Page 88 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Oh, Lord,” I say, still laughing. “You’ve known me one day.”

“We’re working on day two, lady. Don’t shortchange me on the morning after.”

“You’re crazy,” I say.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe all the panic we’ve been through just made us unusually close. Maybe telling secrets gave us a bond you can’t get any other way. Or maybe,” he says, soft smile creeping up his face, “I’m just the kind of guy who knows a good thing when he finds it.”

I feel tears welling in my eyes. Which isn’t me at all. I mean, I didn’t even cry last night when I told him I was raped repeatedly as a child. By a mobster who is now most certainly after me. Who probably wants to kill me or, worse, rape me again.

Anger, hate, rage, violence—none of that stuff fazes me anymore.

But tenderness?

Yeah, that gets me every time.

I’m just not used to it.

“Hey,” Finn says. “Get used to it.”

It’s like he can read my mind. How could he know me so well? Why do I feel like we’re meant to be together?

I’m not one of those girls who waits around for Prince Charming. And he’s not even Prince Charming. He’s fuckin’ King Death or something. He admitted to killing his own father. And I dismissed it. I… I validated him for doing that.

“I like you,” he says. “Maybe love is too strong a word for day two, but I’m in, ya know. Whatever it is you want to do, I’m in. If you want to run, we’ll run. If you want to fight, we’ll fight. If you want to go public, we’ll do that. Hell, we can do all three if you want. I don’t care. I feel like with you, I can do anything, Issy. You… empower me. So just tell me and we’ll do it together.”

I place my hand over his. “I want all three.”

“Done.”

“It’s not done, you weirdo. Doing all three is impossible.”

“Says the woman who already did the impossible.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You survived, Issy. And from what you’ve told me, that was an all-of-the-above kind of strategy. So let’s do it. Let’s leave today, make a plan, get that asshole Caleb—and Declan and anyone else who’s dirty as sin—and take it all public. Put it all out there for the world to judge. I’ve got tricks up my sleeve, don’t worry about my reputation. What you see is not what you get.”

“I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Which part? The tricks part? Or the surviving part?”

“They’re gonna get you,” I say. “And I can’t let them.”

“If that’s code for I’m-gonna-leave-him-so-I-don’t ruin-his-life, then forget it, babe. You’re stuck with me.”

“But—”

“Just trust me,” he says. “I know that’s a hard thing for you, but trust me. I got this.”

I decide to accept his offer. Because I’m tired. I’m tired of making all these decisions on my own. I’m worn out from being the strong one. I’m fucking exhausted from maintaining control. I just want someone on my side. I just want a partner.

And I want to believe that the pleasure of living comes from the panic you endure when you change your life from one thing into another.

And it hits me then. Just as these words go from being an ethereal mist around my feet to something concrete in front of me… this is exactly what Zig meant when he said, “You must make a choice to take a chance or your life will never change.”

And that feels so right all of a sudden. So on track, so inevitable, so certain, and necessary, and fated that I believe it.

But I shake my worldview one more time and take that conclusion one step further.