Page 152 of Chaos

“Not looking for an apology. Not trying to make you feel bad when I tell you that it was terrifying to have you,you, sobbing in my arms, inconsolable, sayingyou can’t do it anymore.”

My mouth gapes open, nothing coming out. I want to tell him that I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean those words the way he’s taken them, except I can’t because I’m not entirely sure it’s the truth. I don’t entirely know how I did mean them. In the moment, I just wanted it all to stop. And I don’t know how to word that without it sounding so… well, exactly how he thinks it sounds.

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Finn eases the great war raging in my head. “But you can talk to me, okay? If you want to. You don’t have to feel like that alone.”

Suddenly, I am so very soft. “I don’t feel like that when I’m with you.”

“That’s nice,” he croons, he looks like he’s trying very hard not to find it quite so nice. “But I’d prefer if you never felt like that at all.”

As would I. God, wouldn’t that be nice?

Carefully setting my new, wooden heart down on the counter, I wrap my arms around Finn’s neck, wrap my legs around his waist, wrap him up in me as best I can. “I’m working on it. I promise.”

And that’s good enough for him. He takes me at my word. He doesn’t find any reason to doubt my promise. He rewards me for it with another kiss, the soft kind, the kind that’s quickly becoming my favorite, that I greedily accept and try my best to return.

A scoff has us abruptly separating.

An audience has all that leached tension rushing back into my body.

Something just south of furious, Theo scoffs again. “Seriously?”

Finn stiffens. “Watch your tone, Davis.”

“Are you kidding me, man? Have you already forgotten that she skipped out of Bishop’s with herboyfriend?”

A possessive, protective palm slips beneath my sweater, burning the skin over my ribcage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Theo huffs and rolls his eyes and grumbles something else I don’t particularly care to hear. His girlfriend mutters his name, casting wary glances between him and me and Finn as they continue to snip at each other, and Adam does nothing at all but stand there, silent, waiting, looking more annoyed at his friends trading quips than at me.

“Okay.” Slipping off the counter and landing with a thud, I clap my hands together to catch everyone’s attention. “Here’s the CliffsNotes.”

I flick up a finger. “Ricky is not my boyfriend.” A second digit rises. “It would be none of your fucking business if he was.” I point to myself. “Mybusiness.” I point to Finn. “Hisbusiness.” My fingers shift to Theo. “Notyours.”

I pause, for dramatic effect or whatever, before lifting a third, shakier finger. “I’m an alcoholic. That’s why I never go out with you guys. That’s why I’m never here on Sundays—I go to meetings. That’s why I’m here in the first place; I got into some trouble, I went to rehab, Lux brought me back.”

My hands drop to my hips, settling over the pair that landed there at some point during my little speech. “Any questions?”

For at least a minute, there’s only silence.

And then, “How long have you been sober?”

Yasmin elbows her boyfriend. “Tee.”

Unoffended, I glance at my nonexistent watch. “About… forty-eight hours. Give or take.”

A fond noise warms the back of my head, lips tickling my scalp where my hair parts down the middle, swept into two braids that Finn wraps around each of his hands. A huskyproud of youmakes me shiver, the words penetrating my skull and lodging somewhere deep, somewhere permanent, somewhere that makes me actually believe them.

“Oh my God,” Yasmin gasps, and I recognize the pure horror twisting her pretty face. “I brought you to a pub.”

A tightening grip tugs at my roots. “Youwhat?”

Throwing an elbow backwards, I shake my head at Yas. “You didn’t know.”

“But—”

“You didn’t know,” I repeat, leaning forward as much as the handsy bastard behind me will let me so I can snag a dish towel off the counter and toss it as my horrified friend. “It’s okay. It’s done. We’re over it. Anything else?”

Though she looks no less stricken, Yas doesn’t press the issue. She does, however, press her boyfriend with a stern look and two fingers digging into his sternum until he gets the message.

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