Page 108 of Chaos

“You don’t strike me as someone who wants to be alone forever.”

That makes me laugh. “I don’t strike me as someone anyone wants to be with forever.”

Yasmin makes a noise like she disagrees. “You’re not as bad as you think you are, Lottie Jackson.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m a lot worse than you think I am.”

“Oh, woe is freaking you,” Yas grunts, surprising me with her rough tone, snapping me to attention. “You know, you are the only person who thinks you’re some evil entity, wreaking havoc and ruining everyone’s lives. It’s so fucking frustrating. People like you. Lots of people for lots of reasons.Ilike you and it pissesme off when you act like that’s some insane, impossible thing.” She reaches across the table to squeeze my knee—to pinch the skin above it in gentle reprimand. “Cut yourself some slack, Lot. You’re twenty-two. You’re a baby. You’re supposed to make mistakes and be a little shitty. It’s how you become a not-shittyrealadult.”

Jaw just about on the floor, I blink. I swallow—or I try to, at least. My mouth is suddenly incredibly dry, void of words as well as saliva, as empty as the head that can’t quite wrap itself around what Yasmin is saying.

“That sounds like a cop-out,” I eventually manage to get out, but it’s the wrong thing to say, it has Yasmin huffing and shaking some more.

“It sounds likelife, Lot. You’re not supposed to be perfect. Especially not you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Suddenly, it’s Yas’ turn for silent blinking. Sinking lower in her seat, she downs the last of her drink, wincing as beer and guilt burn a path down her throat.

I sigh. “You know, right? About my parents. My grandparents.”

“I mean, it’s hardnotto know. It’s kinda, like, integral Haven Ridge lore. People talk about you guys a lot.”

God, don’t I know it. “So, what? My mom’s dead and my dad’s a deadbeat and his parents are deadbeats too, so I get a free pass?”

“No, dummy. You get a little grace. You get a little understanding. I’m not excusing every shitty thing you’ve ever done, I’m just saying that your shittiness doesn't have to be, like, your definition. It’s not your only character trait. There’s more to Lottie Jackson than her rage, okay? I know that. The guys know that. Your family knows that.”

She pauses—not to let me catch up, to let her little speech sink in, but to summon some strength for herself, I think. “Finn knows that,” she mouths cautiously. “Finnknowsthat.”

“Whatever that tone is…”

“You know exactly what my tone is.” Wide eyes lower to half-mast as Yas peers at me from beneath her lashes, her mouth a dry, wry stroke. “Do you think I’m stupid,princess?”

I wince. Slump a little lower. Try to become one with the armchair, to absolutely no avail. “We’re friends.”

“No, we’re friends. You and I. Me and Finn. You two are…” At a loss for words, she dashes a hand through the air. “Something else.”

Nope. Not doing this.“You’re drunk.”

“I’m in love, Lottie. A seasoned lover girl. Might’ve been a long time since I started falling, but I remember what it looks like.”

Against my screaming instincts, putting aside the fuckingabsurdityof this conversation, I ask, “And what’s that?”

“Kinda like your face when Finn left the house tonight.”

“Jesus.” I warble some desperate iteration of a laugh. “So I’m in love with him, am I?”

“I think you could be, if you let yourself.”

“I think we’re not supposed to be talking about boys.”

“I think you’re deflecting,” she accuses, and rightfully so, but she allows it all the same. Rising from her seat, she scoops up an armful of our empty glasses and starts yet another journey to the bar, pausing by my side to give my shoulder a pat. “I mean it, y’know. All of it. Lottie Jackson is more than just her rage.”

Watching her totter off, I repeat that little mantra, rolling the words around on my tongue.

I close my eyes, and I chant it a couple more times in my head.

And just a little, barely even so, I start to believe them.

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