Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(23)

“What? Making out with someone’s mother?”

“That, too,” she says, nodding. “What I mean is, getting so wasted I’m sprawled out on some lawn or breaking into buildings to steal beer.”

I try to sound casual―like I’m not some * who’s done stupid shit when wasted―even though I have. “You’ve never been drunk?”

“I have, but I have a sort of a hero complex. When my girlfriends and I went to parties, I’d start to drink, start feeling good, but then I’d see them getting too drunk, guys eyeing them like this is going to help them get laid, or encouraging them to drink more so they can get in their pants.” She shudders. “I couldn’t allow them to get hurt, you know? Girls, young women, they’re such easy targets when they start partying, experimenting with sex, drugs, things they shouldn’t and aren’t ready for.” She smiles thoughtfully. “I couldn’t let anything happen to my besties. I had to keep them safe.”

“So you’d sober up before anything could happen to you or to them.”

She tilts her chin, her stare growing distant as if remembering. “I tried. Ever since I was little, I’ve tried to keep people from getting hurt.”

Her statement gives me one hell of a pause. And even though it sounds stupid, not to mention in-f*cking-sane, for a brief second I wonder if I had a friend like Sol, back then when it mattered, back then when I needed someone to tell me I shouldn’t follow that man into that house, if I could have been saved.

My anger, along with that deep-rooted resentment stirs. It doesn’t feel right. Not around Sol―not when we were laughing as hard as we were seconds ago. Fuck. For someone who prides himself on being able to take on anyone―to protect himself and those he loves, why would I think what I’m thinking now?

Because you’re all sorts of screwed up, I remind myself. Even with this pretty girl sitting beside you. In truth, what if Sol was with me that day? What could she have done? She would have been a little kid―just like me. Someone he could have hurt, too. Someone he could have raped―

“Hey,” she says, leaning in. Her fingers skim along my temple, where my hair is cut so short it lays flat. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” I answer, lying through my teeth.

She tilts her head. “Okay . . . for a minute there, it looked like you checked out.”

I can’t argue, seeing how I did. But lying to her feels wrong. So I tell her as much as I can. “What you said made me think. About things that can go wrong when you get wasted.”

“Have you done things you regret when you were wasted?” The corners of her mouth lift a little when I don’t answer. “I’m not judging you, Finn. I’m only asking. But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“All the damn time,” I say before she finishes speaking. I could’ve lied. God knows I do it all the time, pretending everything is fine. But I don’t like lying to Sol. Hell, I don’t like lying to anyone. But sometimes it’s like I have to, or need to―to keep people off my back or to at least help them sleep at night.

“Do you think you should stop? Drinking I mean,” she adds.

“I don’t know. I like beer. I like the feel of that cold bottle in my hands when I’m talking to people. It helps me relax.”

“The alcohol, the buzz, or the way that bottle feels?” she questions.

I slip my arm around her shoulders and think things through. She surprises me by leaning her head against my chest as she waits for me to answer. She feels good against me. Comfortable. Like this is something we’ve done a hundred times.

“I think it’s all of it,” I admit. “The bottle itself is cold, soothing. It also gives me something to do with my hands.”

“You need to do something with your hands?” she asks. She laughs when I flash her a sly grin. “It wasn’t an offer,” she says, lightly stroking my pecs.

“I’m not one to keep still,” I admit, chuckling. “Even when I’m lying in bed, I’m texting or something. But yeah, I like the buzz, and the booze itself. I’m okay sometimes. But when I’m not, I’m really not.”

“Have you talked about it with Mason?”

“Not really,” I confess. Unless you count him recommending I don’t drink.

“Why?” she asks.

“It’s easier to talk to you about it.”

Her cheek falls against my shoulder. “But I’m incapable of helping you, Finn. I want to, but I’m not qualified yet.”

“You may not have the degree, or have taken whatever test you need to take, that doesn’t mean you’re not helping.”

She lifts her head. “I’m helping you?” she asks, sounding shocked and maybe a little hopeful.

“Yeah,” I answer, my gut twisting a little when I realize exactly how much.

“Good,” she says.

By the way she’s looking at me, I know she wants me to kiss her again. And the way her heart is pounding against mine, I know it’s going to be one damn fine kiss. Well, at least it would have been if it weren’t for the scowling face peering at us from the passenger side window. “Sol . . . Is that your dad?”

She turns, jumping when she sees him. “Yes, that’s him,” she says, her cute face scrunching. “Sorry, I better go before he shoots you between the eyes.”