His whole face softened as he dropped his forehead to mine. “Aw, pretty mate. I’m so happy to hear that. Fair warning, though, Finley is going to love you until you’re consumed. It can be overwhelming to be part of his life, but if it ever gets to be too much, just let him know. His comprehension of boundaries is skewed from his fucked upbringing, but he responds well to honesty.”
His words reminded me of how Finley had held me last night, as if he wanted to imprint on my very soul. Which really wasn’t a problem for me.
After my ownfuckedupbringing, I craved that sort of thorough and unconditional love. A love I never had to question.
In that way, Finley Thornton and I had a lot in common.
CHAPTER 55
EMME
Despite his promise to help me get ready, Kellan was summoned by Hunter to haul the grill and coolers of meat and drinks into the street to start prepping for the barbeque. Everyone was expected to show up today after weeks of the event being postponed or cancelled.
I didn’t have any experience with this barbeque yet, but I was excited to see it all in action.
While Finley was in the shower, I pulled myself out of his comfortable bed, and I took a second to look around his room. From the moment I stepped foot in this house, there’d been two rooms off limits to me: Slade’s and Finley’s. I hadn’t been sure I’d ever get to see this one, and I took my time taking it all in.
The walls were white, and like all the bedrooms, there was a bank of windows along one side. Heavy curtains in the same shade of blue as my eyes blocked the outside world, and when I pulled their thick length aside, weak sunlight filtered in. It looked super chilly out there today, and if I had to guess, there was more snow on the horizon.
Leaving the curtains open, I perused the many shelves that covered the walls, ending up in a corner set up like a tattoo studio. Artwork was pinned to corkboards, and the stainless-steel tables held sealed boxes of equipment. I still had no idea what was required to tattoo shifters, and it was a relief to know I could ask Finley questions without getting my head bitten off.
Maybe I’d even ask him if he’d work on the tattoo I had brewing in the back of my mind.
Examining the sketches, his artistic talent was abundantly clear, from landscapes, dark symbols, and insanely detailed animals. There were even a few portraits, and I paused at a bear standing next to a familiar side profile, freckles dotted across her nose.Mynose.
Whoa. I blinked at this new piece of evidence that I was important to Finley. He’d drawn us staring out into the distance, expressions pensive.
We didn’t have many photos together, other than the few on my phone from the night we’d celebrated at Luxuria, and I couldn’t stop staring at his drawing. It was so much more than a photo; it was his heart on paper, and I was about to break down if I didn’t get out of here.
Tearing myself from the art corner, I focused on his shelves again. I’d have expected Finley to be minimalistic like Slade, but he was far from that. The first shelf was filled with hockey trophies—hundreds more than Kellan, as if Finley had never lost or misplaced even one. They were all shiny, not a lick of dust across them, and each had its own space to shine.
He was proud of his achievements, and I was determined not to let him give up hockey for me. No matter how hard it was for us to be apart.
The next shelf was filled with books, and I scanned the spines noting they were mostly non-fiction: Biographies, self-help, history. He appeared to enjoy reading about human wars, and I noted five or six on theart of origami. I loved that while the origami was recent, the magazines first appeared before hemade the choice to fight for us. As if even back then, he couldn’t quite manage to hate me fully.
The next set of shelves had glass doors protecting the treasures inside. Everything looked old, and I guessed this held significant pieces from Finley’s childhood. There were multiple pairs of old skates, shards of pottery that had been broken and repaired with what looked like gold, and some sports memorabilia.
Along with shelf after shelf of origami, surrounding the largest paper flower I’d ever seen in my life. It must have been created using multiple differently colored papers, until it formed one massive bloom. It looked older as well, the colors fading around the edges.
“Jiro, Kenzo’s grandfather taught me.”
I almost threw myself through the glass in surprise. I turned to find Finley leaning against the doorway of his bathroom, a towel slung around his waist, and I wondered how long he’d been standing there watching me snoop through his room.
“Kenzo’s grandfather taught you origami?” I repeated.
He nodded. “Yeah, he was born and raised in Japan and emigrated out here with his pack when Kenzo’s father was young. He didn’t have a complete quintet until they arrived here, which was no doubt why he’d felt the urge to leave his home.”
I returned my gaze to the pieces of his past he held most precious. “I’m glad you had them in your life,” I murmured, pressing my fingertips to the edge of the glass. “I get the sense you might not have fared so well without them.”
He cleared his throat, and I glanced his way in time to see his expression tighten. “I wouldn’t have survived without them. Or at least I wouldn’t be the functioning shifter I am today. Despite how poorly I showed that side of myself when we first met.”
I waved him off, and not because it wasn’t a big deal, but we were moving on from it. The only way forward was to let go of the past.
“You’re doing just fine, Finley Thornton. You show me your strength every day. We both have traumas we’re working through. And while I know this is an individual journey for both of us, it’s comforting to know that someone else understands.”
He took a step closer, and I was much more aware of how naked he was, just a towel covering him as droplets of water fell from the ends of his damp hair to his broad shoulders.
“Healing means taking an honest look at the role you play in your own suffering,” Finley said, but in my distraction, I almost didn’t hear a word of that very sage advice.
