You deserved to know the information firsthand. It's your life that we’re talking about.A week later, and Finn’s comment is still playing on a loop in my head. I wanted to rant, to scream, to take all the neatly stacked papers and monitors on his desk and throw them to the floor. Then I wanted to throw my arms around him because he finally put my feelings first. It was confusing and even more so when he broke down begging for my forgiveness. I can still see the pain in his eyes and feel the gnawing ache that there’s something I’m missing. A piece of information that he keeps mentioning, but I keep shutting him down. I don’t know why I care. The past still happened. Just because he’s willing to share now doesn’t mean things have changed.
I thought I was protecting you that way.My fingers clench around the bench in the gazebo. For so long, I had the running narrative about what happened and why Finn chose to keep me at arm’s length. His issues with his parents, their horrible marriage, the club, and club life were the excuses he gave me to chew on, but what if there’s more? Why do I care? I shouldn’t care. There’s a chance it will change nothing. Yet I can’t deny theway my heart squeezes painfully, remembering the look on his face. Part of me wants to know. Part of me wants to put the past to bed and let go of the pain that holds me back.
I’ve been strong over the years, I’ve built myself up, made a career for myself, and never once did I have to return home defeated. Now, Finn says he’s been searching for me. The club is going out of its way to ensure I’m safe and protected. My ex-boyfriend is asking for forgiveness. I don’t know what to do, or how to feel, or what to say. The worst part is that I can’t even get in my car and go for a drive. I can’t have a girls’ night out, dancing and drinking the stress away. I can’t schedule a class with Bruce and work out my frustration on the mats. I miss my life. I’m going stir crazy here, and I hate walking on eggshells around Finn, constantly afraid I’m going to give in to what my body wants and jump the man. It's only been a month of living with him again and remembering the way he used to look at me. I remember the way his hands, his lips, his tongue knew my body. I remember too that all I had to do was look at him, and he would know I wanted him. I hate that I can’t forget, and even worse, I hate that I think about it when I’m alone in my room.
I need to get over it. Maybe this time can be used to get everything out, to have the conversation, and when the Bianchis leave me alone, I can finally let my past stay where it's meant to be. To do that, I need to talk to Finn. I’ll have to open myself to the conversation he wants to have. I’ll have to let my heart be vulnerable to getting hurt by whatever he has to say. That's the most terrifying part in all of this. I have to do it. I need to do it for the seventeen-year-old girl who fell in love with a boy and changed her life for him. I need to do it for the twenty-four-year-old version of that girl who had her heart torn from her chest and stomped on. Mostly, I need to do it for me, to prove that I’m strong enough to get past this as well.
My eyes meet my reflection in the mirror. Straightening my spine, I roll my shoulders back and narrow my gaze. “You’re a badass. You’ve saved lives. Commanded the ER. And you scared a bunch of mafia men with a lift of your brow. You can handle your ex-boyfriend.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I fling open the bedroom door and head down the stairs to find Finn. He’s not in the house. I’ve heard the steady THWACK of an axe hitting wood for the past hour. I slip on a pair of shoes and follow the noise outside. Sure enough, Finn is chopping wood, his back muscles rippling every time he swings, and there’s a trail of sweat from his neck down the center of his back. My stomach swoops, and I almost forget about my need for answers and run back upstairs. But like always, Finn finds me.
“Win? Everything okay?” he calls from across the space, his crystal blue eyes narrow with worry.
Swallowing down my nerves, I charge down the stairs. “We need to talk.”
His tanned throat ripples as he swallows, his eyes eating up the distance between us as I get closer to him. This is the first time I’ve actively sought him out since being here. Slowly, he puts down the axe, resting it against a tree.
My feet stop right in front of him, and I have to fight not to let my gaze wander over his sweat-soaked t-shirt that stretches across his chest. “We need to talk.”
His brow arches. “I think you already said that.”
“Right.” My arms wrap around my waist, and I bite my lips, looking for exactly the right words to say.
“Win, whatever it is, you can ask me. I’ll tell you anything,” he assures me.
My heartbeat calms in my chest. “The truth?”
He nods, never taking his eyes off mine. “I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”
“I’m ready to hear you out. I want you to tell me what happened. What did I miss? What made you treat me like that at the end? What changed your mind about our future?” My words tumble out. The questions and scars that I’ve carried alone for years, always wondering what it was about me that made him change his mind.
Finn’s face cracks, his jaw clenches, and the blue of his eyes turns liquid. “I’ll tell you, Win, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Good. Now,” I demand, knowing everything is about to change. I can feel it. The air crackles with tension. My heart pauses, listening and bracing for devastation.
“Two weeks before your college graduation, I went with Bullet, Karma, and Jester to the warehouses to check on our delivery. There were issues that I wasn’t privy to beforehand, and Prez just wanted us to stop in and check it out. We were ambushed. There were two shooters. One was up high, sniper-trained. Bullet took a shot to the leg, but I saw the red dot swing back to his forehead. I grabbed my gun for the first time and fired three shots. I killed him. It was my first kill.” His head falls forward, his hands rubbing together.
“Oh my god.” My voice is thick with emotion.
Finn glances back up at me, his jaw clenching. “I didn’t handle it well. It was my first kill. I was a mess, Winnie. I wasn’t sleeping, and I couldn’t eat. I felt guilty, but then I remembered that if I hadn’t done it, Bullet would have died. Or one of my brothers. All I did was hide out at the clubhouse and drink, hoping to take away the guilt. Karma and Squirrel both kept talking me through it. Teaching me how to compartmentalize it. When I could see Bullet again, he suggested not telling you, not letting the dark part of me ruin your light. That was such a fucking copout. I didn’t tell you because I was scared shitless that you would leave me. So I started pushing you away instead. The night of your graduation, I was at the club, drinking, tryingto forget. Dove came up to me and offered to, well, anyway, I turned her down, and that's when she let it spill about your graduation. I rushed to find you after that, but I had already fucked up. And then I had to lie about why I was at the club, trying to forget, and I kept burying myself in lies.”
“You left that night after I fell asleep. Did you go back to the clubhouse? Did you cheat on me with Dove?” My heart cracks with the questions and fears I’ve hung onto since that night. I remember it as vividly as he tells it. Only having his side this time untwists something inside me. It doesn’t make it better or excuse it, but it does ease that ache.
Finn shakes his head, and he reaches for me. “I never let any of the club whores touch me. I never wanted anyone like I wanted you, Winnie. I swear to you. I knew I had disappointed you, and it was tearing me apart. I made you all these promises, and I felt like I was failing. All I ever wanted was to be good enough for you, Winnie Carmichael. And I was a killer who missed the love of his life’s biggest day. I felt like my father’s son, and I couldn’t breathe. I was just going to go for a ride, but ended up at the clubhouse. The longer I was there, the more I started to convince myself you were better off without me. That I would only tear you down if you stayed with me, and eventually you would grow to hate me.”
“So you pushed me away,” I surmise, watching the man I always thought was so strong break in front of me, little by little, with his confession.
“I’m sorry. I kept thinking I wasn’t built for marriage or a family because I was like him. Deep down, I wasn't worthy to be yours. I couldn’t face you, Win. So I took every opportunity to go on a run, thinking maybe if I just got away, cleared my head, that I could find a way to fix things, to salvage the man I was. And it worked for a while. Then I’d come back, and all that peace would leave because I was still letting you down. On that last run, I wasmad at myself for how I treated you. I felt like shit, and I had a whole plan to make it up to you. For the first time, I wasn’t dreading coming home; I was anxious to get back to you.”
“But another woman kissed you instead,” I remind him, my eyes narrowing. I know the story he told me, and back then I believed him. Not that it made it any better because the thought of any woman kissing him, touching him, had torn my heart in half. It made me feel physically ill to think about. Even now, he wasn’t mine and hadn’t been in years, but knowing it could have happened in that time makes me irrationally angry.
His complexion pales, and he swallows a few times. “I didn’t want that. I promise I told you the truth about what happened when I got back. It wasn’t until after you left, though, that I found out that Cleaver organized it on purpose. Trigger wasn’t in on it, but he didn’t stop it and felt like shit. He was forgiven and given a penance from the club. Cleaver was not so lucky.”
“He’s dead?” My brow rises. I swear I stop breathing.
“No, but I’m sure he wishes he were rather than in the state he was left in. For a man, some things are worse than death, Daisy,” Finn answers, while I read between the lines. A shiver runs down my spine while I take in the way his eyes darken and his face shutters closed. I’m not scared, though. This version of him doesn’t terrify me; it makes me feel safe instead. If he had told me, if he had been as open with me back then as he was just a week ago or even right now, things could have been different.
Turning, I start stomping away toward the house, a riot of emotions pushing at my chest and threatening to explode. “You’re an idiot, Dodger,” I call to him over my shoulder, my eyes spitting daggers. The anger I’ve held in, pushed down, twists with my own darkness that he has no idea about. We really are a match made in heaven if only he hadn’t shattered me.
