Page 70 of You Owe Me

“Emotionally, yes.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You filled up a kiddie pool. On the balcony. At 2:00 a.m.”

She lifts the wine pouch and waggles it at me. “It’s called self-care, Maverick. Look it up.”

“Ainsley.”

“What?”

“You’re going to drown. In six inches of warm hose water and fermented juice.”

“Then let me.” She throws her arms wide, nearly tipping the duck. “Let the merlot take me!”

Heaven help me.

I step closer, arms crossed. “You’re going to wake the entire building.”

“Good,” she snaps. “Let them judge me. Maybe someone out there has the decency to own a slip n’ slide and a soul.”

I stare down at her, squinting.

She’s crying.

Not hard. Not loud. But her eyes are red, her mascara’s smudged, and the bravado is cracking around the edges.

“I messed everything up,” she whispers suddenly. “I didn’t mean to.”

I crouch down beside the pool. My voice drops low. “What’d you do?”

She shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Ainsley.”

She looks away. “I hate how good you are. How calm. How you always know the answer while I’m out here throwing kiddie pool tantrums like some rejected Disney villain.”

“Hey.” I reach out and brush a wet curl from her cheek. “You’re not a villain.”

She snorts. “Tell that to Jesus. He knows what I did.”

Fuck, I love this girl.

And she’s unraveling right in front of me.

I should tell her to come inside. To drink water. To stop giving our neighbors another reason to report us to the apartment manager.

But instead, I just sit beside her chaos.

And wait.

Because whatever’s coming next?

It’s not going to be funny. Not really.

But for now?

She floats. I sit.

She reaches over the side of the duck and scoops a handful of lukewarm water. Then throws it at my feet.

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