“For the love of god, Finn!”
“Let it go, Emma!” Finn matches my volume. “You don’t get know every single detail of everyone else’s life, okay?”
“Seriously? You think this is just me being nosy?” I bark out a scoff. “This is about me protecting the people I love. I have to know what’s going on in their lives in order to fix things when they go wrong.”
“Well, since I’m clearly not one of those people, why don’t you just drop it?” The bitterness in his voice fills the Singer. “You can’t control everything.”
“So fucking what if I want to control things?” I’m nearly shouting now. “How does not wanting to let my friends get hurt make me such a shitty person?”
Finn doesn’t say anything to that.
I’m not an idiot. I know I have a bossy streak a mile wide. That I badger, and nag, and relish being the big sister—not just to Liz, but to all my friends. It’s more than that though. My need to fix everything isn’t just about being responsible or looking out for my friends. It’s about trying to protect my own heart. To hold the shattered pieces of myself together by whatever means necessary. Because when there’s one massive thing in your life that you havezerocontrol over—like when a parent abandons you—then you look for stability where you can get it. So Finn can say I’m controlling all he wants. Frankly, I think I’m justified. Especially when it comes to him.
I turn my body as far as it will go within the confines of the seat belt, hunching my shoulders and leaning my head against the window.
We drive another forty minutes in silence.
I try to regulate my breathing, but I’m still fuming. Angry at Finn for not telling me the full story about what happened with him and Sybil that night, and angry at myself that I let myself get sucked back in. I’ve been here before—fresh off the high of Finn Hughes touching me with more passion and reverence than any other man has, only to have the cold shock of reality set in soon after. But I’d made contingencies this time to protect myself. I’d told Finn this was a onetime thingspecificallyto avoid succumbing to this same feeling, but I can’t help the memories that start to bubble up. I’m suddenly bombarded by scenes of Katie Dalton’s wedding… just a few months afterthe night Finn and I shared on my rooftop. Me, thinking things were finally going to happen between us; Finn, ripping my heart out of my chest, yet again… That was supposed to be the last time. But I let a stupid hammock and a starry sky and the magic of Vegas cloud my vision. I let my guard down once again and got burned. What was I thinking, pretending I was someone who could just make fun mistakes and not suffer the consequences? Whatever proclamations of casualness I made at the diner were just wishful thinking. I’m not Sybil. I can’t just ride the roller coaster, experiencing the highs and lows with equal exhilaration. What I need is stability. Honesty. Trust. And Finn Hughes is not someone I can trust. I need to remember that.
Just then, Finn’s phone rings, and we both reach for it, but he’s faster than me. He takes a look at the screen, answers, and tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear.
“Hi, Christine,” he says, his voice a little rough from disuse. I try my best to listen in, but I can’t hear the words of the caller. “I’ve been hoping you’d call.” He smiles into the phone, and his mood seems to lift a bit. I hate the jealousy spiking through me. “I’m a little tied up right now—I’m at a friend’s wedding this weekend.” There’s a pause while Christine replies, then Finn gives another grin—but this time, it’s his too-cool-for-school smirk, the one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah, no plus-one. You know that’s not how I roll. But hey, let me text you when I’m back. We’ll get something on the calendar… Looking forward to it.”
I’m burning to ask who it was, but I won’t give Finn the satisfaction of calling me nosy again. So I offer up my own explanation instead.
“One of your dating app matches, then? Make sure Christine knows you’re an open relationship kinda guy.”
Finn flinches as the barb lands, and I almost regret saying it. “Why would you even care? I’m out of your system, remember?” His tone is angry, but there’s a thread of hurt running through it.
I can’t believe the hypocrisy. “Idon’tcare.” Much. “I just don’t understand why you’re so mad at me, when you’re literally setting up a date while I’m sitting next to you in the car.” Images of Finn with a leggy blonde—which is what I’ve decided Christine looks like—flood my brain.
Then, without warning, he swerves to the side of the road. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” He slams the car into park.
“What are you doing?”
“I think there might be an issue with one of the tires.” Finn’s answer is completely out of left field. “Haven’t you heard the clunking for the past five miles?” No, I hadn’t. For half a second, I’d thought Finn was pulling over so we could have this argument out, once and for all. Is it possible that part of me is disappointed it’s just Singer maintenance? Not that I would even really know what I’d say. I wish the lines were more clearly drawn. I wish I knew what side I was supposed to argue for. Am I team pro or con?
Finn gets out of the car and circles around back, bending down to take a look at the rear tires. Seconds later, I’m out of the car too. I may have a million conflicting feelings about Finn swirling around inside me, but I have nothing but love for his vehicle. I walk around to the back of the car and hover over his left shoulder.
“Do you need any h—”
“I’ve got this,” Finn says coldly.
And that sends my blood boiling. Sybil might need me to be her anchor, but spending all this time with Finn has left me drowning. The best thing I can do for Sybil is get back to LA and get my head on straight. “You know what? I think we should just call it. We should go back to LA and help the Rains with whatever damage control they need to do, and I can figure out how to help Sybil from the resort.” And then I can handle myowndamage control. I thought I could handle sleeping with Finn and staying friends, but I clearly can’t. I need to put an end to this road trip from hell and get back to my real life.
“We can’t stop now,” Finn says. “We’re so close.”
I almost bark out a bitter laugh. It’s a complete role reversal of the positions we’ve held for the past two days. Just when I’m fed up with the chase, Finn hooks his claws in.
“We’re no closer now than we were when we left Malibu,” I say. “At this point, Sybil’s going to make it all the way to the Atlantic before we’re able to pin her down. Give me these.” I yank the keys from his hand, and before he can stop me, I’m in the driver’s seat with the door locked. I crack the window down an inch. “I will let you in the car if you agree to head back to LA.”
Finn crouches down, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. I’m upset that even angry, Finn manages to look gorgeous. My skin is flushed a mottled red from my hairline down to my chest, but he just looks like a knight heading into battle.
He exhales once, and his nostrils flare. “Fine.” He makes his way over to the passenger side and tugs at the door handle.It’s still locked. I roll the passenger window down one inch, too, and say, “And you promise not to take the keys from me.”
Very deliberately, he unclenches his fists. I can’t see his face, but through the passenger side window I watch his chest fill with air and this time when he exhales, it’s laced with a growl. “Yes, Emma. I promise not to take the keys—tomycar—from you.” The low rumble of his voice sends a shiver through me. My eyes dart to the hood of the car, remembering the feel of Finn’s hands holding me steady, keeping me from slipping to the ground. I shake it off and unlock the car. He slides into the passenger seat, buckles his seat belt, and looks straight ahead. I plug the resort’s address into my map app, point the car west, and we’re off. In eight hours we’ll be back in Malibu, and we’ll both go our separate ways.
The mood in the car is heavier than it’s been the entire trip. This stretch of Arizona highway is a flat expanse of nothingness—scrubby little brown plants stretch out in every direction. The occasional semitruck is the only sign of life. Finn hasn’t said a word for twenty miles, so I nearly run off the road when he yells, “Stop!”
