Page 52 of Chaos

That’s not what I was really mad about, but I nod sharply anyway and hope that that’s it, that he’ll go away.

He doesn't.

“What I said—”

“You didn’t mean it?” I interrupt dryly. “You’re sorry?”

“No, I meant it.” At least he looks a little flustered to admit it. “But I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said it, not like that.”

Like that.Internally, I roll my eyes. I’ve suffered a lifetime of shitty apologies, and that… well, at least I can tell he meant it.

Externally, I shrug. “You can say whatever you want, however you want. I don’t care what you think about me, Finn. Your opinion doesn’t keep me up at night.”

Quickly shoving my socked feet into my shoes and tying my laces, I pick up the bag packed with my work clothes and stand. I only make it half a step towards the door before thick fingers loop around my wrist.

“Hey.” A thumb brushes the delicate skin just above my unfortunately racing pulse. “I’m sorry, princess.”

I stare at his hand for a second. At the gentle way he cradles mine. At the prominent veins running beneath dark skin, and the short nails I watched my nephew paint red only a few afternoons ago.

They’re chipped now. Cracked. Because he was picking at that nail polish as he picked me apart.

I rip my hand away out of his grip. “I don’t care,” I bite out as I move to leave again, and this time, he doesn’t stop me. “I never cared in the first place.”

Even from a distance, I can tell my brother is being weird.

I frown at his downturned mouth as I free my hair from the bun I threw it into while showering off a particularly angsty run, tucking it behind my ears before rolling up the sleeves of the shirt I put on over a clean tank. Looping my thumbs through the belt loops of my jeans, my fingers tap nervously against my thighs as I drag my feet in Jackson’s direction, moving slow because I really don’t want to find out whatever the twisted look on his face is about.

Not until I get a little closer do I recognize who’s standing beside him, with his back to me, and that’s when that bad feelingin my gut turns to pure and utter dread. Because if Jackson is looking likethatwhile talking to Van de Dickless, only one cause comes to mind.

“You’re not getting rid of him.”

As my shout echoes across the yard, Jackson’s face contorts even more, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.

“Nofuckingway, Oscar.”

The man who we only ever call by his first name when he really deserves it winces. “Just listen for a sec, baby girl.”

“Don’tbaby girlme,” I hiss, fists curled at my sides as I resist the urge to throw them at my brother. “You're not getting rid of Ruin.”

“His behavioral issues are complex,” Van de Soon To Be Dead chimes in, nose lifted in a way that makes it real fucking obvious he thinks I’m a child who shouldn’t even be seen, let alone heard. “He isn’t a safe animal. This isn’t the right place for him.”

“Like fuck it isn’t.”

“Listen, kid—”

Jackson winces again.

“I’m not akid, fuckhead. And that horse isn’t going anywhere.” I turn to my brother, as close to dropping to my knees and begging as I’m ever likely to get. “Oscar.”

“It would just be for a little while. We’ll get him some help and then he can come back, okay?”

“No.”

“Lottie, he’s not happy in that stall. No one can ride him—we can barely go near him. He needs someone who can help him.”

“I can help him.”

Jackson drops his chin, his expression rife with soft, crushing doubt. “C’mon.”

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