bChapter /bb143 /b

    Lacey ces 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 griefes inyers, 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 offb. /bI’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

    bnce between bitter and sweet.

    This

    –

    doing things for people bI /bcare about – has never felt like a chore. Julie always bhated /bit. She thought I bwas /btoo soft for volunteering to stay home with our siblings or handling every bte/b–night meltdown.

    But I liked it. bI /bstill dob. /b

    b1/2 /b

    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 bjust /bdid it. No

    questions asked.

    Sometimes, when Julie’s tearing me a new one, which is more often than not, she reminds me of this w that really won’t be a w if I knew how to control it. When she’s particrly

    pissed and cruel, she brings up Jessica too.

    I didn’t mind not getting into a rtionship, 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–b/b.”

    bChapter /bbComments /b

    36

    bPOST /bbCOMMENT NOW /b