I’m not sure how long I can pretend otherwise.
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NINETEEN
FINN
She shouldn’t be here.
I know that the second I see her.
Lani’s behind the counter, apron tied crooked, hair scraped back too tight like she was trying to hold herself together with it. There’s a flush high on her cheeks that doesn’t belong there, and the way she’s bracing one hand against the espresso machine tells me she’s using it to stay upright.
It’s mid-morning. The café’s busy in that steady, relentless way – locals, tourists, the low hum of conversation and clinking cups – but she moves through it like she’s underwater.
Slow. Careful. Wrong.
I don’t go straight to her. I watch. Again.
She reaches for a mug and misses it by half an inch. Laughs it off when someone makes a joke. Keeps going. But there’s a tremor in her hands now she’s not hiding, and when she bends to grab milk from the fridge, she has to pause there longer than necessary, head bowed like she’s trying not to black out.
That tight, buzzing feeling crawls up my spine.
This isn’t stubbornness. This isn’t pride.
This is someone running on empty because stopping feels more dangerous than collapsing.
She straightens too fast.
And that’s when it happens.
Her knees buckle like the floor’s dropped out from under her.
I’m already moving.
I cross the space in two strides and catch her before she hits the tiles, one arm around her back, the other gripping her forearm hard enough to steady us both.
“Hey…Lani.”
Her head lolls briefly against my shoulder. She smells wrong – too warm, too sharp, like her body’s burning through fuel it doesn’t have.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs automatically.
She isn’t.
Her eyes flutter, unfocused, and her fingers clutch weakly at my sleeve like she’s anchoring herself to me by instinct alone.
That does something to me. Something cold and furious.
“Pete,” I say calmly, already steering her toward a chair. “She’s done for today.”
“What? She only just started—” Pete looks up from the till, concern cutting through his usual bluster when he sees her half collapsed in my arms.
“She nearly went down,” I interrupt, still gentle, still controlled. “She needs to sit. Now.”
Lani tries to protest. Of course she does. “I can—Finn, I’m okay, I just?—”