Page 49 of A Little Secret

Despite her meltdown when Frankie escaped into her room, I’ve only seen the girl cry a handful of times. One time, when Dylan accidentally lit Finley’s favorite Barbie on fire, and once when she woke up from a bad seizure. Oh, and let’s not forget about the time Aunt Mia convinced us to watchMarley and Meon a projector screen in their backyard. Yeah, that movie was a bitch, and Fin wasn’t the only one misty-eyed on the grass. Then there was the night we found out about Archer’s accident, and I watched helplessly as Everett held her in his arms while she sobbed until her voice was gone. The memory is enough to make my throat tighten, but I push it aside.

As I look over at her, my hands itch to hold her now. To promise everything’s going to be okay, even though I have no idea whether or not it’s true.

After our conversation in the car, she went back to being a mime. I get it, though. She has a lot to think about. A lot to process. A lot to consider.

She doesn’t climb into bed like I expect. Instead, she silently digs through her bag for her toothbrush and medicine, then closes the bathroom door behind her. Situating Frankie on the credenza, I pull the covers back, put on a pair of basketball shorts, and change places with Finley. Once my teeth are brushed, I open the bathroom door, finding a lump on the nearest mattress.

“Did you take your medicine?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Not a “Yes, Dad” or “Didyoutakeyourmedicine?” or any other snarky response. Just…yes.

Flicking off the lights, I climb into the opposite bed, ignoring the worry settling in my stomach as I reach for the covers and pull the itchy cotton fabric on top of me. I need to sleep. I need to stop thinking about what Finley said in the car. I need to get out of my own head and make a game plan for the future. Finley’s future.

Her quiet voice cuts through the silence and my ears perk. “Hey, Griff?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you… Man, I sound so pathetic,” she mutters under her breath, but it’s laced with a sad amusement, too. Melancholy almost.

“Tell me,” I push.

“Can you…hold me?”

My chest squeezes, and I shift toward her, but she’s already out of her bed, slipping beneath the white comforter on my own without waiting for my response. I’ve always liked that about her. The way she takes what she wants without remorse. Even when we were kids, and she didn’t feel like watching Ophelia play hockey with therest of the guys, she would hide everyone’s gear and wouldn’t tell us where it was until we’d give in and do what she wanted for an hour. It used to drive me nuts. Now, I envy it. Admire it, even.

The irony isn’t lost on me. I’m miles away from where I’m supposed to be, all because I gave in to a pretty girl’s request. I should be preparing for a very important meeting with the General Manager of the Tornadoes. Instead, I’m here. Sharing a bed with my best friend’s little sister, and I can’t scrounge up the remorse to regret it.

When Finley’s bare toes brush against my calves, my muscles bunch, but I don’t pull away, letting her steal my warmth as she tucks her icy toes against my flesh. If only she knew how much more I’d be willing to give her if she asked for it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

The scent of lavender clings to her dark hair and tickles my nostrils as I try to keep myself in check. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do.” She twists in my arms and faces me, bringing us nose to nose. Reaching up, she drags her fingertips against my temple. “There’s always been a we, hasn’t there?”

My heart ratchets, and I wet my bottom lip but stay quiet.

“I’m sorry for taking it for granted,” she murmurs. “For takingyoufor granted.”

Fuck. If she’d stabbed me in the chest, I would’ve felt less. Because it shouldn’t hurt. The reminder of how she chose Drew over our friendship, but it does. If she never became pregnant, would she be here? In my bed? Looking at me like this? Telling me these things?

“You do know you’re kind of perfect, right?” she adds.

Her fingers skate across my scruff, branding me in away I doubt she’ll ever even know. It takes everything inside of me to not close my eyes. Not to lose myself in this moment. In her touch. In her vulnerability.

“Hardly perfect, Fin,” I mutter.

“Look at that. He's humble, too.” She tacks on a fake-as-shit smile. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Always.”

Her fingers tremble against my jaw. “I’m terrified out of my mind, Griff.”

My chest caves with the weight of her words. “It’s going to be all right.”

“You don’t know that. No one knows that,” she clarifies. And I hate how, even without any light, I can still feel her fear. Her insecurities. Her doubts. They cling to her silky skin. Tainting her words. This moment. Everything.

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