The raw honesty of the words struck Finn like a physical blow. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on Ollie’s arm. “You could never be just an obligation to me.”
Ollie’s eyes flickered to Finn’s hand on his arm, then back to his face. “What am I, then?”
“You’re…” Finn struggled, words failing him as they so often did when it mattered most. “You’re the first person in a very long time who makes me want to be more than just Brooklyn’s dad or the reliable guy at work. You make me want things I thought I’d stopped letting myself want.”
The confession hung between them, more revealing than Finn had intended but utterly true. Ollie’s expression softened, a mixture of surprise and something deeper, more tender.
“Finn,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I?—”
Whatever he was about to say was lost as Finn closed the distance between them, one hand coming up to cup Ollie’s cheek as he pressed their lips together in a kiss that was both question and answer. For a heartbeat, Ollie froze, and Finn began to pull back, apology already forming—but then Ollie’s hands were in his hair, drawing him closer, deepening the kiss with a soft sound that made Finn’s knees weak.
It was tentative at first, a careful exploration—the brush of lips, the gentle pressure of hands, the shared breath between them. Then Ollie’s fingers tightened in Finn’s hair, and something shifted, the kiss turning deeper, more urgent. Finn backed him against the desk, one hand at his waist, the other still cradling his face as if he were something precious.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Finn rested his forehead against Ollie’s, eyes closed, overwhelmed by the intensity of what he was feeling.
“That was…” Ollie began, his voice unsteady.
“Yeah,” Finn agreed, unable to find better words.
They stayed like that for a moment, suspended in the aftermath, neither quite ready to step back into reality. Finn could feel Ollie’s heartbeat, rapid and strong, echoing his own. He wanted to stay here, in this moment, where everything felt possible and nothing was complicated.
But reality had a way of asserting itself. His phone buzzed again in his pocket—a text this time. Reluctantly, he pulled back, already missing Ollie’s warmth as he checked the screen.
Brooklyn
I wasn’t feeling great. Came home early. Need you to let the school know it’s okay.
The simple message was a stark reminder of his responsibilities, of the conversation he needed to have with his daughter. Guilt twisted in his stomach, not just for being late, but for the way he’d momentarily forgotten everything but the feel of Ollie in his arms.
“I have to go,” he said, regret heavy in his voice. “Brooklyn said she’s not feeling well, and after that call…”
“I know,” Ollie said, understanding in his eyes even as disappointment flickered across his features. “You should go. We can talk tomorrow.”
Finn nodded, though the thought of leaving now, with so much unresolved between them, felt wrong. “I’m sorry. For rushing out like this, after…” He gestured vaguely between them, words failing him again.
“Don’t apologize,” Ollie said firmly. “Brooklyn needs you. I’ll never force you to choose between us because I know I’ll lose.”
The simple acknowledgment—that Ollie understood, that he didn’t resent Brooklyn’s place in Finn’s life—made something in Finn’s chest tighten with emotion.
“Tomorrow,” he promised, reaching out to squeeze Ollie’s hand briefly. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As he drove home, Finn’s mind raced, replaying the kiss, the conversation, the way Ollie had looked at him with such open vulnerability. He’d spent so long keeping his heart carefully guarded, focusing on Brooklyn, on work, on anything but his own needs. The idea that he might allow himself to want more—to reach for something that was just for him—was both exhilarating and terrifying.
But as he pulled into his driveway, reality reasserted itself. Brooklyn was inside, struggling with something she hadn’t felt able to share with him. Whatever was happening between him and Ollie would have to wait. His daughter needed him now.
He found Brooklyn at the kitchen table, textbooks spread around her, though she didn’t appear to be studying. She looked up as he entered, her expression guarded in a way that made his heart ache.
“Hey,” he said, setting down his bag. He opened the cupboards, more as a way to stall than looking for anything in particular. “How are you feeling?”
Brooklyn shrugged, turning her attention back to the book in front of her. “Fine. I took some Tylenol when I got home. My head was killing me.”
Finn studied her, taking in the tension in her shoulders, the way she avoided his gaze. “I got another call from school today.”
Her head snapped up, wariness replacing the indifference. “About what?”
“You’ve been skipping fourth period,” he said, keeping his voice even, non-accusatory. “Want to tell me why?”
“Not really,” she muttered, closing her textbook with more force than necessary.
