“We hardly spoke when we waited outside the caseworker’s office, but after twenty minutes in that stuffy room, your little hand not leaving your mom’s for one second while you played with LEGOs on the floor, I knew God had just handed me a second chance. Just like he did this morning when you walked up our drive. And just like I swore back then, I swear to you now, son, that I’ll do whatever it takes not to waste it.” Swiping at his eyes, tears clinging to his dark lashes, his father squeezed Finn’s hand. “Do you think… Do you think we can move on from this? That you can forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Dad. You and Mom might not’ve given me my name, but you’re the ones who’ve always lent it its meaning. I was only ever blessed because of you guys.” And, up until recently, that had been the honest-to-God truth. Before life had thrown him a curve ball called Hank Dietrich.
“Ditto, champ. Ditto,” his father sniffed, wiping at his nose. Finn failed to swallow a laugh. “What?” His father frowned at him.
“Nothing.” Finn shook his head, the smile becoming more insistent.
“What? Tell me,” his dad said, bumping his shoulder against Finn’s.
“That’s just such a dad thing to say.Ditto.”
“So? Iama dad, aren’t I?Yourdad.”
“Yes,” Finn confirmed, no longer any doubt in his heart that it was true. “Yes, you are.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Hank
Now
It was nothing against Idaho in particular; he guessed it was as good a state as any, the scenery nice enough and the meal he’d just ingested decent and satisfying—but he just wanted to get to Oregon. If he’d been on a trip of leisure, he might’ve visited Yellowstone because folks always had the park on their bucket list.But Hank only wanted one thing before he—hopefully, not anytime soon—kicked the bucket. He wanted to get to Florence. He wanted to get to Finn. Now that he’d made up his mind, he couldn’t get there fast enough, his old yellow Ford F-150 pushing the speed limit more than once.
Did he have any grand master plan worked out for when he arrived in Florence? Nope, not really. The only thing guiding him along those endless stretches of road was the echo of Finn’s words in that letter. ‘Please, Hank. When you’re ready. Come take my breath away.’And hewas ready. Still stupefied thathe, Hank, had the ability to take anyone’s breath away, let alone Finn’s, but ready, nonetheless.
“You ready for a refill, mister? One more for the road?” The nice waitress, whose name tag readLoreen,smiled at him. She’d kept her distance aside from taking his order and bringing him his food, her long-acquired people skills probably telling her that Hank was not amongst the most talkative of her clientele.
“Sure, sweetheart,” he offered, holding out his cup, rewarding her kindness with a half-hearted smile in return. Her face immediately lit up, the generic endearment earning him some extra points, her near-black eyes spilling over with warmth. Loreen must’ve taken it as a small invitation, because she tilted her head, nibbling on her bottom lip.
“You’re welcome, handsome.” She winked, no undertones of anything remotely flirtatious, just well-rehearsed service-mindedness that was sure to have secured her a fair amount of tips over the years. “So, where’re you headin’, mister? Business or pleasure?”
Necessity, Hank wanted to say. Ineedto get to Oregon. Seems my heart went there, and now I just wanna get it back. But of course, he didn’t say that because that wasn’t what Loreen was asking. She wasn’t interested in his tale of woe. Her salary was hardlythatgreat. This wasn’t some rural, gay version ofPretty Womanwhere he would tell the diner staff about Finn, and they would offer to bake anI LOVE YOU. PLEASE TAKE ME BACKcake,the jukebox version of Bryan Adams’Please Forgive Meblasting in the background. The good folk of small-town Idahowere hardly going to roll out the rainbow-colored carpet to send Hank off on his get-my-boy-back mission.
“Oregon,” he settled on instead. “Just always wanted to see the ocean.” He shrugged because that was at least some version of the truth.
“Oh, honey, it’s nice,” Loreen smiled dreamily. “You’re gonna love it.” She pulled a cloth from her apron pocket and wiped a few coffee stains from the laminate table. “You got any family there?”
“No, not exactly,” Hank mumbled, tracing his index finger around the polished rim of the coffee cup.
“Oh, I see,” Loreen cooed, a shadow of sympathy coasting across her face, and Hank suddenly realized that she was probably a bit older than the mid-forties he’d initially taken her for. “You’ve got some sweetheart there?”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Hank chuckled, his gaze flickering between the steam curling from his cup and Loreen’s face.
“Don’t worry, hon.” She patted his shoulder. “She’ll take you back in a heartbeat. Handsome fella like yourself. Nice too. She’d be a damn fool not to.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he shrugged, not even raising a brow at Loreen’s assumption that Finn was ashe. Why wouldn’t she? And then he just thought,what the heck?There was something near-hypnotic about the subdued voices and clatter of cutlery in the rundown diner. Loreen’s trust-evoking face the final straw that made him want to share this small truth about himself. Hell, the locals were hardly going to run him out of town, pitchforks raised and all. And it wasn’t like he was ever going to visit Hill City again. “Actually, they're ahe,” he murmured carefully, searching Loreen’s face for any trace of disgust or disapproval. “Finn.”
“Oh.” Loreen raised a carefully groomed black eyebrow. “Ohhh,” she drew out. “Finn, you say?” she smiled knowingly at Hank. “As in Huckleberry?”
“Yes,” Hank sighed a breath of relief.
“Such a pretty name,” she purred, fluttering her eyelashes. Then she grew all solemn and Hank thought she might be appalled after all. Holding up a cherry-red tipped finger, Loreen nibbled on her bottom lip. “Don’t say anythin’. Let me guess. Pretty brown eyes,” she said, tapping her bottom lip with her finger. “Not the deep chocolate kind, but more like the brown of the bottom of the river. You know what I’m talkin’ about? When the sun shines through the water and hits the bottom,” she squinted at Hank like the sun was, in fact, blinding her. And Hank could only nod because, yes, he knew exactly what she was talking about and the small hairs at the back of his neck rose. “And he’s a blond, your guy.”Hisguy. “But not a golden blond, more like a straw blond, like a field lit up by the harvest moon, you know?” Loreen hummed, and for a second, Hank questioned if he was even awake or if he was still in that key lime-colored motel room Colton had booked for him, fast asleep, deeply engulfed in some ’70s mystery movie-like dream where people spoke in tongues.
“Yeah, I know,” Hank whispered, a chill moving down his spine, his eyes burning. Heck, his throat was burning, too, as if he’d gotten an acute case of laryngitis.
“Now, I might be wrong, but I get a feelin’ your man’s younger than you. Like, a lot younger. No offense,” she added quickly. “There’s just somethin’ about his voice, all… lofty and such. Youthful.”
“None taken,” Hank replied. “And he is. By a lot.”
