was right there. And you called, and I walked away from her to hear you better. That’s when⁠—”

“I know.” His voice cracks. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Why did you call me?”

“Because I knew you’d answer. Because I needed to hear your voice. Hear you tell me she was doing okay.”

My eyes burn and I shake my head slowly, not wanting to hear his words. His excuses. “Why didn’t you go to her, Eli? Why did you call me? I was right there. Right fucking there. I stepped away. For you.”

“I know.” His voice is a whisper.

“Do you? Do you fully comprehend what your fucking selfishness did?”

His eyes shine as he nods.

The kitchen is so quiet I can hear Sage laugh outside. A short, rasping thing. Milo must have done something. Or maybe the sun just feels good on her face. Either way, it cuts through the room like a blade.

“I stepped away from her for you,” I say again, quieter this time. “Because you called and I answered. Because that’s what I’ve always done, Eli. You call, I come. Every time. Only this time it almost killed someone.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Don’t tell me what it is!” I hate that he’s the one person who can get underneath my calm. “I made my choice. I turned my back. That’s on me. But you put me in the position to make that choice, and you did it because you were lonely. Because you missed us. Because you burned everything down and then couldn’t stand the cold.” I swallow. “We both have to live with the fact that while I was on the phone listening to you feel sorry for yourself, someone put a rope around her neck.”

He has nothing. No answer, no defense. He stands there like he’s waiting for a sentence to be read. But it’s not enough. Absorbing isn’t answering. Silence isn’t the same as truth.

I ask the question that’s been haunting me. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

The kitchen goes dead. The refrigerator hum is the only thing with the nerve to keep going.

Eli stares at me. The color drains from his face in slow, horrible increments. It’s like watching a man bleed out.

“You’re asking me if I tried to kill Sage?”

“I’m asking you to tell me you didn’t.”

“Micah.”

“Tell me!”

He takes a step toward me. His hand comes up, reaching for my arm, my shoulder, some part of me he can hold on to.

Touch is an old language between us. It existed long before we met Sage. Before everything fractured. The way he’d grip the back of my neck after a kill and press his forehead to mine.

The kissing. The fucking. The⁠—

I slap his hand away.

The sound cracks through the kitchen. The back of my hand against his wrist, knocking it sideways.

The look on his face when I do it is pure hurt, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Don’t.” My voice is steady but my hand is shaking. “You don’t get to touch me right now.”

He pulls his hand back. Holding it against his chest like I’ve burned him.