Page 8 of A Little Secret

“Finley—”

“Take it or leave it, Drew. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

He sighs. “Fine. Take some time to think about it.”

“I will.”

“Good,” he grumbles.

“Good.”

“Good.”

With nothing left to say, I end the call.

CHAPTER TWO

FINLEY

Isend a text to my friends’ group chat, telling them I need a girls’ night, and because they’re amazing, they get the ball moving. Ophelia’s already waiting with our drinks when we head inside SeaBird. It’s an amazing bar close to LAU and one of my favorite places to hang out. It has well-priced drinks, good food, awesome music, and just enough notoriety to bring in fresh faces every time we come. It doesn’t hurt they got rid of the flashing lights a few years after my mom graduated, so I don’t have to worry about my epilepsy being triggered, either. Reeves got all of us fake IDs after I mentioned how impressed I was with the one he’d given Dylan when they first started seeing each other. And even though I don’t drink and only use the thing to gain entrance to bars, it’s come in handy more times than I can count, and tonight is no different. Ophelia, on the other hand, has no issue using hers to get alcoholic beverages, though she’s never had an issue keeping things in check. She has a fruity drink in front of her, along with two more matching beverages and whatlooks like a Diet Coke beside them. Yes, the girl knows me well.

When she sees us, she stands from her barstool and waves. “Hey!” Ophelia passes around hugs like they’re confetti, then offers each of us a drink, mine being the Diet Coke with zero alcohol. “PS—Maverick says he should get a free shot to Drew’s balls since we’re ditching him tonight.”

I laugh at the mention of her boyfriend’s name and his lack of invitation, answering, “Nope. Drew’s balls are mine to squeeze or caress, thank you very much.”

“Caress?” Dylan snorts. “Ew.”

“Hey, no kink-shaming,” Ophelia quips. “Whatever floats your boat. Right, Fin?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum as I take a long sip of Diet Coke. “Though there will be no caressing anytime soon, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Are you gonna tell us what happened?” Raine prods. She’s the newest member of the group. The only girl I haven’t known for years. I like her, though. She’s good for my brother even if they aren’t official…yet. No, instead, they’re pretending to be dating in hopes of keeping her abusive ex away from her. By some miracle, it’s working. If it wasn’t, there’s no way I would’ve brought her here without my brother or any of his friends for backup. I might be brash, but I’m not stupid.

Even so, her question makes me roll my eyes. Part of me wants to pretend my fight with Drew never happened. That everything is great, grand, and wonderful when it couldn't be further from it.

I could use their advice, though. Even if the entire situation makes me feel…stupid. Her question rings in my mind again as I weigh the pros and cons. Am I gonna tell them what happened?

“Not until everyone’s had at least three drinks so they don’t judge me too harshly,” I decide.

“You sure you’ll even remember the story at that point?” Raine teases.

It’s funny. How an off-hand joke can be such a stark reminder of our lack of history and how little she really knows about me. I smile around my straw. “I don’t drink, so I think I’ll be fine.”

Her brows jump. “You don’t drink?”

“Nope.”

“Good for you.”

“Meh. Don’t be too impressed.” I lift my glass and head toward one of the open booths as the rest of the group trails behind. Once we’re all settled, I add, “I have epilepsy, and alcohol can be a trigger, so…yay me.”

Tilting her head, Raine looks at me again with newfound curiosity. I guess I understand why she’s so confused. Most people don’t talk about neurological diseases as openly as I do. And maybe I wouldn’t either if my mom hadn’t been such an amazing example. She also has epilepsy and taught me to embrace it instead of sticking my head in the sand like she did for years until she met my dad and he helped her understand it’s okay. It’s okay to have epilepsy. To know your limits and accept them instead of pushing yourself to do more than you’re capable of or to pretend it doesn’t exist in hopes of making those around you more comfortable. Yeah, I have my dad to thank, too. Want to talk about a fantastic support system? Those two have mastered the craft. And so, even though epilepsy has an ugly side, I’ve accepted its part in my life. The good. The bad. And the downright ugly.

“You have epilepsy?” Raine asks.

With a syrupy sweet smile, I confirm, “Yup.”

“I had no idea.”

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