Page 153 of Chaos

Theo clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says once to me, and then another time to Finn. “For the tone.”

“Apology accepted.” The knot in my gut eases. “Can we be done now? Because talking about this kinda makes me nauseous.”

A round of laughter chases away the lingering tension in the room.

A kiss to my temple chases away the lingering tension in me.

37

He wants to pick her up.

Wrap himself around her.

Protect her from everything.

And never let her go.

“I think I have a psychic horse.”

From where she’s perched on top of the training paddock’s fence, Grace snorts. “Don’t you meanpsychotic?”

I scowl at my twin, an expression I swear Ruin copies. Running a hand along his back, I scratch the spot on his hip that makes his leg kick with satisfaction. “He’s not psychotic.”

“He bit you, like, five times today.”

“It’s his love language,” I counter defensively. “Alex bit you yesterday. You don’t call him names.”

“Alex is three.”

“So is Ruin.”

“Alex is not a horse.”

“Neither is Ruin,” Eliza pipes in, nudging our sister a little too enthusiastically, considering their precarious perch. “Hunter says he’s part devil, part wog.”

“What the fuck is a wog?”

There’s a pause, and then Grace holds up her phone, showing a Wikipedia page on the screen. “A Georgian demonic dog, apparently.”

“So…” Eliza grins, pure mischief. “Grouch?”

Sprawled on the ground nearby with his siblings, my admittedly slightly demonic dog growls.

“Leave my animals alone.” I whistle at Grouch and she quietens, settling her head on her sister’s belly again—Duke,mysister named her, not only becauseShe’s The Manis her favorite movie, but because the week after we found the dogs abandoned on our property, Grace found the puppy she claimed as hers muzzle-deep in a wheel of gouda. To Ruin, I croon, “Don’t listen to them. You’re an angel.”

“A psychic one, apparently.”

Right. Back to my original point. “He knows I drank,” I claim, and the humor tainting the air abruptly dies. “He’s mad at me.”

As if to prove my point, dull, square teeth sink into my forearm for the sixth time, according to Grace.

And for the sixth time, I hiss and dig my shoulder into the strong equine body at my side—a reprimand Ruin clearly does not heed, considering he targets my hair next. Whining a curse as I rescue a flaming red plait from a soggy death, I briefly consider biting the bastard right back.

I probably would, honestly, if a single, commanding clap didn’t call my attention elsewhere.

“New plan,” Carmen calls from the other side of the fence, peering at me through the gap between two rungs. Just like I had to do earlier when she arrived for our session, I choke down something that tastes suspiciously like guilt—is it a breach ofgirl code, I wondered then and I wonder now,to kiss the guy your friend went out with once?

I have no idea. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I don’t have much time to ponder the question either because a shocking command erases it from my head. “Open the gate.”

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