Page 91 of Where We Belong

“Great to meet you too. Hope I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” Lex says, and then it’s my turn to receive that awkward fucking wave before she leaves. Not even a hug or a kiss. I’m not owed either of those, but after we’ve spent every night for the past week together and kissed every time we parted ways, I feel like I just missed out on something.

“So,” Fran says once the door is shut. “A friend, huh?” She prances to the couch and sits, way too happy to have something to gossip about with my parents. When she wants the conversation to veer away from her at the dinner table, she always finds a way to make it about me.

“It’s complicated,” I say, joining her on the couch.

She throws a blanket on top of me. “Cover up. I’m afraid I’ll see something I could never forget.”

I chuckle. “You’re the one who came in unannounced. It’d be your fault if it happened.”

“Sorry about that, by the way.”

I ignore this and ask, “Is everything okay?” I don’t want to broach topics she doesn’t want to mention, but I also need to know if she’s gotten back into what she asked me to pull her out of.

“Yeah.” Her fingers find a loose thread in one of my throw pillows and all her attention snags on it. “No. I don’t know.”

“Has he contacted you again?” I ask carefully, not needing to name him.

She nods, and my hands immediately ball into fists.

“He said he was just joking by bringing his friends home, that no one would’ve gone through with it.”

I don’t ask what “it” is. I don’t think I’d be able to keep my cool if I knew everything in detail.

“Tell me you won’t go back,” I say.

Her gaze doesn’t meet mine, which is a bad fucking sign. “I don’t know. He really does love me, Finn. And I love him too.”

Fucking fuck. This is exactly like Lil’s speech about her dumb boyfriend, except this might be even worse since I have strong suspicions that Cameron is dangerous.

“Love shouldn’t feel like that,” I say, and for the first time in my life, I get the sense that I know what I’m talking about. Love should feel like lazy Sunday mornings in bed, sharing coffee and stories. It should feel like constant first times, like careful trust and touches that feel like home.

I think I might also be in deeper trouble than I’d initially thought.

“I don’t know,” Fran says. As she ties her long brown hair in a bun, I think I might see what looks like a scar on her upper arm, and while I want to ask, I think it’ll be better if I remain silent. Getting on her case about this might make her close up and feel like she can’t come to me anymore, and that would be the worst-case scenario. She needs to know she can call me any day, any time, and I’ll be there.

“Anyway, I don’t want to talk about me anymore. What about you? Tell me about her.”

I puff my cheeks and blow the air out. Where do I even start? She’s the girl I’ve been thinking about every single day since she arrived out of thin air in September? She’s someone I’d see myself settling down here for?

“She trains at the gym and lives at the cabin at the farm,” is what I decide on.

Fran’s face twists at the mention of the cabin, which had been vandalized by her dearly beloved last year.

“And?”

“And I really like her,” I say, the words landing heavily in the living room.

“And does she know that?”

“Kind of? I don’t know?”

“What a shitty answer,” Fran says as she brings her legs closer to her on the couch. “Tell her, then.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” I then summarize what happened the terrible night that should’ve been our first date. I know she’ll feel bad about it, but I also know she’d hate it even more if she figured out I’d lied to her.

“Oh god,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

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