“You might know if you visited me every once in a while.”
Hurt trickles into the lightly admonishing tone he’s using. Finn doesn’t let anything slide. He’s not afraid to call me out. Or anyone else, for that matter. He once challenged my mother, adding another log to the fire of dislike she felt for him.
“Finn—”
“Do you think of me, Lennon?” His voice lowers, his tone husky.
My belly swirls again. “Of course. Every day.”
“You sure about that?”
A lick of anger flickers in my core. It’s a common reaction around Finn. He has always possessed the ability to bring the emotion to the surface. Funny how I can’t remember a time when Brady has brought that out. Brady keeps me steady. With Brady, I know right where I am.
If they were colors, Brady would be a calm, cool blue. Finn would be a fiery orange-red.
“Don’t be dumb.” I say it cheekily, and Finn laughs, a deep, singular sound.
Sass is my defense mechanism. It’s how I handle discomfort. And guilt. And just about anything unpleasant.
Finn clears his throat. “I guess I’m supposed to say I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You could.”
“Do you want me to?”
“That depends on whether you want to.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t.”
Despite the macabre topic of conversation, our banter has my lips curving upward.
A sound comes through the phone, something like the crunching of gravel.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Um hmm. Tomorrow. When I see you in Agua Mesa.” His voice slips over me, sliding into my heart, reassuring me.
“Really?” Hope swells in my chest.
“Did you think I wouldn’t come?”
I blink at his words. They are the same words Brady used with me only minutes ago. For all their differences, their hearts are loyal as hell. It’s why I chose them, all those years ago. Or maybe they chose me. I’m not sure anymore.
I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “It’s been a long time. Eight years.”
“Eight years,” he echoes. “Are you ready to go home?”
“Are you?”
“Not even close.”
Of the three of us, Finn will have the hardest time going back. He’s the one with the impressive juvenile rap sheet. I’ll be subject to the dubious glances from the congregation of Joyful Noise Bible, but I can handle it. My mom just died, so their sympathy will be automatic, if also a bit begrudging. And then there’s Brady. Nothing awaits him except for a bevy of middle-aged women hoping to set him up with their daughters. Who wouldn’t want their precious daughter with someone who’s not only a lawyer but the son of an esteemed federal judge?
