Page 203 of Chaos

Just as adamant, he retorts, “Don’t saythat.”

“It was my fault.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“But it wasmy fault.”

“But I don’t blame you. They wanted Ruin. They were always gonna come for him.”

But I taunted them, I went over there, I shoved a gun in their faces first and Finn doesn’t know that yet so I tell him, and still, he shakes his head. “They still would’ve come.”

“Ricky was there for me.”

“His actions are not your responsibility.”

“If he hadn't been there—”

“It wasn’t his gun. You canifall day long, baby. There isn’t a single scenario that you could come up with that would convince me you’re the bad guy here.”

I blink. My eyes feel wet again, and I’m not sure how that’s possible, not when I already let loose my body weight in tears. “You got hurt.”

Finn hums, not disagreeing for once. Like he did a few hours ago—yesterday? I have no idea—he pats the bed. “Kiss it better.”

“Finn.”

“Yes, my love?”

My breath hitches.

Don’t call me thatteeters on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t dare let it fall. He’s delirious, loopy from blood loss and a battery of medication—he’s reading my fucking mind, he knows exactly what I’m thinking, he’s opening his mouth to press the matter, but I beat him too.

“Please,” I croak. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now.”

Lips snapping shut, they form a pout that honest to God makes my world spin. “Fine,” he relents so easily, and I could drop my knees and weep with the relief of it. “But the other thing is a non-negotiable.”

“What other thing?” I start to ask only for the question to be preemptively answered.

Straining himself way more than I prefer, he reaches for me and guides me down to the edge of the bed. One hand holding mine, the other pinches my chin and drags me down.

The first brush of his lips against mine makes me want to sob. I think I do sob a little—some kind of a ragged noise leaves me, and Finn shushes it quickly, tenderly, kissing me harder and tracing the seam of my mouth with his tongue.

“No,” I murmur half-heartedly as if I’m not reciprocating, as if I’m not mimicking him, our tongues tangling briefly before I reel back enough to catch his eyes with mine. “Finn—”

“A little more. Please.” He drags his mouth over mine, his smile over my frown. “I feel so much better already.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m wounded, baby.”

I flinch at the needless reminder. Really pulling back now, my gaze drops to the surgical bandage covering the left side of his chest. Scarcely able to breathe at the sight of it, I trace theedges with my thumb, dreading ever seeing what carnage might lie beneath—gasping at the memory of what I already saw.

Fingers circle my wrist and raise it, bringing mine to soft lips. Finn kisses the heel of my hand, the curve of my thumb, each of my knuckles, before murmuring against my palm, “I’m good, Lot. Not going anywhere, okay?”

“No,” I echo shakily—agree,demand. “No, you’re not.”

And fuck, neither am I.

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