Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(63)

They don’t budge, but neither do we. Anger like I’ve never felt burns its way through me. Finn is wrecked out of his mind. These girls know it―in fact, they probably helped get him this way. But it’s the underlying guilt―the belief that my problems played a role in his condition―and the way the blonde strokes his arm possessively that sharpen my tone. “Touch him again, and I swear to God I’ll smash that beer bottle across your damn face.”

She freezes, as she should, and drops her hand away. She steps back as I move forward, and so does her friend in time for Sofia and Killian to arrive.

“What the hell is this shit?” Killian snaps.

One of the girls whispers to the other, causing her eyes to widen. They recognize Killian, just like they recognize their fun is over.

Wren shakes Finn’s shoulder. “Finnie, Finnie, can you hear me?”

He lifts his head in my direction. “Sol?” he says, stumbling forward. He pulls me to him, kissing me hard. But when I jerk my chin and break our kiss, he practically falls on top of me.

Killian snags him, lifting him off me before I topple over. “He’s wasted,” Killian mutters, hooking his arm over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get him upstairs.”

I grab his phone from the bar and follow, Sofia and Wren hot on my trail. “He wouldn’t have gone with them,” Sofia says. “Not willingly.”

“Even as drunk as he is no way would he cheat on you,” Wren adds.

They’re trying to make excuses for him, for why he was with them. They know I’m livid. But I’m not solely pissed about what I saw and who I found him with.

My eyes burn. Yet for now, I refuse to cry

We slip into the elevator, hauling ass before anyone else sees him. “Where’s Sol?” Finn mumbles, his head slumped.

“She’s here,” Sofia says, glancing my way when I don’t answer.

He starts to fall forward again when he attempts to walk, but Killian holds onto him. “We can’t leave him alone like this,” Sofia says quietly.

It’s her way of volunteering to stay with him. But that’s not her job. For now, it’s mine. “I’ll take care of him,” I say, my focus glued to the door.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I’m sure,” I say, anger and hurt causing my voice to quiver.

Wren takes one look at my face and backs away. “Shit. You’re not going to kill him in his sleep are you?”

She’s joking, even though she knows I’m angry. But I can’t laugh then. “I would never hurt him,” I answer, that awful tremble in my voice showing how close I am to losing it.

Who am I kidding? I’ve already hurt Finn in ways I never thought possible.

The elevator door dings open and we step out. Sofia pulls out Finn’s wallet and fishes through it. “I have his key,” she says.

Killian doesn’t respond, his face shadowed with worry. He doesn’t say anything until we reach his room and he lowers him to the bed when I pull away the blankets.

“You need us, you call,” he says to me. “We’re one floor above you.”

He marches out, Sofia’s hand tight in his. Wren doesn’t appear any happier, crossing her arms as she takes in Finn’s unmoving form. “You want me to stay?”

I glance at her. In all the fuss, and with all the low lighting, Killian and Sofia didn’t see her bruises. But I noticed she kept her unaffected side to them. Yet I can’t talk to her about it now, not with the condition Finn is in.

I return my attention to him. “I’ll be okay,” I answer.

I remove Finn’s shoes and socks and cover him with a sheet. But it’s not until I fill a pitcher of water and place it and a glass on the bedside table that she speaks again.

“Sol, thanks for being here,” she tells me. “Like I said, Finn needs you.”

I walk her out and push the security lock in place, but as I return to the bedroom area and take in Finn’s draped form I realize she’s wrong.

I’m the last thing he needs.





CHAPTER 25


Sol



For a long time all I do is watch Finn sleep. He seems so peaceful. But it kills me to know he had to get wasted to achieve this kind of peace.

I slip out of my coat. I didn’t even realize I still had it on, my mind too preoccupied with how I found Finn. I know why he did what he did. “Anesthetizing”. It’s what one of my former Profs called it, a fancy way to describe drinking or drugging to numb the pain.

God, it hurts knowing I’m the cause of his relapse.

Yet it hurts more knowing what I have to do to help him recover.

I’m not being a martyr. At least, I don’t mean to be. But I can’t deny the role my family and I played in his downward spiral. We practically shoved him off the wagon. Seriously, how could he possibly stand a chance at sobriety seeing what he saw, and then dealing with me afterward?

My intuition warned me to keep my distance the first time I saw him at the clinic, reminded me that two damaged people shouldn’t get involved, shouldn’t be together― not when their wounds were still so fresh. I knew this. Every passage I’ve read about codependency reinforced these facts. And still I let him into my heart.

Yet somehow, all the facts I read weren’t always true. We were good together. We laughed, we supported each other, and we loved. We were so good together.