“You sure you’re okay?” He moved closer to me, his voice lowering.
“I’m fine,” I repeated. “Just tired.”
It wasn’t a lie. I was tired, but not just from physical labor.
The coffee was perfect, dark and strong, steam rising in the cool air. For once it didn’t make me feel like I was catching fire from the inside. Nolan’s hand found my shoulder, offering a brief squeeze.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of coordinated cleanup. I helped pack up tools, assisted with moving supplies back to dry storage, and made myself useful in all the ways I could. Nobody mentioned Finn, but I caught the sympathetic glances, and Bridget seemed worried, as if she’d seen a completely different side of her son. I had too.
We broke for a quick meal before finishing the day. I stayed until nearly dark, helping wherever they needed me. When there was nothing left to organize, nothing more to coordinate, nothing else to clean up, I ran out of reasons to stay away.
The walk back to our room felt impossibly long. On the way, my phone buzzed with a single text message, sent hours ago.
Finn:I’m sorry.
The words sat there on the screen, two words that felt completely inadequate.
I used my key card quietly, easing the door open to find the room dark except for the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Everythinghad been reset to perfection. Our fort, our refuge from the storm, had been dismantled, reduced to hotel pillows arranged just so. The beds were made with perfect corners and our scattered belongings organized into neat stacks on the dresser. I set my laptop bag next to his perfectly zipped and aligned backpack.
The housekeeper had been helpful. Thorough. They’d erased nearly every trace of the intimacy we’d been building. Still, my toothbrush remained next to his by the sink.
I stepped into the room more, my eyes moving over the only clutter in the space. Finn’s dirty boots had been discarded near the closet, but I could see mud tracked into the room. His hat, rain jacket, flannel shirt, under shirt, jeans… socks... led a parade to our bed where Finn had collapsed face down on top of the bedspread in nothing but his underwear.
My heart stopped as I reached him. Here was my Icarus, fallen again, not from the sky this time, but from whatever emotional height he’d been trying to maintain.
Tears finally fell as I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing the hair from his face. His features were slack with exhaustion, finally at peace after the storm he’d weathered today. I ached to curl up next to him, to hold him, but I wasn’t sure this was my Finn anymore, the one who whispered “I love you” in pillow forts and taught me to fly.
I pulled a blanket from the closet and draped it over him carefully, worried the texture might irritate him, but more worried he’d get cold. Next, I moved his legs so they were on the bed, followed by his hand draped over the side. There was no way I’d be able to move him completely without waking him in order to share our bed. And I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to.
I picked up his clothes and placed them in our hamper before setting his hat on the dresser and moving his boots next to the door. The housekeeper would have to clean again because of the mud, but that couldn’t be helped, even I had tracked some in. I gathered my things and prepared for bed as silently as possible. When I was ready, I looked between the two beds in our room.
The bed where Finn lay crashed and unreachable and the bed that had stayed empty for weeks, waiting. Crisp white sheets pulled tight at the corners, pillows perfectly fluffed and centered.
I pulled back the covers on the clean bed and slipped between sheets that smelled like hotel detergent instead of bergamot and cloves.
The space felt too big, too clean, too separate. But I stayed there anyway, staring at the ceiling in the dark as tears continued to leak from my eyes, listening to Finn breathe less than ten feet away.
Chapter 41
Cold brew and consequences
Alex
I woke to sunlight streaming through windows we hadn’t closed the night before, alone in the bed that didn’t smell like Finn. Like us.
Finn’s bed looked practically untouched, save for a carefully folded blanket at the foot. His work boots were gone from beside the door where I’d placed them, along with his hat from the dresser, and any trace that he’d collapsed in this room the night before.
Like he’d never been here at all.
There was a note on top of my phone on the nightstand, written in his careful, deliberate handwriting on North Star Lodge stationary:
I tracked the slight tremor in some of the lines, realizing the focus required to keep his hand steady. To reclaim “Steady.” My breath hitched, forced me to inhale.
My entire body protested as I sat up slowly, the note still in my hands. I wanted to be mad at him, justified in my rage. I wanted to feel his arms wrapped around me, telling me we’d be okay, that he’d be okay. I wanted him to know he was safe, wanted to know we were safe, but instead I just felt… empty.
I got up and padded to the fridge to retrieve my coffee before grabbing my phone and blanket, sliding open the balcony door and stepping into the cool morning air. The sky was clear, but the grounds were covered in mud and debris. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, sat in one of the chairs the housekeeperhad moved back into place and drank my coffee while I surveyed the work going on below. Groundskeepers were sweeping away mud and dirt, picking up branches, and resetting chairs around firepits. A few guests were milling about. I watched Lou and Penny disappear into the guest services building. Penny emerged a few minutes later, coloring book tucked under her arm, bag of art supplies on her shoulder, moving across the yard toward the house like she was on a mission. I smiled to myself and scanned the grounds more.
Finn was behind the house with Luke and the boys, picking up sandbags and loading them into the back of a truck. Jack and Lucas carried one between them and for every single bag Finn carried, Luke carried two. Maggie sat nearby, her eyes trained on every move Finn made. I studied him, looking for signs that he might be pushing himself too hard, and caught the hitch in his stride along with the slight grimace from beneath the brim of his hat when he tossed a bag into the truck. Stupid, stubborn man. He should be resting.
