Page 192 of What We Become

I take it, clink the rim lightly against his before I drink, and the champagne is cold and sharp and expensive enough to taste like someone distilled celebration into bubbles.

“Happy birthday,” Eli says, stepping in close enough that the leash chain slides warm and metallic against my arm.

A chorus of happy birthday follows, with Holden leaning in and brushing his mouth against my temple, Knox touching the back of my neck, and Micah smiling at me in that soft way that always makes something in my chest loosen.

The words land harder after the SUV, the diner, and Eli’s toast. My throat goes too tight to talk.

Which is deeply unfair, because I’m usually excellent at talking shit.

“Careful,” Milo says, pointing his flute at me. “If you cry again, I’m going to have to cry too, and then Holden will have to admit he has feelings. The whole evening will collapse into snot and tears.”

“I’m not crying.”

“Your eyes aren’t hearing what your mouth is saying.”

I laugh, which eases the pressure behind them.

“Come here,” Micah says.

He sets his champagne down and hooks an arm around my waist, guiding me to the cake. Up close, it’s even prettier—dark ganache smooth as satin, gold leaf at the edges, my name written like I’m something sacred and spoiled all at once.

“Make a wish,” he says.

“Seems greedy when I already have all this.”

Micah’s arm tightens around me.

“Still have to make one,” Eli murmurs. “House rules of birthdays and baked goods.”

“Whose house?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Ours, obviously.”

I close my eyes and wish for death—Stephen’s specifically. Then, because nobody said I only get one and the candles are still burning, I wish for a night the outside world can’t reach. Micah squeezes me once before letting go, and I lean in to blow out the candles.

The room answers with a soft scatter of applause. Milo doesn’t join in. When I look over he’s watching the smoke come off the candles like it’s saying something to him. Then he catches me looking and gives me jazz hands like I just cured something terminal.

“Beautiful,” he says. “Iconic. A woman, a wish, a fire hazard.”

Micah cuts the first slice with ritual-level seriousness. Knox takes the plates from him and starts handing them out one by one, huge hands careful with delicate black china. Holden reaches for my fork at the same time I do. Our fingers brush, but he takes it, cuts off a bite, and lifts it to my mouth.

“Open, wildcat.”

I take the offered bite and make a noise before I can stop myself. “Oh my God.”

Holden lets out a low growl, his eyes darkening as he watches me chew.

“Good?” Micah asks.

I nod. “I would let this cake ruin my life.”

Milo points his fork at the ceiling. “That should be the slogan for the bakery.”

We eat standing around the table, close enough that our shoulders keep knocking, champagne giving everything a gold blur at the edges. It feels almost normal if I ignore the fact that we’re us and this is a sex club.

I glance up at one of the screens and catch a side view of myself between Knox and Eli, backless dress, dark leather at my throat. Holden behind me. Micah to my left. Milo half turned toward me with frosting on his lower lip.

The sight hits me weirdly hard.