Page 103 of Chaos

Finn sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “Both.”

Suddenly, I feel woozy. Scorched. Not all there. “But wearefriends, right?”

Again, he does that assessing thing. Almost like he has a few answers and he’s trying to figure out which one I can handle.

He settles on, “Of course we are,” and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Four words that sound like there should be abutafter them.

“That’s good,” I blurt, panicked and pathetic and downright unhinged. “Because you’re…” I gulp, more panicked, more pathetic, more unhinged. “I think you might be the best friend I have. That I’ve ever had. I think…” Jesus.Fuck. What is happening to me? Why can’t I speak? Why is this sohard?

With a frustrated noise, I sink down to my knees and sit back on my heels, balling my fingers into fists—tryingto. That damn flower impedes me. Did I even thank him for it? I haven’t, have I? Hard to be grateful when you’re so fucking confused.

“I—”I think, I start to say yet a-fucking-again, but it’s not good enough. It’s not true. “I really need you. I need my friend.”

God, I wish I was better with words. Wish I had some ounce of creative eloquence. Wish I could adequately, accurately describe what my desperate, garbled words do to Finn, how hemelts.

“You’ve got me,” he promises, he swears, he’s so fucking sincere. “Always.”

25

He spends three weeks being the best friend she could ask for.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Pure hell.

With the latchof a stall door digging into my ribcage, I watch Adam as he shoves a rubber teat in the mouth of a hungry, orphaned foal.

Perched on my hip, my eldest nephew whispers, “Is he gonna be okay?”

Adam and I make eye contact. Swaying gently from side to side while I think, I decide to offer as close to the truth as I can get without breaking Alex’s heart. “We don’t know yet, kiddo.”

Probably notis the real answer. That poor mare we rescued hung on long enough to birth her foal and nurse him through the first couple weeks of life, but it doesn’t look like that was enough. He’s just sosmall. Premature, malnourished, grieving. We’re doing everything we can—Adam and the DVM degree I had noidea he possessed are practically attached to the little guy—but shit. It’s not looking good.

“What’s his name?”

Again, I look to Adam for guidance, who shakes his head. “Doesn’t have one yet.”

The chubby arms looped around my neck tighten. “Can I name him?”

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I wonder just how bad of an idea that is. Letting a toddler name the scrawny, adorable foal that’s unlikely to survive the winter. Would he even listen to me if I actually said no?

Slowly, cautiously, I mouth, “What were you thinking?”

“Applesauce.”

I choke on an inappropriate laugh. “Really?”

Alex shrugs like there’s at least another decade attached to his lifespan. “I like applesauce.”

“Excellent point,” Adam calls from where he’s crouched in the hay with fuckingApplesauce. “I like it.”

As the sweet little face I adore blossoms into a grin, I can’t resist smooshing mine against it. “Me too.”

With a pleased giggle, Alex smooshes me right back, harder because while three—three and a half, he’s taken to telling everyone because another kid at his daycare learned the concept of a half-birthday and December is Alex’s—is apparently not the age when a little boy learns aboutgentle.

Nipping my fucking nose and making me wonder if he’s been sneaking around with Ruin, he does a backbend in my arms. “Finny,” he hollers melodically, risking a date with the dirt as he wriggles relentlessly in my grip. “My horse is Applesauce.”

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