Page 94

Finn

As I enter the firehouse, the front bay is empty, quiet except for the faint tick of cooling metal. I lock the door behind me and start down the hall.

Boone doesn’t look up when I enter the back room. He’s leaning back in the chair across from the bed, arms crossed. His eyes are on Ani.

Ani is sitting up on the narrow bed when I step in, her legs folded under her. She offers a weak smile when I walk in.

“Everything good at the house?” Boone asks without standing.

“Quiet,” I answer. “Mae and Jonah are working on a pillow fort she and I started yesterday.”

Boone stands and finally looks at me. There’s a darkness in his eyes he doesn’t bother masking. “She hasn’t eaten since yesterday.” He looks over at Ani as he says it.

I glance back at our girl. I hate this for her. She’s wearing one of Boone’s shirts. It hangs loose over her frame and hits just above her knees.

“She only slept for about two hours,” Boone continues. “Maybe three.”

“Alright,” I nod. “We’ll work on getting more food and more sleep tonight.”

“There’s food in the fridge,” he says.

He looks like he has something else to say, and his jaw ticks before he speaks again.

“There aren’t any condoms,” he says matter-of-factly.

My eyebrows jump. “Okay…”

He narrows his eyes. “That’s her preferred coping mechanism right now. I’m just saying...”

“Got it,” I say, hands up.

Boone gives me a look that says he would happily throw me through the wall if it wouldn’t upset Ani. Then he turns his attention back to her—not that it ever really left.

He crosses the space in two steps and kisses her like he owns her.

She melts. Right there in front of me.

And I?—

Yeah, I’m gonna need a minute.

He pulls back with his hand still in her hair, leans in like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Just meets her eyes and lets the weight of the moment hang between them.

Then he brushes a thumb across her cheek and turns toward the door.

“Don’t let her spiral,” he says to me.

And then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stay standing for a second. Ani’s still on the bed, pretending to be okay.

I cross the room and lower myself onto the bed. Her breathing is steady but her fingers are relentless, working the seam of that shirt like she can undo this fucked up situation stitch by stitch.

“You know,” I say, casually, “We could talk, or we could just sit here in soul-crushing silence until one of us fakes a nap to get out of it.”

She snorts. It’s small, but it’s real.

I take that as a win.