“This is court-ordered counseling,” he begins, as if I don’t already know. “And while you haven’t missed an appointment until today, I don’t feel we’re moving in a positive direction.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, mostly because I realize the word has become my fucking mantra. “I slept late―weird, I didn’t realize how tired I was.” That’s the truth. I’ve always had a ton of energy, and my mind is always going a mile a minute, I’m surprised I’ve never needed ADD meds. If anything, unless I’m hung-over, I’m usually up by seven at the latest.
“I believe you,” he says.
“That I was tired?”
He pauses, and I can almost picture him smiling with those thin lips of his. “That and that it wasn’t intentional.”
“Good. Cause it wasn’t,” I say.
“I can tell given the colorful verbiage between you and your mother,” he says.
I grin at Wren who’s standing in front of me with her arms crossed. “That was my sister,” I say, adding to her, “He thought you were Ma.”
She doesn’t like the compliment and flips me off. I stay focused because Mason believing in me means a lot.
“I want you to be successful, Finn. And I want to help you get to a more positive place. Look, I don’t do this often, but I’m willing to stay after hours so your missed session doesn’t count against you.”
I throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Okay. Thanks. When can I come in?”
“Tonight from six to seven.”
“All right, I’ll be there.”
“Very well. But Finn, as much as I’m willing to stay, I won’t wait around if you’re late. Am I clear?”
In other words, don’t fuck this up. “I’ll be there,” I assure him.
I place the phone on the side table when he disconnects, dragging my hand through my hair when I realize Wren’s still standing there. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.
Wren can be a mothering pain in the ass so I expect her to lay into me for missing the appointment. Instead she sits beside me, careful not to get to close. “How you doing?” she asks.
“All right,” I tell her slowly, wondering what’s up.
“Did you drink last night or take anything?”
I frown. “No, I’m just tired.”
Her blue eyes blink back at me and her lips press tight. “Are you sick?” When I shake my head, she simply stays there, watching me.
“You’re creeping me out,” I tell her, because she is.
She keeps her arms crossed, turning her attention to the MMA poster I have framed on the wall. “I’m not trying to,” she says.
Maybe she’s not, but when she doesn’t leave, and keeps sitting there, I know something isn’t right. And I’m not so sure it’s solely about me.
My sister’s real name is Erin. She earned her nickname because my older brothers initially had trouble pronouncing her name―but it doesn’t really fit her. I mean, it does because that’s how I’ve always known her―but it doesn’t because she isn’t exactly the delicate little bird her nickname suggests.
She’s tall for a girl, five-eight, with long lean muscles that can kick some serious ass. I know because growing up I witnessed that ass kicking more times than I can count. Once, when I was on the receiving end―the time I cut a chunk of her straight black hair off. In my defense, we were out of string and I was trying to make a kite. The other times were when she was fighting on the street. In one incident, me and Killian were jumped by a group of assholes on our way back from school. The boys left her alone, but a bigger boy came after me. Wren defended me, even though she was a lot smaller then. I didn’t like her much before that moment―didn’t like how she bossed me around. But that day she bled to keep me safe, proving she loved me.
I returned the favor by kicking that bastard’s ass. He may have been a few years older, but he hurt my sister so I wiped the pavement with him. We’ve been tight ever since. “Tight” in our own way. We don’t share secrets, we don’t tell each how much we mean to each other. We’re just still willing to bleed for each other, if that makes sense.
I nudge her with my elbow because that much I can do. “What’s up?”
“Your life is shit.”
I nod. “Thanks. I’m glad we had this talk.”
The corners of her mouth curve just a little. “Believe it or not, I’m not done.”
I fall back on my bed. “I have no doubt.”
She swivels so that her dark hair swoops against her thin shoulders. “The thing is, Finnie, your life doesn’t have to be shit. It’s only like that because you continue to mess up.”
My arm falls over to drape over my eyes. I know what she means. The thing is, it’s not as easy as that. “It’s one appointment, Wren. Back off, will ya?”
“But that’s how everything starts with you―that’s what you don’t get.” She pauses. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah.”
She bumps my leg with her knee. “I’m serious, Finn. No more drinking, no getting high.”
I drop my arm away. “I haven’t been high in years. What?” I ask when all I see on her face is disappointment. “Why don’t you believe me?”