Chapter 3-Micah
I tell myself I'm only going for the beer.
That's the lie.
The truth?
I'm going because she's there.
I kill the lights inside the cabin and lock the front door behind me. The security system arms automatically with a soft chirp in my earpiece, every sensor on the property reporting green across my phone before I even reach my SUV.
Satisfied, I slide behind the wheel.
The engine turns over with a quiet growl.
Ahead of me, Sawyer's pickup rolls out first, Bit waving through the back window before Benji follows in his truck with Esme laughing about something I can't hear.
Married life looks good on both of them.
Sawyer spent years pretending he didn't need anyone. Then he met Bit and just a few weeks ago they flew off to Vegas and tied the knot.
Benji damn near destroyed himself believing a lie. Then Esme came storming back into his life and he learned the truth.
Now?
Hell.
You couldn't pry either man away from his wife with a crowbar.
Good.
They deserve that.
I drop my SUV into gear and fall in line behind them.
The ranch disappears in my rearview mirror.
The mountains glow orange beneath the setting sun, long shadows stretching across the pastures where our newest bulls lazily graze.
Somewhere behind me, the cryogenic storage vault hums along exactly as designed, every sensor feeding live telemetry back to the server room beneath my cabin.
Nothing's wrong.
Nothing ever stays wrong for long when I'm watching.
Except, I glance toward the passenger seat.
A plain brown box sits buckled in with the seatbelt.
Inside?
A new HEPA cabin air filter.
Engine air filter.
Replacement wiper blades.
A better-quality windshield washer fluid than whatever discount crap she's probably using.
I'd noticed her coughing after she'd climbed into that old van a few weeks ago.
Windows up.
Air conditioner running.
She'd rubbed at her chest while waiting for the light outside the hardware store.
Didn't take much digging to find out seasonal allergies and mild asthma run together.
The cabin filter hadn't been changed in probably a lot longer than it should've been.
So I ordered one.
Along with the engine filter.
Because if you're already changing one...
Might as well do both.
It's practical.
Makes sense.
Perfectly reasonable.
Except I didn't ask.
Didn't tell her.
Didn't even know if she'd want the help.
Christ.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
What exactly am I planning to say?
“Hey, Sloane. I noticed you coughed three Thursdays ago, so I bought maintenance parts for your vehicle.”
Yeah.
That's not weird at all.
Jesus.
Maybe Benji's right.
Maybe I really have forgotten how to talk to women.
The convoy winds through Dry Creek, familiar storefronts sliding past my windows.
People wave at Sawyer.
Kids point at Benji's truck.
Nobody pays much attention to me.
Exactly how I like it.
My phone buzzes in the center console.
One glance.
Ranch security.
Routine notification.
The west fence motion detector picked up a deer.
Dismiss.
Done.
Another buzz.
One of my corporate clients in Singapore successfully completed a penetration test I'd been running all afternoon.
Payment deposited.
Six figures.
For three hours of work.
I don't even smile.
Money stopped impressing me a long time ago.
The things worth having, money can't buy.
The Watering Hole comes into view at the end of Main Street.
Lights glowing warm against the deepening dusk.
The parking lot's already half full.
Sawyer pulls into his usual spot.
Benji parks beside him.
I hang back.
Watching.
Habit.
Nobody suspicious.
No unfamiliar vehicles lingering.
No one sitting with their engine running.
Nothing out of place.
Satisfied, I park.
Still, I take one slow look around before climbing out.
Hypervigilance.
PTSD.
Call it whatever you want.
It kept me alive.
It still does.
The smell of mesquite smoke hits me before I reach the front door.
Then barbecue.
Fresh-cut fries.
Beer.
Laughter.
Life.
Bit disappears inside first, Sawyer's hand resting lightly against the small of her back.
Benji holds the door for Esme.
She reaches up and kisses his cheek before walking through.
I look away.
Not because it bothers me.
Because it reminds me.
Of what I don't have.
Yet.
The thought catches me off guard.
Yet?
Since when did I start thinking there'd be a yet?
Christ.
I really am in trouble.
The bell jingles overhead as I step inside.
Warm air.
Good music.
Conversation.
The familiar clink of glasses.
Then her.
She's behind the bar, wiping down the counter with one hand while balancing three conversations at once.
She laughs at something one of the regulars says.
The sound lands somewhere behind my ribs.
There you are.
The ridiculous tension I'd been carrying since leaving the ranch eases without my permission.
She's okay.
Healthy.
Safe.
My shoulders actually relax.
Unbelievable.
She hasn't even looked at me yet.
“Well?” Benji mutters beside me, catching far more than I intended.
I don't answer.
He follows my line of sight, anyway.
Then the bastard grins.
“I knew it.”
“You know nothing.”
“Oh, I know plenty.”
“I came for a beer.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And maybe a burger.”
“Sure.”
“And that's it.”
Benji's grin gets wider.
“You're a terrible liar.”
“Shut up.”
“What'd you bring in the box?” he asks, talking about the cardboard box still sitting on the passenger seat of my SUV.
“Nothing.”
“You don't haul 'nothing' around in a parts box.”
I sigh.
“Filters.”
He blinks.
“Filters?”
“For her van.”
Silence.
Then—
“What?” he says, loud enough that Sawyer turns around halfway through helping Bit walk through the crowd.
She’s expecting, and he’s been all Papa Bear about it lately.
“What're you two idiots yapping about?” Sawyer asks.
Benji points at me.
“Our resident computer nerd bought Sloane car filters.”
Sawyer looks at me.
Looks at Benji.
Looks back at me.
“You serious?”
“They needed changing.”
“You know that how?”
“She has asthma.”
Another beat of silence.
“Micah,” Sawyer says slowly, “how the hell do you know she has asthma?”
“I noticed.”
“You noticed?”
“She coughs. Has a rescue inhaler.”
Benji snorts.
“She coughs?”
“She rubbed her chest getting into her Van a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, wow. This is getting worse by the sentence,” Sawyer mutters.
“The cabin filter's overdue.”
“You checked?”
“I looked up the maintenance schedule.”
Benji doubles over laughing.
“I hate both of you.”
“No,” Benji wheezes. “No, you don't. But this—this is rich.”
Sawyer scratches his chin, trying—and failing—not to smile.
“So, let me get this straight.”
“No.”
“You're buying replacement parts—”
“Maintenance items.”
“For a woman—”
“She owns the vehicle.”
“You've barely spoken to.”
“I've spoken to her.”
“How many times?”
I think about it.
“Seven times.”
Benji starts laughing harder.
“Seven?” he gasps.
“Spread out over the last few months, yes.”
“That somehow makes it worse!”
“Will you two just shut the fuck up?”
Sawyer folds his arms across his chest.
“You got it bad.”
“I do not.”
“You're driving around with air filters because you saw her cough a couple of times.”
“Three times.”
“What?”
“She coughed three times.”
Benji throws his head back.
“Oh my God.”
“She also sneezed twice.”
“Stop helping!”
“I don’t have to tell you two jack shit!”
Sawyer shakes his head.
“You know, Benji spent three years pretending he hated Esme.”
“And you stalked Bit's social media before admitting you liked her,” Benji fires back.
Sawyer points a finger at him.
“I did no such thing.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I merely researched.”
Benji looks at me.
“See? That's what you sound like.”
“I am not stalking Sloane.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You know what kind of air filter her van takes.”
“That's beside the point.”
“You know how often she coughs.”
“Shut up.”
“You know her maintenance schedule.”
“Preventative maintenance is important.”
Sawyer loses it.
A full belly laugh.
“I can't believe I'm saying this,” he chuckles, “but Benji somehow isn't the craziest one anymore.”
“You two are a couple of assholes.”
“Takes one to know one,” Benji shoots back.
“You know,” Sawyer says, slapping me on the shoulder, “for a genius…”
“Don't.”
“…you are dumber than a box of rocks where women are concerned.”
“I don't need relationship advice from either of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you tackled your wife last week in the barn!”
Benji grins.
“She liked it.”
“She punched you.”
“She liked it after.”
Sawyer nods solemnly.
“He's got you there.”
“And you,” I say, pointing at Sawyer, “made Bit negotiate with a motorcycle club before admitting you wanted her.”
“That wasn’t how it happened.”
“Was too.”
“Well, it worked, didn't it?”
I mutter something under my breath neither of them is meant to hear.
Benji catches it anyway.
“What was that?”
“I said I'd rather be doing anything other than having this conversation right now.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
The three of us move deeper inside the place.
My eyes find the bar before I can stop them.
There she is.
Laughing with Bit over something on a phone while Esme leans in to look.
Three women.
Talking.
Smiling.
Like they've known each other forever.
Sloane throws her head back and laughs.
Not the polite bartender laugh.
The real one.
The one that reaches her eyes.
Worth every damn mile I drove.
Worth every joke those two jackasses make at my expense.
I don't smile.
I don't wave.
I don't interrupt.
I just watch her for another second.
Then I head toward my usual stool.
One beer.
One burger.
And maybe...
If the timing's right...
I'll ask if she'd like me to change those filters.
Yeah.
Who am I kidding?
I'll probably just change them while she's busy.