“I, for one, am so glad I just got to witness this after-school-special moment,” Maverick grumbled.
But my attention was on Finn, who now had his head bowed low over his workbook, though his pencil had stilled. His fine hair hung forward, a curtain between him and me.
“Finn,” I said gently.
He didn’t answer, only pressed his eraser hard into the paper, scrubbing out his answer. He wouldn’t look up at me.
I crossed the room and rested a hand on the back of his chair. “Hey Buddy, look at me.”
“Mom,” he protested.
“Finn. Please look at me.”
He shook his head, still not meeting my eyes. His jaw was tight, his knuckles white around the pencil.
I could feel Maverick’s smug ‘I told you sos’ from here. It took everything I had not to wince. He’d been right. Finnwasfeeling insecure, and it was my fault.
For a long moment, Finn stayed frozen, lips pressed into a thin line. “I can’t.”
The night was quiet, the only sound the clinking and splashing of Maverick’s brewing in the background. My hands had formed restless knots around the dish rag. Part of me wanted to run in the opposite direction. I didn’t want to confront this issue now. But the longer I waited, the worse things would become.
“Why not?” I asked, voice tight. I would not cry, damn it.
“Because,” he said, voice barely audible. “I know this worries you. I can see that. And I can feel it when you lie to me… I know you’re scared of me.”
The words landed like a blow to my chest. I reached for him, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to look up at me. My throat felt tight, but I pushed the words out anyway.
“Oh, Finn. I’m not scaredofyou. I’m scaredforyou. There’s a difference. Your power doesn’t make you a monster—it makes you you. And maybe I don’t always know how to handle that. Maybe I’ll get it wrong sometimes. But I will never, ever stop being proud of you.” I paused, trying to force the tears aside but they were welling up. “And I would never, in a million years, be afraid of you.”
Finn’s shoulders trembled, and for the first time in a long while, he leaned against me, letting me wrap my arms around him.
He let out a long breath, leaning into my side. Then he reached down, pulled the rag from my hands, and set it gingerly on the table.
“Then…” he hesitated. “Do you want to hear what I’ve learned? Everything I can do?”
“I’d love that more than anything.”
His eyes brightened, a flicker of pride breaking through the uncertainty. “Okay. It’s a lot,” he warned, but the smile tugging at his mouth was boyish again.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, but he’d always bemykid. My Finn.
“I don’t mind that at all.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I swear, men are the worst patients,” I groused, pushing Andre back down onto the bed.
Andre sank back down, and I threw a blanket over his shoulders despite his protests. The bruises all over his body had faded to a dull yellow, but I still winced every time I caught sight of them. On the end table next to him, a steaming mug glowed faintly. Maverick had been pleased enough by my exchange with Finn to volunteer his potion-making skills. The herbal concoction was supposed to dull pain and promote the body’s natural healing. I’d have brewed it myself, but I still didn’t trust my potion making skills.
“Poppy,” Andre drawled, reaching for the cup. “You do realize I can fend for myself? I’ve survived worse than a knock on the head.”
I swatted his hand lightly and held the mug steady. “Not when you’re dizzy, you don’t. Drink.”
He gave me a lopsided grin, the kind that was meant to be roguish but was undercut by the fact that he was neck deep in the covers. “You’re fussing over me like I’m as fragile as a Cadbury Egg. I won’t melt if I drink my own tea, dearest.”
“Youarefragile right now,” I countered, tucking the blanket tighter around him. The steam tickled my cheek, and I caught scent of mint and honey. “And besides—” I pressed the mug into his hands, my voice softening, “You don’t have to fend for yourself. Not when I’m here.”
For a moment, his teasing smile faltered, replaced by something softer. He took a slow sip of the glowing brew, eyes never leaving mine. It was almosttoointimate. I had to look away before I did something embarrassing. Like cry. I’d done too much crying already.
