A Little Secret (The Little Things #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

FINLEY

A few years later…

I t shouldn’t bother me.

It. Shouldn’t. Bother. Me.

For the thousandth time today, I open my phone and look at the random girl’s Instagram post with Drew. My boyfriend. Long-term boyfriend, actually. We’ve been together for almost four years. She tagged him in it. That’s how I found the photo. And I hate it because the stupid picture is just incriminating enough to mess with my head but innocent enough to pass off as an overreaction if I decide to freak out about it.

Which is exactly what I did thirty minutes ago.

To be fair, Drew and I have been having a lot of overreactions and freakouts lately, so I’m pretty impressed with my current restraint. I could’ve called him and ripped his head off personally. Instead, I punched my pillow a dozen times, screamed until my lungs ached, and seriously considered cutting bangs.

I didn’t, but the day’s still young .

I tap the edge of my cell against my chin.

To call or not to call. That is the question.

Part of me believes overreactions and freakouts are inevitable when it comes to long-distance relationships. The other part? Well, I can’t help but wonder if it’ll always be like this. Fight and make up. Fight and make up. Except the fights are becoming more frequent, and the making up is more difficult thanks to the thousands of miles separating us.

It wasn’t always this way.

Drew was my safe space. My best friend.

Well, other than Ophelia and Dylan. But those two are more like my sisters. We were raised together, becoming three peas in a pod, thanks to our parents. They all went to the same college we attend, Lockwood Ames University, and they weren’t kidding when they promised to be friends forever. Most of my childhood memories involve Aunt Mia, Aunt Ashlyn, and Aunt Blakely in one way or another. The sentiment extends to their husbands and kids. We aren’t all technically related by blood, but I still call them my family.

My mom and dad moved us away from everyone else because of my mom’s job when I was a teen. It was easy to feel lonely when they uprooted me and my brother, Everett. I was convinced I’d never forgive them for taking me away from Lia and Dylan.

Then I met Drew.

I touch the screen again, and my phone lights up, showcasing my boyfriend next to someone who most definitely isn’t me. They’re at a bar. Her arms are looped around his neck, and his hand is on her waist as they smile at the camera. It’s enough to make a person pause, especially a girlfriend who’s across the country from her boyfriend starring in said picture. AKA me .

My nostrils flare, and I hit Drew’s name, dialing his number.

It rings three times, then goes to voicemail.

Throttling my phone, I push his name again and bring my phone to my ear.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello?” Drew croaks.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” I snap.

A groan echoes through the speaker, followed by the sound of rustling sheets. “What did I do now?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a slow breath. “Who’s @mollie69?”

Another groan follows my question. “Fuck, Fin. It’s too early for this.”

“It’s almost noon,” I remind him.

“Yeah, well I was out until almost four in the morning, so you’ll have to cut me some slack.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You’re not helping your case.”

His sigh is weighted and borders on annoyed. I don’t blame him. I’m annoyed with both of us.

“Mollie’s just a friend, Fin.”

“Just a friend,” I repeat. “Why’d she tag you?”

“Because we’re friends ,” he emphasizes. The word grates on me, and so does his tone. Like I’m the one in the wrong. The one walking on thin ice.

“Is this the same Mollie you drove home a couple weeks ago?” I ask. “The one giggling in the background?”

“Fin,” he mutters. Damn, I can almost taste his annoyance. “Can you please…not give me shit for once?”

I hate how he does this. How it’s always my fault. Then again, he clearly thinks I do the same thing to him. Maybe I am. If the roles were reversed, would I respond differently? Would I expect him to respond differently? I don’t even know at this point.

Closing my eyes again, I try to cool down. To get ahold of my frustration. To wrangle my acid tongue and all the damage I know it's capable of if I let loose. If I speak my mind. If I abandon the filter I’ve worked so hard to cultivate. But Drew? He’s making it…difficult.

“Listen, I’m not trying to give you shit, Drew?—”

“I’m allowed to have friends,” he grits out.

Friends . Is that what the kids are calling it these days?

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I bite my tongue, forcing myself to choose my next words carefully. “I know you’re allowed to have friends, but…”

“But what? She’s attractive, so I can’t hang out with her?”

My chest squeezes, and I rub at the ache. “So, you find her attractive?—”

“Fuck, Fin,” he snaps. “I’m hungover. I’m tired. You woke me up?—”

“Did you kiss her?”

“No, I didn’t kiss her, all right? Where’s the fuckin’ trust, huh?”

I lean my head back and suck my lips between my teeth. I want to trust him. I do. And I probably should. He’s never cheated. I know he hasn’t. But this is hard. It’s hard being this far away from him when we spent years together. Years. Going to the same high school. Sharing most of the same classes. He was my first. He’s my only. Sometimes, I miss the way things were. Before college. Before the distance. Before the snippy conversations and the fighting and the awkward pauses and the…life we’ve both built over the last few months. Without each other. While attempting to cling to the high school daydreams we wove together on late nights and early mornings .

It’s confusing and overwhelming and exhausting.

So. Damn. Exhausting.

“Drew…”

Another tired sigh greets me. “What, Fin?”

“Do you think we should…” I gulp past the lump in my throat. “Do you think we should take a break?”

“Are you kidding me?” he demands. “No, I don’t want to take a break. Fuck, Fin.” A long pause follows his curse. “You’re not allowed to be mad at me. Not when you post pictures of Griffin every fuckin’ day!”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Griffin,” he spits, mentioning my older brother’s best friend and my current roommate, thanks to our living situation.

Yeah, I didn’t exactly plan for my kitchen to catch fire when I first moved here, but here I am, living with my brother, his friends, and Dylan until the renovations are finished. But I don’t really see how Griffin and my living arrangement has anything to do with Drew and his so-called friend .

With a huff, I ask, “You’re seriously bringing Griffin up right now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” he seethes. “You’re not allowed to be mad at me for hanging out with a group of people, one of which is Mollie when we both know you share a fucking wall with Griffin.”

He’s right. I do share a wall with Griffin. Well, technically, I share a floor slash ceiling with him since I’m currently staying on the second floor of the same house, but toe-mae-toe, toe-mah-toe.

It’s not like I chose to be here, and even if I had, Griffin and I are a different story compared to Drew and @mollie69. We were raised together. We’re friends. We were friends long before I even knew Drew existed. Nothing has ever happened between us other than a few silly Truth or Dare encounters, yet it’s always Drew’s go-to whenever he’s in attack mode, which, apparently, is right now.

“We’ve already had this conversation,” I remind him.

“Yeah, well, you called me, so…”

“Why do you care about Griffin so much?” I say, exasperation tainting my words. “He’s just a friend.”

“So is Mollie.”

“Mollie’s different,” I argue.

“How?” he demands. “How is she different?”

“Because you’ve met Griffin!” I shove my long, dark hair away from my face. “You know him! Hell, you took me to homecoming this year and shared a freaking limousine with him and his date!”

“Yeah, which means I know how he looks at you?—”

My irritated laugh cuts him off. “He doesn’t look at me!”

“Yes, he does,” Drew yells. “He looks at you like he wants to fuck you, Finley, and then you go and post pictures of you and him together. How do you think it makes me feel, huh?”

Is he serious right now?

My nostrils flare, and I take a deep breath. “I post pictures of me with all my friends,” I point out. “Mollie only posted a picture of you and her!”

“Seriously, Finley?” he spits. “We’re gonna argue semantics right now? Do you have any idea how infuriating you are?”

I grind my teeth and push to my feet, pacing my room like a caged bull. “By the sound of your voice, I’m going to say very .”

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Very. But my point stands. If I can’t be mad at you for being best fuckin’ friends with your hockey boy, then you can’t be pissed at me for going out with Mollie as friends.”

“So, what?” I toss back at him. “You’re saying I can’t be friends with Griffin?”

“Yeah, you know what? That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he rushes out.

My lips part on a gasp, and my spine straightens.

Is he serious?

Damn you, mouth!

My heels dig into the plush carpet, and I take another deep breath. “Drew.” My tone is softer now as I try to steady my breathing. I feel…blindsided. Off-kilter. Sucker punched.

We’ve had this conversation too many times to count. I know it. He knows it. But cutting someone out? Someone like Griff? Someone I’ve known my entire life?

His silence hangs in the air while my lungs struggle to work.

“Drew, you can’t be serious,” I force out.

“You know what?” He pauses. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious. I don’t want you living with him. I don’t want you talking to him. I don’t want you being friends with him.” The words are spoken like a lash, whipping against my skin, making me flinch.

“Drew, I can’t…I can’t cut him out of my life.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Everett’s best friend,” I remind him. “His little sister is my best friend and roommate once the renovations are finished. It’s not like Griff and I have a class together, and I can simply…sit somewhere else.” I hesitate, attempting to even fathom how I would go about Drew’s ridiculous proposition before remembering how impossible it really is. “Drew, our entire lives are literally entwined. Like, what do you want me to do? ”

“I want you to tell him you can’t be friends with him anymore.”

“You’re joking.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose again and fight off my pending headache. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“What’s there to joke about?” he asks. “If you’re gonna call me up and be pissed about Mollie, then?—”

“Fine,” I snap. “Fine, you can hang out with Mollie.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you don’t care about Mollie anymore?” he challenges.

“I’m saying I can’t cut Griffin off, and if you’re going to compare the two, then fine. You can hang out with Mollie.”

“No,” he decides. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to twist shit around and decide you’re fine with me hanging out with Mollie all because your precious friendship with Griffin—which is fucked up, by the way—is on the line.”

“So, what are you saying?” I ask. And I hate how I can feel it. The familiar weight. The heaviness. The charge of this conversation. The question is…is this it? The moment he ends things, and we’re over? I’ve thought about it. I’m not going to lie. I even suggested it two minutes ago. Long-distance relationships suck. But it’s Drew. My Drew. Mine.

“I’m saying I love you,” he murmurs, “and your friendship with Griffin bothers me. Just like how my friendship with Mollie bothers you.” His tone is softer now, but it doesn’t ease the rigidity in my muscles or the way I want to cry and scream and throw something.

“Did you cheat on me?” I whisper.

“I would never cheat on you, Fin.” He’s so resolute. So matter of fact. “I’m not just saying it, either. I promise I would never cheat on you. You’re my forever, baby.”

I close my eyes again, letting his words wash over me.

We’ve said them a thousand times. Made promises we both had every intention of keeping .

We still have every intention of keeping.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. “And I would never cheat on you, either.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” he answers. “But I’m still not comfortable with your friendship with Griffin. I know you think he only looks at you like you’re his friend, and maybe it’s true, but it’s still torture for me. Knowing he’s close to you. Knowing I’m not.”

I hate this, too. That I get it. I understand why my friendship with Griffin would bother him. He’s Griffin. He’s the captain of LAU’s hockey team and looks hella good without a shirt on. He’s also thoughtful and friendly and sweet and dedicated and…my brother’s best friend.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” I murmur.

“I know you can’t avoid him entirely,” Drew admits. “I know you live together until the renovations are finished, but…if you could at least set some boundaries,” he offers.

“I’ve set boundaries,” I remind him.

“Yeah, well, maybe you could set some more.”

Defeat settles in my bones like a bag of bricks, and I press my fingers to my lips, staring out my bedroom window without seeing anything at all. Not really. Nothing but the future I’ve built, the one I’ve dreamt about, with someone asking me to do the impossible.

“What would you like me to do?” I ask.

“Tell him you can’t be friends with him anymore. As far as you’re concerned, he’s friends with Everett, not you. It’s what you’ve been insisting with me anyway, right?”

Yes. It’s what I’ve insisted for years, even if it isn’t entirely true. Sure, there’s nothing but platonic love between me and Griffin, but…I do care about him. He’s one of my best friends. The idea of hurting him to protect my relationship with Drew feels…wrong. Especially when Drew’s being a controlling dick about the whole thing in the first place. There are boundaries in every relationship, and he’s dangerously close to crossing one of mine. I don’t like being controlled, and I sure as shit don’t like being told what to do. But it also feels wrong ending things with Drew over a stupid Instagram post.

When did this get so hard?

“And your friendship with Mollie?” I push.

“Dead in the water. Promise.”

My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek, and I clear my throat. “I’ll think about it.”

“Finley—”

“Take it or leave it, Drew. You’re on thin ice as it is.”

He sighs. “Fine. Take some time to think about it.”

“I will.”

“Good,” he grumbles.

“Good.”

“Good.”

With nothing left to say, I end the call.