Chapter 143
Lacey places her empty cup on the counter and stares out at the water. “I’m just on my first drink. I won’t know until at least the sixth.”
“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a second,” I say, but when she slides her cup back to me,
I fill it anyway.
She doesn’t thank me, just takes another drink like it’s medicine.
Three cups. That’s the limit. She earned that much.
“I’ll stop drinking soon,” she mutters. “Just… not tonight. Let me feel numb. Just this once.”
Her voice isn’t slurred, but her shoulders have dropped the way they do when you stop
pretending you’re fine.
I look at her, then at Emilia. Emilia, who still hasn’t let go of my hand. Lacey, who trusted
someone enough to get gutted by them.
“It’s still the afternoon,” I say, my tone dry.
Lacey meets my eyes. “I can count on one finger the fucks I give.”
And because have the energy to fight her, and because grief comes in layers, I let
I
her have it. She doesn’t need discipline or a lecture. She needs a moment where no one expects
her to hold it together.
I wave the bartender off. I’d rather handle Emilia’s drinks myself. Took me all of two nights to figure out she pretends to like stronger stuff, but can’t stand anything that doesn’t taste like juice. She never says it out loud, but I’ve learnt to read the tiny signals: the wrinkle in her nose, the soft hum when something’s just right.
So I mix her beer with Coke, adjusting it until I get a quiet nod of approval. She sips again.
Another hum. I don’t say anything, just keep watching her expression and tweaking the
balance between bitter and sweet.
This
–
doing things for people I care about – has never felt like a chore. Julie always hated it. She thought I was too soft for volunteering to stay home with our siblings or handling every late–night meltdown.
But I liked it. I still do.
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Chapter 143
Honestly, it’s the only thing I miss about home.
The crying, the chaos, the clean–up – it never felt like too much.
Even when Maya was juggling boyfriends like they were drinks at a bar, or when Luka needed a full bedtime routine after every nightmare at two in the morning. I just did it. No
questions asked.
Sometimes, when Julie’s tearing me a new one, which is more often than not, she reminds me of this flaw that really won’t be a flaw if I knew how to control it. When she’s particularly
pissed and cruel, she brings up Jessica too.
I didn’t mind not getting into a relationship, it was what Jessica needed. I was okay with
sacrificing whatever feelings I might have for her mental health.
But with Emilia, it’s different. She doesn’t ask me to sacrifice anything. Still, I find myself wanting to. She doesn’t have to speak for me to pick up the pieces. When she leans into me
with that lopsided smile, cheeks flushed, curly hair falling over one eye, I don’t think about
what I’m giving – I think about how full I feel just being near her.
She kisses the back of my hand, barely a brush of her lips, and it sends a current through
my entire body.
I don’t move right away.
I just look at her
–
really look at her
–
and wonder how I got this lucky.
I wipe the corner of her mouth with a napkin, then wrap an arm around her and draw her
into my side like she belongs there. Which, at this point, I think she does.
Lacey, true to form, ruins the moment.
‘Fucking weirdos,” she groans dramatically. “I’m in emotional ruin and they’re cuddling like extras in a goddamn rom–com.”
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