“No,” Colton blushed. “Why?”
“No reason. Thought you might ask that young man of yours to join us. Seeing as the clinic is right next to the store… unless Dirk relocated overnight.” He’d gone to high school with Dirk Roberts, the hardware store owner, who’d taken over the shop from his father a few years ago when his parents had moved to some senior citizenEl Doradoin Florida. Hell if he understood why folks wanted to do something like that. Hank couldn’t imagine ever living any place other than Hayley’s.
“Yeah? You sure?” Even now, after all this time, Colton still showed these glimpses of uncertainty.
“Of course. You know how much I enjoy watching the two of you when you think you’re being all subtle and shit.” Hank tipped back his head, cackling.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Colton murmured, but his shy smile gave him away. He only ever had eyes for Henry when the veterinarian was around. “You’re a regular comedian, huh?”
“Now, I don’t know about that…” Hank smiled. “I just call it like I see it.” Colton nodded before closing the hood of the oldToyotahe’d been working on all morning. It was going to be Mr. Peterson’s sixteenth birthday present for his youngest daughter, Debbie. Hank had agreed to give it a full-service check and new wheels before the big day to ensure it was safe for the birthday girl. Patting the hood, Colton swept a hand through his thick mop of hair, his hazel eyes shimmering in the midday sun.
“Oh, before I forget. I cleaned out some stuff from the attic the other day. Came across some of your dad’s old things. Yousure you don’t want any of it? You remember those fighter planes of his?” He’d nearly forgotten about them, but when he’d opened the dusty old cardboard box, it had all come tumbling back. Walter’s small model planes from back when they were kids. He’d collected them, dreaming of becoming a pilot, but then, when Amy got pregnant with Colton straight out of high school, he’d started working as a mechanic instead. Later, Hank had joined him in the auto shop and young Colton had taken ownership of the collection, often playing around the shop, dreaming of becoming a soldier.
“Nah, you keep ’em,” Colton hummed, a shadow moving across his face. “You keep ’em,” he repeated. Then his facial expression changed, his tone shifting too. “C’mon Louis. Let’s go get daddy,” he cooed at the black Labrador retriever, who, in return, made his usual interpretation of a manic polka dance.
“You know that sounds like some kinky ass shit, right? That Daddy stuff,” Hank smirked.
“Shut up, old man. If anyone looks like a kinky-ass Daddy around here, it’s you with that gray stuff you’re sportin’ on your face.”
“It’s called a beard, kid. Maybe you’ll grow one yourself one day.”Daddy, my ass.Hank shook his head as he followed his nephew and the hyper pup out of the shop.Jesus.Sounded more like one of those romantic books Tilly hid behind the counter. When the diner wasn’t too busy, she would sneak small glimpses at the book, blushing like a schoolgirl whenever she got to a steamy part.Yearning for Daddy,or some shit like that, probably. Ugh, now he couldn’t help picturing Tilly and Vernon acting out some Daddy roleplay nonsense. This was Nebraska, for Pete’s sake, not a ranch in Texas with cocky cowboys and damsels in distress.
“You comin’ or what?” Colton grinned at him impatiently with a face that could brighten up even the dullest of days or melt an iceberg the size of Kentucky.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m comin’, son. I’m comin’.”
Chapter Two
Finn
Then
“You see this picture, honey? That little blob in the center?” His mother pointed her meticulously manicured fingernail at the blurry image. As long as Finn could remember, his mom had always had prettily painted nails. Mostly she would paint them with her preferred coral nail polish, the distinct smell lingering in the air when she used the outside light from the kitchen window to perfect the finishing touches. Finn squinted, causing his nose to scrunch up, as he stared at the small…somethingthat mostly looked like someone was really bad a drawing with charcoal. Like his best friend, Aaron Thompson. Boy, was he bad at drawing. No matter what Ms. Willis told him to draw, italways looked like he’d spilled paint all over the paper and then smeared it around afterward for good measure. Or like he was trying to recreate an alien sighting. Yeah, mostly the blob just looked like an alien.
“Yeah. What is it, Mom?”
“It’s a baby. That’s why I’ve been so sick every morning before driving you to school. There’s a little baby—a baby sister—having a 24-hour party in my belly,” she chuckled while squeezing his clammy hand in hers.
“A baby?” he repeated, tilting his head, looking up at the woman whom he’d called Mom since he was four. It had taken Finn a little over a year to allow himself to call Anna and Ellis KennedyMomandDad, but now the words came as effortlessly to him ashioryes. “But I didn’t think that you and Daddy could have any babies.” Uncertainty coursed through him, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of joy. A baby sister. That’s all he’d ever wanted. A sibling. He’d secretly hoped that one day his parents would adopt another kid so that he would have someone to share the kind of stuff with that you could only share with a brother or a sister. A partner-in-crime. A best friend.
“Yeah, well, neither did I, honey, but I guess the good Lord wanted it differently. Just like he led your dad and me to you that day, he’s decided to bless us with another child.” Her entire face lit up, her blue eyes beaming with the same kind of happiness and love that she’d always looked back at him with.
“It’s a girl?” Finn whispered, almost afraid to speak the small inconspicuous word out loud. Afraid that the mere breath bursting from his lips would find its way to that small picture and cause it to dissolve into nothingness, taking with it the promise of a twosome unlike any other. It was an ever-lingering fear that he had difficulty shaking, even though he had now officially been Finn Kennedy for five years. That he would one day wake up and he would realize that it had all just beena dream. Wonderfully realistic, but still just a dream. And he would be right back in that moldy-smelling shack again, waking up to the shrill voice of Aunt Molly. That’s why he was always super careful not to make too much noise or stand out too much. Not to draw too much attention to the fact that he wasn’t a real Kennedy. Some days—even though they were getting rarer—he would still imagine someone suddenly yelling after him down the street or in the supermarket,‘Hey boy, who do you think you are? You don’t belong here. Go back to where you came from.’
“Yes,” his mom whispered, her eyes bright from unshed tears, her round cheeks flushed. “Aren’t you happy, sweetheart?” a flash of worry moved across her face. He couldn’t explain it because he hadn’t felt this way since he was very little, but an all-consuming fear grabbed, then squeezed, at his heart. Suddenly, he felt like crying or hiding, or maybe even both. “What is it, Finnie?” his mother coaxed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head before she ran her fingers through his unruly straw-blond hair. “You can tell me.”
Sniffing against her lavender sweater, which always reminded him of fluffy feathers, he murmured, “Does that mean I have to go back now?” He hardly recognized his own voice. So frail, so… lost.
“What do you mean, honey? Go back where?” she asked, not a hint of anger or impatience in her voice. No, never that. His mom never got angry or annoyed. So different from his Aunt Molly, who always used to yell at him or curse him out. Funny how he could no longer remember what his Aunt Molly—who wasn’t really his aunt but just his biological mother’s friend—looked like, but he could still recall her voice. Yeah, he had a feeling that even if he lived to be a hundred, that voice—all shrill and mean—would be imprinted on his eardrums.Always. Like one of those small music boxes with a certain tune laser engraved.
“To Aunt Molly’s,” he forced out, his voice breaking on the final syllable. “Now that you’ll have a baby of your own, a real kid, you don’t need me anymore, I suppose…” he trailed off, squeezing his eyes shut against the fragrant woolen sweater. He wasn’t trying to be difficult or dramatic, even. That wasn’t something Finn ever tried to be. His mother wrapped her hands around his slim shoulders, holding him out in front of her.
“Oh, sweetheart, is that what you think? That we won’t want you now?” Her eyes found his, a vibrant blue meeting his muddy brown, nothing but tenderness emanating from them. “Finn, honey, you are every bit as real to me and your dad as this baby that I carry below my heart. You aremychild. You understand?Mine. You are as true and as dear to me as any child that I give birth to could ever be. Don’t you know that, Finnie?” She smiled patiently, her right hand reaching for a rebellious lock of hair, tucking it behind his ear. “Finn, you are my blessed one, aren’t you?”
He nodded quietly, trying to wrap his nine-year-old mind around what his mom was saying. That he could stay. That he would always be able to stay, no matter what.Blessed.He knew that his name meant that. For a while, his life had been anything but blessed. Not until Anna and Ellis Kennedy, both professors in literature at Reed College in Portland, had become his foster parents when he was removed from his aunt Molly’s house. She and one of her boyfriends had been arrested one night when the police had come to the run-down shack. The police officers had brought a dog—a big black one with brown eyes—and had removed a lot of stuff hidden in the bathroom wall behind some broken tiles. In the very same bathroom where Finn would brush his teeth and sometimes—rarely—take a bath in the grimy tub. Finn had been three, and one year later, he’d become a Kennedy, too, when the adoption had gone through.
“Now.” His mom winked, her soft voice cutting through his thoughts. “Dr. Williams said that it’sveryimportant that I stick to a healthy diet. You know, my age and all.” She rolled her eyes, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. “So… I guess pancakes are in order. Don’t you?” She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before getting up from the navy-blue couch. “The only question remaining… and I know this is a hard one, but sometimes you gotta make difficult choices… Even at—” She threw a glance at her wristwatch, “three in the afternoon. So, what’s it gonna be, squirt?” She placed her hands on her wide hips, a mock-serious frown between her auburn brows. “Chocolate chip or blueberries?”
Ugh, he loved both. Especially with a fat dollop of whipped cream on top. His mouth watered at the image, and he bit his bottom lip in thought.
