I Never Let You Go (I Never 3)

I remember… I remember… Wait, how did I get home?

I finally open my eyes and take in my surroundings. This is not Kelsey’s house. Where am I? I look around the room, and my eyes meet brown ones that I saw earlier in my dreams—Lauren.

“My couch is getting used to people being drunk and passing out on it.” I wait for her to explain, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the couch. I sit up and wonder not only how I got here but, more importantly, how did I end up with Lauren? Did I call her? No, how could I call her, I don’t have her number. Was she at the bar?

I can’t recall anything past a few whiskeys. She takes a seat next to me and pulls her feet underneath her. I take her in—her brown hair is down in loose waves, indicating she probably slept with it in one of those messy bun things. Her face is bare of makeup, letting her few freckles show—that tells me that she has been recently out in the sun—and her oversized shirt hangs slightly off the shoulder, revealing her collarbone, and I would give anything to press kisses along it like I used to. When she brings her coffee mug to her lips, she makes a slight moaning sound, and I can’t help but ch

uckle. She always did love her coffee.

The room may be spinning from last night’s alcohol, but I very well might be drunk off Lauren Lawson.

“So, wanna talk about it?” she asks, bringing me back to reality from my thoughts. I meet her gaze for a moment before turning away, embarrassed that she saw me in this state.

I place my head in my hands, staring at the floor. “I wish people would stop asking me that.” I snap a little too harshly and instantly regret it. I peep over at her and see her expression has dropped. Her tone was soft, not accusatory.

Shit, she didn’t deserve that. I’m such an asshole. I don’t even know how I got here, and I’m snapping at her for my own selfish fucked-up reasons. I adjust so that I am now more facing her, my knee propped up on the cushion and my arm relaxed on the back of the couch.

I go to speak, but she speaks first as she places her mug on the coffee table.

“I’m sorry, I just meant did you want to explain as to why I came home to find you drunk off your ass sitting on my front porch. I tried to talk to you, but you were so out of it, and I had no idea where you live or hell how you even got here since your truck wasn’t outside, so my only other option was bringing you here.” She shrugs and looks away.

Wow, I can’t believe she did that, but then again this is Lauren Lawson—she’s an angel to everyone. Now I feel even more of an asshole.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap.” I look down at my hands, which are nervously rubbing together. “And thank you.” She smiles, and for just a moment, I see a glimpse of my Lo, the one who loved me with all her heart, not the angry Lauren at the reception.

“So then you want to start talking, or should I just take you back to your vehicle, which is where, by the way?” When I remain silent instead of responding, Lauren stands, and I reach for her hand.

When we touch, it’s electrifying. Her touch is reminds me of the brand it left on my skin so many years ago. I know she felt it too, by the way her lips part and she pulls back slightly. She looks back at me, and I nod my head for her to sit back down. I see the conflict in her head, not expecting me to want to talk, but I’ll take any moments I can get with her, and if that means talking, then so be it. Finally, she settles back where she was sitting but doesn’t say anything else. She waits for me to be ready to speak.

I run my hands over my face and blow out a breath. “Yesterday was Dad’s birthday. The first once since he’s died.” Saying that still feels bitter on my tongue.

I hear her slight gasp.

“It’s been difficult.” We begin to talk—or, well, I begin to, and she just listens. That’s one of the many things I miss about her. Since the first night we met, it didn’t matter what the subject was, Lauren was always ready and willing to listen to me vent.

I tell her how I buried myself in work instead of being there for my mom and sister, not only not going to the cemetery, but avoiding dinner at Mom’s. I open up to her about things I haven’t shared with anyone before. Conversation with her comes easily. Why couldn’t it have been this easy for me to talk to her about my feelings after she had turned down my proposal?

Her voice is soft. “Can I ask what happened?”

“It was a heart attack.” I close my eyes and relive the moment I got the call that changed my life forever.

“Hey, Kels, what’s up?” I answered when I saw my sister’s face light up my phone.

“Finn?” Her voice was broken and fragile.

“Kels, what’s wrong?” I knew something wasn’t okay. Was it Chase? Was it the baby? Nothing ever could have prepared me for the two words she spoke next.

“It’s Dad.”

“What do you mean? What happened? Why are you upset. Talk to me.” My heart began to beat erratically while she tried to share whatever she called to tell me.

“He…he…he had a heart attack,” she managed to say just above a whisper.

“He’s okay though, right? What hospital is he at?”

“Finn, stop. Listen to me. He didn’t make it.”

“What?” I didn’t even recognize my voice.