Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(19)
“Can you blame him?” Teo says. “I would, too, if someone rammed their fingers in my mouth.” The momentary pause makes me think he’s laughing at us. At the very least Teo is smiling his ass off. “You want us to come home?” he asks, this time there is no mistaking the chuckling.
Finn says yes at the same time I say no. Teo laughs, again, taking my side. “We’ll see you in another couple hours. Oh―I forgot to tell you―keep Mattie away from the magic markers. He likes to draw on his sister.”
He hangs up as Finn sets Mattie down. “Just so you know, I’m never having kids. This parenting thing is f*cked up.”
“Fucked up,” Mattie repeats.
Finn points at him. “Watch your mouth,” he warns.
CHAPTER 8
Finn
I flop down on the couch, rubbing my eyes and wishing I could have a beer. Or a shot. Or a shot poured into an ice cold beer. But I won’t. It’s not just because Mason has advised me against drinking, it’s because I’m here with the kids. I’ll f*ck myself up any day of the week, but not when there’s someone counting on me to keep them safe. After what happened to me, I can’t risk anything happening to anyone else.
Damn it. I rub my eyes harder when flickers of that day start poking their way in my head―those words said, that door slamming shut behind me. Why the hell can’t I stop reliving this shit? Is it because of what that idiot Yefim said? Is that all it takes to bring back everything I’ve worked hard to forget?
I start to rise when Sol drops down beside me, her back smacking hard against the long sectional. She’s not too close, but close enough to reduce my surging anxiety. “You finally get Lynnie down?” I ask her.
Her eyes are closed and her lips are opened slightly like she’s already asleep, but she manages to nod. “It took five full choruses of Born this Way plus popping in a Sesame Street video before she finally dozed off.”
“Yeah, I heard you on the monitor,” I say, laughing. “Just so you know, Gaga has nothing to worry about.”
She throws a pillow at me, but I catch it and place it behind my head. “How’d you do with Mattie?” she asks.
“Fine. Ferdinand the Bull put him right to sleep. I guess he’s beat from the mess he made and from coloring his sister.” I cover my mouth as I yawn. “I have to tell you, I work out at least four hours a day―more if I’m training for a fight. But those kids knocked me on my ass. Did you clean up the bathroom?”
“And the bedroom, and the playroom, and Lynnie’s room.” She pries an eye open. “Did you clean up all the cereal?”
“Yup. Cleaned up everything, but Mattie’s room.”
“Why?” she asks, adjusting her position.
“He’s almost three. He needs to own some of his shit, you know?”
She laughs a little, but then her smile falters. “That was scary,” she says, her eyes opening to look my way. “I almost had a heart attack thinking he was going to react to the peanut butter.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” I admit. Bleeding fingers and all, I would have never forgiven myself if something had happened to the little guy. “When I think about it, though, it makes sense he’s not allergic―knowing how organized Teo is, and how prepared he always seems to be.”
She nods. “You’re right. But when it happened, I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. I kept thinking he wasn’t going to make it.”
Again her voice trails. But this time, the way it does, I think it’s because she’s thinking about something that has nothing to do with Mattie. “You didn’t look good,” I say, remembering how her skin blanched.
“I wanted him to be okay―and if he wasn’t, I wanted to be able to save him.”
“You didn’t want him to hurt,” I say, letting her know I’m listening and hearing beyond what she’s telling me.
She swallows with great effort. “No, I didn’t,” she responds quietly. “Nothing can happen to him.”
She says “him”, but I can’t help thinking she’s also talking about her mom. She doesn’t say anything more, appearing lost in her thoughts. At first, I don’t like it. I want her to keep talking―to keep me from my own damn problems. Yet despite the silence, the memories―those stupid flashes of things I’d stab my own brain to forget―they don’t come. Nope. Right now, my mind is all on Sol.
Not that you can blame me.
Most girls I hang with, screw around with, that sort of thing, don’t stop yapping―ever. Even when we’re in bed they have something to say, even if that something is them screaming for more. This silence between me and Sol, it’s nice. For all I like to talk, and for all I want to get to know her, it just feels good.
Sometimes, I swear to Christ, the quiet and all the memories that come during that silence are going to drive me insane. That feeling is such a scary place and makes me feel alone, even when someone is sitting right beside me.
It’s not that way with Sol. Maybe because she feels lonely, too. And like me, maybe just as lost.
“Can I ask you something, without it being weird?” she says, spreading her legs across the couch, but bending them so they don’t quite reach me.
I straighten her legs so they do touch me, her feet resting on my right leg. “Well, when you preface it like that―”