Beautiful Burn (The Maddox Brothers, #4)(10)

“You’re not that bad, but you’re one stint in rehab away. You’re not bored, you’re empty. Stop trying to fill up with coke and hash. You know that shit doesn’t work.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “The f*ck, Finley. When did you start adulting? You have a ladysitter who stirs your coffee, and you’re coaching me on life choices?”

She stood up, walked the few feet to the sofa, and collapsed next to me, hooking her legs over my lap. She interlaced her fingers between mine. “Betsy OD’d. I don’t want that to be you.”

I sat up. “Betsy March?”

Finley nodded, rubbing my palm with her thumb. “Nine months ago, she was where you are. We all saw it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’ve been MIA, Ellie. No one sees you anymore. Except maybe Sterling.”

“We’re going to Sanya next week.”

“I haven’t seen you in six months. Betsy was empty. I don’t want to hear about you being found lying in your own excrement on the floor. This is our sister talk. You’re f*cking up. You need to man up and handle it.”

“Mandle it?” I said, smiling brightly.

Finley was trying to keep it light, but she quickly wiped her eye.

I reached for her. “Fin. I’m fine.”

She nodded. “I know. We’re all fine until we’re not.”

“Come on. You’ve been traveling all day. We’ll run you a hot bath, relax, and order in.”

She smiled at me. “No wonder you’re bored. That sounds dreadful.”

“Fine, take a hot shower, and then we’ll go to dinner and find a bar with a bunch of hot locals.”

She grinned. “Much better.”



The Grove was busy but not packed. Odd for ski season, but I counted us lucky. Finley was dividing her time between her Kir Royale and the surrounding tables, relishing in the curious attention she was getting simply for being beautiful.

“I’ve always liked the men here. They’re a different kind of sexy than what we’re used to. Gruff. I’m liking the beards.”

“Most of them aren’t actually from here.”

She shrugged. “Neither are we.” Her phone buzzed, and she tapped a quick reply, annoyed with whoever had sent the message.

“Mother?”

Finley shook her head. “Marco’s just checking in.”

I leaned in, my nearly exposed breasts pressing against the table. Finley noticed, but only allowed them to distract her for a moment.

“Is he in love with you?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Probably. Where did you get that top? It makes your tiny tits look freakishly perky.”

“My tits are not tiny.”

“Please,” Finley said as the waiter dropped off our edamame. “You’re barely a B-cup.”

“Not everyone wants to surgically insert doubleDs, Fin.”

She looked up at the waiter. He began to speak, but she cut him off. “Yes, I want another. No, there is nothing else you can get for us right now. Yes, the edamame is superb. Thank you.”

He nodded and left for the kitchen.

“He’s going to spit in our food,” I said, watching him disappear behind a swinging door.

She breathed out a laugh. “I wasn’t rude. I just made his drive-by efficient.” Her eyes lit up, and she stood, embracing Sterling. “Hello, my love!”

Sterling kissed her cheek, and then again square on the mouth. She didn’t flinch.

He looked into her eyes, shaking his head and smiling. “Fin. You’re beautiful.”

She smiled. “You’re right.”

Sterling held the back of Finley’s chair until she sat, and then he helped push her forward. I turned my face as he leaned down, allowing him to peck my cheek.

“Disclaimer … I kissed your sister,” Sterling said, sitting down next to Finley.

She glanced at him, and then at me. “What’s he babbling about?”

“I kind of forced him to kiss me yesterday,” I said, already feeling Finley’s silent wrath. She didn’t want Sterling this second, but he belonged to her. “To get rid of the firefighter.”

Finley’s eyebrows rose, and she looked to Sterling for confirmation. They were an odd pair, between them wearing clothes and accessories that cost more than the average home, but both emotionally and morally bankrupt. Finley might have been able to talk me out of a spiral, but she had a pocket full of people and a closet full of things: all expendable. Sterling loved Finley, but would never beg for her, and preferred to wallow in infinite misery than admit defeat and try to love someone else. We were friends because less than one percent of the world’s population could identify with the sorrow of having too much money and too many opportunities—with the boredom of total freedom of monetary limitations.

We could depend on each other to neither expect anything but time, nor hope that we’d be invited on the next paid vacation. Our friendships would never be more about connections than inside jokes or late night talks. We knew if we were to ever bitch about the throes of money, it was not because we were hinting at needing any. We had nothing in common but the fact that we had one more thing in common than we did with everyone else.

“You really kissed her?” Finley asked Sterling.