Maybe it’s what I need or . . . Shit. I don’t know what I need.
I slam the door to my office and storm to the mini-fridge. I pull out a bottle of water, flinging the cap into the garbage can and cursing because that’s all I feel like doing. Just like that, my rage resurfaces and I get another flash from the past. This time it’s of Sol as she walked away, not bothering to glance back. But then the image abruptly switches to the night before when I was on top of her. I have to say, it’s the latter that hurts me more, no matter how good it felt.
She thought I didn’t know who I was making love to, whose body I explored, tasted, wanted. She’s wrong. It’s like the moment I knew she was there at the bar, I could live again. It wasn’t the booze I took that made me forget all the shit running through my brain. It was all her, being there for me, letting me know I still mattered.
Up until she left.
I finish downing the water when the door opens behind me. “What?” I snap.
Sofia jumps, her long inky curls bouncing from the force. “Sorry,” I say, holding out a hand. “I thought you were Kill.”
“It’s okay,” she says, closing the door behind her.
I bow my head and take a few breaths, working to rein in my anger as she approaches. I didn’t mean to scare her, but that’s exactly what I did. Christ, maybe I should head out and find some puppies to kick for an encore.
Kill throws the door open, his stare cutting between the two of us. “You all right?” he asks Sofia.
I’m not surprised he heard me yell at her, just like I’m not surprised he came to check on her. But as much of a prick as I’ve been, it pisses me off that he thinks I’d hurt her.
She walks to him slowly, stroking his arm to snag his attention. “Give us a moment, okay?” His attention flicks back to me. “Please, Killian,” she says.
I can tell he doesn’t want to, but he does anyway. He bends to kiss her, his way of assuring us both that he’ll be close by.
He starts to head back out, but not before shooting me a warning glare. I roll my eyes and toss my empty bottle in the recycling can.
Sofia edges closer, smiling softly like me and Kill weren’t both ready to fight. “You didn’t answer my question. How are you?” she asks.
I’ve known her almost my whole life. We grew up across the street from each other and I swear to God, Kill has always loved her. I can’t blame him. She’s just as kind and pure as she was when we were kids, one of those people who simply cares. Maybe that’s why the bullshit wall comes down and I’m able to be honest. “Not good,” I admit.
She sits on the edge of my desk, folding her hands in front of her. “We’re worried about you, Finn.” She sighs when I shut my trap. “Why did you stop going to counseling?”
“I put in my time,” I answer.
“Do you think it helped you?” When again I don’t respond she adds, “It seemed to. You were a lot better for a while. Better than I’ve seen you in a long time.”
Sofia’s skin tone is a little darker than Sol’s, and her eyes are light green instead of gray blue. They’re first cousins, but they don’t look anything alike. Sofia is taller, thin, where Sol’s curves fall in all the right places. And where Sofia glides into a room quietly hoping not to call attention to herself, Sol bounces in and waves, hugging anyone who’ll let her. They’re different in so many ways, but right then, Sofia reminds me so much of my girl―not because what she looks like, like I said they’re both really different, but because she’s listening.
“It wasn’t just the counseling that helped me,” I mutter.
She nods like she understands. “I see.”
Yeah. She does.
Her attention wanders to her lap, where she’s playing with her hands. It’s something she does when she’s nervous or unsure what to say. She hasn’t mentioned Sol these past few weeks, so I have no way of knowing if Sol’s mentioned me. I didn’t text or call after she left―partly pissed, partly stubborn, but mostly reeling because what she said is true. The incident with her mother did screw me up. That doesn’t mean I don’t want her with me.
“How is she?” I ask before I can stop myself.
At first, I don’t think Sofe’s going to tell me. I’m ready to march out and jump back on the treadmill, but the sadness trickling into her features holds me in place. “She’s not good, Finn,” she answers quietly.
My gut churns. “At all?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Sol, um, quit her internship.”
“What?” That counseling gig meant so much to her, and was credit toward her masters. But then I huff, realizing why she did it. “All right. I get it.”
“It wasn’t because of you,” she adds.
I cock a brow because I don’t believe her. One of the reasons I stopped going to counseling was because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her and not being able to touch her, or be with her like I want to.