15. Ani
Ani
I hear the apology. I see the regret flash across his face.
But none of it matters, because my body is already in motion.
My pulse roars in my ears, loud enough to drown everything else out.
Boone’s voice, the creak of the floorboards—it all becomes background noise to the panic screaming through my veins.
My feet carry me down the hall before I even know what I’m doing.
I don’t remember pulling the door shut behind me or collapsing onto my knees at the base of the bed.
I only remember the way my hands shake as I unzip the duffel and start quickly folding clothes to put into it.
I’m not thinking. I’m reacting. There’s no plan.
No destination. No car. No money. No identification. But that doesn’t stop me.
I can’t stay.
There is no universe in which I can stay here. They’ve found me .
They might not have pinpointed my location, but they’re in town . And it’s not a far leap from there.
So I will do whatever I have to do to get away from here. I just need to go. Now.
My fingers tremble so hard I can’t grip the zipper when I try to close the bag. I try again. Miss. Try again. This time it catches, but snags halfway. I yank it free and jerk the bag closed just as the door flies open.
I freeze.
Boone fills the doorframe, eyes wild.
I put my arms up immediately. Muscle memory coils through me, dragging me backward toward things I don’t let myself think about. I know Boone wouldn’t hurt me. I know that. But knowing doesn’t always stop the fear.
His steps falter.
His expression says it all. He doesn’t come closer.
He lifts his hands slowly. “Jesus, Ani…”
He shakes his head. “I’m not?—”
I press my back to the dresser, one hand still clutched tight around the duffel strap.
“What are you doing?” His voice is solid steel.
I find my voice buried under a thousand layers of static. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“I asked you a question, Annie.”
“It’s Ani .”
The words slip out sharper than I intend, cutting the moment clean. Boone stills. I’ve never corrected him before—I’ve been too afraid to.
I swallow the lump crawling its way up my throat. He asked me a question. I’ll give him an answer.
“I’m obviously leaving,” I clarify, forcing the words past my lips. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
But the look on his face isn’t victorious.
Instead he looks confused. Like I’ve just spoken another language.
I’m not sure what he was expecting me to say, but it clearly wasn’t that.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. He seems too confused by what I said, and I’m confused by his reaction.
His jaw tightens as he reaches for me. I clutch the strap of the duffel tighter.
“Don’t,” I say, voice low.
His fingers close around the strap anyway.
We stand there like that—me holding one end, him the other. His grip is stronger than mine. The fabric strains between us, taut enough to snap.
“Let go,” he says.
I shake my head. “It’s mine.”
He tugs once. I stumble a step forward, digging my heels into the rug.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“You think I’m going to let you run when I still don’t know why you’re running?”
“You think I owe you that?” I fire back, louder than I mean to. My chest heaves. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Where the hell is this coming from? I am not this person. I don’t argue .
Boone growls something under his breath and jerks the bag harder. My grip slips. The strap rips through my fingers and the bag hits the bed with a thud. I reach for it again, but he’s already unzipping it, his movements are rough like the contents are just obstacles he needs to bulldoze through.
“Stop it—” I lunge forward, trying to grab his arm.
He shrugs me off.
“Jesus, Boone, you can’t just?—”
The way he rifles through my duffel is nothing short of violent. Every folded shirt, every sock, every pair of underwear—I watch them all scatter into a mess on the bed.
He tosses a sweater aside. Then a pair of jeans. The sleep shorts with the little strawberries. One by one, they get flung behind him or stacked on the bed like discarded evidence. The pile grows as my dignity shrinks.
Then comes the toiletry bag. It flops open, spilling a hairbrush, two tampons, and a travel-sized lotion across the comforter. He doesn’t blink. Just pushes it aside and keeps digging.
His muttering starts again, under his breath. I don’t catch most of it. Just fragments.
“Running again…”
“…don’t even know her fucking name…”
“…whole goddamn house…”
I back up toward the corner of the bed, fingers digging into the hem of my shirt to keep from shaking.
“I can’t believe you were really just gonna walk out,” he mutters. “What the hell were you even planning to do? Steal a car? Hitch a ride? On what highway, Ani?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“You seem to do a lot of that, don’t you? Half-assed planning. Running off into the wild with no safety net. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
He’s digging deep into my bag now, and whatever he touches makes him pause. He pulls his hand out and stares down at what he’s got gripped in his fist.
Bright pink, with a horn that curls a little at the tip. The silicone shaft bounces once in his hand before flopping sideways.
The dildo.
The expression that falls across Boone’s face is not one I’ll forget anytime soon. It’s half horror, and one-hundred percent confusion.
He stares at it. Then at me. Then back at it.
I can’t help it.
A sound flies out of me. I try to swallow it down, but it’s already out.
It starts as a giggle.
Boone’s face goes red, his mouth parting like he’s going to say something, but the words never make it out.
He drops the dildo.
Literally drops it like a live wire. It bounces off the bed and hits the floor with a dull thunk. Boone backs up like it bit him, his hands in the air, his whole body recoiling like he’s made contact with something radioactive.
That’s all it takes. I break.
I press my hand to my mouth, but I can’t stop the laughter. It pours out of me, wild and gasping and completely uncontrollable. My knees give and I slump back onto the bed with my face buried in my hands, wheezing so hard I might actually pass out.
Boone’s face is burned into my brain, and the more I try to stop laughing, the harder I go.
Tears blur my vision.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s a dildo, Boone,” I manage between gasps, wiping at my eyes with the edge of my sleeve.
“Why do you have it?” His voice is as close to a shriek as I think it can get.
“It was a gift.”
“From who?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The realization dawns on Boone.
His mouth opens.
Closes.
Then opens again. “Finn.”
I nod.
Boone rakes a hand down his face. “That brother of mine has no goddamn boundaries. Why the hell is it pink?”
“Because Finn has a sense of humor.”
That does it.
I laugh until I’m breathless. Until my chest aches and tears sting my eyes.
Boone watches like he has no idea what to do with me.
“What the hell’s going on—” comes a confused voice.
Finn appears in the doorway just as I’m finally starting to catch my breath. All he sees is Boone gripping my duffel and me on my knees with tears still streaming down my face.
His expression twists. Hurt. Betrayal. Then his mouth moves, and I know what he’s thinking before he says it.
“You’re throwing her out?”
Boone looks stunned by the accusation—and isn’t fast enough to correct it.
“No!” I shout, louder than I mean to. I push upright, swiping at my cheeks. “No, it’s not that.”
Finn takes a step forward, voice rising. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? We invited her to stay. You can’t just throw her out because?—”
“I was leaving!” I cut in.
Finn falters. His gaze jumps from me to the scattered clothes and the mess Boone made. Then he flicks his eyes to the edge of the bed, where the dildo has tragically flopped to one side.
“You weren’t even going to say goodbye?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I rush out. “I—I was panicking. This wasn’t rational, Finn. I swear it. I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t thinking, I just—” I shake my head and my throat tightens. “I was scared.”
Finn’s shoulders ease back, a slow exhale leaving him, but his eyes stay locked on mine.
“I would’ve helped you,” he says quietly. “You didn’t have to do it alone.”
“I know.” The word breaks as it comes out. “I know that. It was spur of the moment. I would never just leave like that without…”
He’s moving before I even finish the sentence. I’m in his arms before I know what’s going on. He pulls me in tight, burying his face in the side of my neck. The way he clings to me, it’s like something inside him cracked open and I’m the only thing keeping it from spilling out.
I wrap my arms around him, fingers fisting in the back of his sweatshirt, then rubbing there without thinking. Back and forth. I don’t know if it’s for him or me.
His breath is warm where it hits my skin. We stay like that for a while, holding onto each other on the bedroom rug with clothes scattered at our feet and a pink dildo staring us down from beside the bed.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I whisper.
“You didn’t,” he lies into my neck.
I press my cheek to his hair and keep rubbing slow circles between his shoulders until I hear someone walk into the room behind us.
“Hi, yeah, sorry to interrupt.” Boone clears his throat, not sounding the least bit sorry. I didn’t even realize he’d left the room. “Family meeting.”
Finn turns. “What?”
“You heard me,” Boone says, backing out of the room. “Family meeting. Now. And, this time, you’re going to tell us everything, Ani.”
Finn doesn’t move. “Are you serious right now?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
He absolutely does not.