He chuckled. “You took off. You never contactedme.”
I winced. “Yeah, about that—” And yet words wouldn’t come. As a man who relied on them for everything, these words wouldn’t come. I took a breath and tried again. “Yeah.” Nope. That was all I was good for.
“So, you gonna contact me now? Gonna ask me for a date?”
Easy one. “No. Just...not a good time.”
“Too bad.” He sipped his soda.
“Yeah?”
“Well, I only fuck after the first date.” He gestured to his body. “You’re missing out on this.”
I swallowed.Yes, I know exactly what I’m missing. Still not enough to agree…“You brought me home that night.”Yeah, like bringing up that night is somehow going to get you back in his good graces.Except…why did I feel the need to be in his good books? We were nothing to each other.
Or so you tell yourself.
“Well, exceptions can be made when the guy I invite into my house has just had a near-miss. That’s a life-altering experience, right? Your life flashing before your eyes as you contemplate death?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite so dramatically.” My tone was as dry as the Sahara. “My only thought in that moment was not getting hit by the minivan running the red light.”
“Huh. I always figured you would have a fraction of a second to reflect on your life. What you regret. What you rejoice. That’s how I envision it for me.” Another sip.
“You must see people who barely escape death all the time. Do you ever ask them?”
He shook his head. “That would be inappropriate. And I don’t ask the kids on the cancer ward either.”
Oh God, help me now.“You visit kids on the cancer ward? In the hospital?”
“Yep. Every other week or so. My schedule’s erratic, but I’m always welcome because there are always kids with cancer. Super sad. My friend Quinton, who’s a nurse, suggested I go. I wear my fire helmet, department T-shirt, and I tell them exciting stories. A couple of them want to grow up to be firefighters. I hope to fuck they have that chance.”
“Sounds brutal.”Jesus.
He shrugged. “My mom’s been a nurse for like, thirty years.”
The woman who’d given him the cabin he lived in. For whom he kept a room decorated. Someone he was clearly dedicated to. As a good son should be—for a deserving mother.
Something I knew nothing about. “You’re a fine man, Finnegan O’Sullivan.”
He cocked his head. “And how exactly do you know my last name? I damn sure didn’t give it to you—Ulysses MacDonald.”
Since my name was in the weekly newspaper, I hardly needed to question how he knew. “Touché.”
“I went to school with Spring Dixon.”
Oh shit. “I didn’t realize that. She’s…a very good reporter.”
“You mean she’s nosy, a pain in the ass, and a skilled investigator.” He smiled. “I’m certain you know she’s the one who uncovered RD Watts’s true identity.”
The fantasy writer of the incredibly successful and renowned Zaragoza trilogy. Also known as Professor Raven Duhamel. Serious academic identified as one of Mission City’s most famous authors.
I pointed out, “I don’t think the professor wanted the world to know who she was.” Spring’s reveal of the woman made me very wary of my cub reporter. She might be new—but she was also aggressiveand of thetake no prisonersandrevealing secrets is just finevariety. One day that ethos was likely to bite her in the ass. Sadly, she wasn’t taking advice from me.
Finn shrugged. “Linguistic analysis by AI wasn’t as big a few years ago. Matching the name to the books was impressive work on Spring’s part.”
“Yes, Spring had to beg for time on the university computer. Today, she could do the comparison in the comfort of her living room.”
“Right. So we all need to be careful.” His blue eyes sparkled.
