Page 115 of Can't Help Falling

After a long, quiet minute, more characterized by dazed exhaustion than by discomfort, Tyler bumped their shoulders together. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘hurt people hurt people’?”

“No,” she said after a minute, pulling herself out of whatever reverie had sucked her under and rolling her head so that she looked at Tyler.

“It means that people who are hurt end up hurting other people. And, I mean, I don’t think it’s right a hundred percent of the time, but pretty much, if you’re ever wondering why one person hurts another, it can almost always be answered by the fact that they’re in pain of some kind. And that’s not an excuse. Plenty of parents are in pain and they don’t leave their kids. But it helped me a lot when I was trying to understand my own mom. And Dad, for that matter. I’m not trying to make excuses for Lorraine, but I’m just trying to humanize her a little bit. She is a person. With problems. And a life. And a whole past filled with who-knows-what. If she were a happy person, with no pain and no problems, she probably wouldn’t have left you, kid. It’s as simple as that. That’s why it’s not your fault.”

She was quiet for another long stretch. “Maybe say that last part to me again in like six months, all right? My brain is dead.”

Six months.

It was the most rewarding thing she possibly could have said to him. It was a small acknowledgment that they would still be together in six months. That they might still be having conversations as meaningful as this one.

“You got it.”

There was another stretch of silence, and Tyler wondered if it was time to get up, give her some space. He stared at the mosaic of curled bills on the floor.

Fin knocked on the doorway, and the two of them rolled their heads to look at her.

The expression on her face told Tyler that she’d heard everything; he just hoped that was okay with Kylie.

“Drink this.” She strode forward with two coffee mugs in her hands and shoved one at each of them. “I had to make it from the stuff in Tyler’s cabinet, so it won’t be as potent or flavorful as if I’d made it from my own herbs. But trust me. You both need it.”

Tyler and Kylie exchanged eye contact, peered at the steaming, reddish liquid and then simultaneously sipped from the mugs.

“Ohmygod.”

“Shit, Fin!” Tyler yelped, coughing against the noxious flavor that threatened to resurrect the casserole he’d eaten for dinner. “What is that?”

“It’s a trauma elixir. It helps level your adrenaline back out and calm you down. It’s terrible, I know. But drink it.”

She put her hands on her hips and gave them both a stern look. Tyler squinted at Fin, looking fiercely beautiful in the doorway, and attempted to communicate via brainwaves: There better be a blowjob for this somewhere down the line.

She quirked an eyebrow at him in such a knowing way that he wondered if she actually had heard his thoughts.

Tyler took a deep breath, cheers-ed Kylie and swallowed the contents of the mug down in three great gulps. Kylie followed his lead, gasping and sagging to the side.

“Remind me to save our next fight for after Fin goes home,” she panted, shoving the mug away from her.

He laughed. “And please remind me to sign you up for the debate team, because, kid, I think you’ve got the chops for it.”

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