Page 119 of Chaos

I gulp as something like panic flutters in my stomach. Makes me shakily admit, “I don’t wanna be like him.”

Caroline doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re not.”

“No?”

“That night,” her voice wobbles, her fingers locked tightly together, her whole body tightening at the vague mention of the night that changed her entire life. The night her dad got so angry, so drunk, that he hurt her, he made her bleed. “You could’ve let me walk away. He would’ve, hedid. You didn’t.”

“I thought about it.”

Smiling softly, Caroline shakes her head. “No, you didn’t.”

I look away. She’s right. I remember that night like it was yesterday. I remember being angry and seeing Caroline and getting angrier, and thenactuallyseeing her, seeing the ugly marks marring her bloody face, and being… fuck, I was scared. For Caroline, I was scared. I was scared for her, but I yelled my sister’s name for me. Because I didn’t know what to do, I only knew how to make it worse, and I knew Lux would make it better—Jackson too.

“Do you understand,” Caroline says quietly, “that you saved my life that night?

My gaze snaps back to her. “What?”

That elegant, freckled throat bobs nervously, honey-brown eyes flitting to something on the horizon. “If you had let me leave, I probably would’ve gone back to that house. Not right then, but at some point. I never would’ve told anyone what was happening to me. I would’ve kept hiding it, I would’ve kept protecting him, and I really think it would’ve killed me eventually.”

My mouth hangs open, but what am I supposed to say to that?Cool? Great? You’re fucking welcome?“I’m sorry,” is what I settle on. “I’m sorry you were going through that and none of us noticed.”

She laughs a quiet, sad noise. “I barely noticed I was going through it. How could I blame any of you?”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know you are.” Shifting to face me once more, she flashes a smile that’s far more understanding than I deserve, so warm. “And that’s the difference. He never was. He never cared. His worst moments don’t keep him up at night because he makes every moment his worst.”

A hesitant beat passes, and then she reaches out and curls her fingers around my wrist, squeezing tentatively. “You're trying, Lottie. That’s what matters.”

29

No one can take their eyes off the bride.

He forgets she’s even there.

He forgets there’s even a wedding.

He forgets everything that isn’t the third bridesmaid to glide down the aisle.

To absolutely noone’s surprise, Luna Evans is the perfect bride.

LunaJackson-Evans, I guess I should say now, since her Internet-ordained, best-friend-turned-officiant said the magic words about five seconds ago.

And about five seconds after that, I averted my gaze as my new sister launched herself at her new husband for their first kiss, risking the wellbeing of her silky, elegant dress as she damn near knocked him to the ground. And as it roams over the cheering crowd, it lands somewhere it shouldn’t.

Second row. Aisle seat. The man in the simple, black suit who’s been staring at me the entire time I’ve been standing up here—except for whenever I happen to glance his way.

Finn looks good. God, he looks good. Clad in all black except for the collar pins proving he got the memo about the color scheme, two pendants the same delicate shade of blue as my dress and connected by a chain the same gold as the pearl-adorned ones around my neck and my wrist.

We match. Of course we do, considering we’re at the same wedding of the same anal bride. I don’t get why my mind fixates on it. Why it insists on pointing out that we’d fit quite well, standing beside each other. That we’d lookgoodtogether.

Someone taps me on the shoulder. Blinking rapidly, I shift my gaze and abruptly realize that everyone else has already walked back down the aisle cutting a path between the two sections of chairs taking up most of the tent.

Only a smirking Cass Morgan is left behind. “Something catch your eye, little Jackson?”

I would scowl, if I didn’t think one of the many cameramen roaming the ranch would choose that exact moment to direct a lens my way. Instead, I grit my teeth and take the escorting arm my brother’s groomsman extends to me, pinching the inside of his elbow with my blue-painted nails. “Shut up.”

He does. At least, for the first bit of our jaunt back down the aisle—at least he waits until we’ve passed the second row before whispering, “He isveryhandsome.”

---