“Yeah, he’s wildly skilled at committing felonies and terrorizing unsuspecting drunk girls.”
“He didn’t intend to terrorize me. We’ve been over this.”
“Intention is irrelevant. The fallout is what matters.”
I sigh with exasperation, sinking deeper into the muted beige couch cushions. “Something tells me he’s been through a lot. I just want to help.”
“Not everyone has a tragic backstory. Some people just have every intention of fucking up their life left and right, digging themselves deeper, until some poor sucker swoops in to temporarily save the day. It never lasts.” He pauses for effect. “Spoiler alert: you’re the sucker.”
“Fascinating how you seem to know his entire biography.” I reach for the bag of puffy Cheetos and make myself more comfortable. “Besides, I thought intention was irrelevant.”
This earns me a glare. “I’m just saying, it’s not your responsibility to fix everything. Like that sad little bird you tried to smuggle.”
He gestures to the corner of the room where a thin-wire cage sits perched on a side table, now empty. Sadly, I was forced to relinquish Haiku over to the vet. Apparently, keeping a wild bird without a license violates about seven wildlife regulations.
I miss her.
Broken bird buckles
Moonlight catches trembling wings
Stars mourn in silence
“She looked at me like I was her last hope,” I say. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe not adopt every broken thing you come across?”
I pop a cheesy puff into my mouth. “I guess it worked out. Alex doesn’t like birds. Says their twitchy heads are creepy.”
“That’s called projection.” He flicks me a look. “Also, Mom and Dad said they texted you. They want to come out and visit next month.”
My heart twists. “Oh. Yeah. I’ve been meaning to text them back,” I murmur. “Alex says it’ll be too hectic at the restaurant. Springtime is our busiest season.”
“Seriously? Jesus, he—”
The doorbell chimes from above.
My stomach does a gymnast vault into my ribcage.
Tag stares at me, annoyance glittering in his dark-blue eyes like a dusky, pissed-off sky. He rubs his forehead with two fingers. “Are you going to get that?”
I leap from the couch, tucking my floral-print shirt blouse into the waistline of my lavender capris. “On it.”
“Let it be known, this is by far the most ridiculous idea you’ve ever had, and I assure you, that list is twenty-one years long. Kudos on the accomplishment.”
Ignoring him, I bound up the carpeted steps and wind toward the front door. The silhouette of a guitar case greets me through the vertical glass panels, zapping a tickle in my chest. My throat closes, a bundle of nerves catching in my windpipe.
Maybe Tag is right—I’m being ridiculous.
But I’ve always trusted my instincts, and right now they’re telling me that Chase is supposed to be here. We were meant to meet that night.
When I open the door, I’m met with two honey-colored eyes, a blank stare, and tangible waves of apprehension rolling off the brick wall of a man standing on my brother’s front stoop.
So, I do what I always do in awkward situations: I overcompensate.
“So glad you made it!” My voice bleeds exclamation points, my arms extending at my sides with gusto. “I mean, yay. I wasn’t expecting you to show.”
The blank stare continues for a few beats before he tears his eyes away, glancing down at the guitar case clutched in a tight grip. “Uh, yeah. Yay.”
