“Oh my God, you’re crazy, and I’m sure you’re happy that you’re getting your way with this.”
“Absolutely I am. Thank you, Finn’s dad. Give me the address, and I’ll send a fruit basket.”
Being alone with Finn isn’t out of the ordinary.
Him temporarily living with me? That’s a different story.
It’s not that I don’t feel comfortable around him. I’m just uncertain of where this will take us. We’ve been dipping our toes into such new territory lately—fake dating, him playing my baby daddy, now us staying together. This has been a month of twists and turns.
A sense of disappointment hits me when he walks through the front door with only a duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. He packed light as though this is only temporary and he’s scared of asking for too much. I wasn’t expecting a moving truck, but a duffel bag seems too fleeting. Deep in my heart, I already know it’ll hurt when he returns to his place.
He swings the bag off his shoulder and grips the strap. “I’m going to toss this in Cassidy’s room.”
I nod with a smile and head into the kitchen for a glass of water.
Finn meets me. “I really appreciate you letting me stay here.”
“Always,” I reply.
“Does this mean I get the roommate hot chocolate you girls always talk about?”
Georgia and I started the roomie hot chocolate when we first moved in together. We created the perfect spiked hot chocolate recipe and drank them from mugs with our faces on them. When she moved out and Cassidy moved in, I got a mug for her, and that was our drink we made once a week. As a joke, we bought Lincoln one when he started staying with us on the regular.
“I can make you one,” I tell him. “And a virgin for yours truly.”
“Shit, I need to quit forgetting you can’t drink.”
“Geesh, you say that like I’m an alcoholic or something.”
He jerks his head back, and his shoulders stiffen at my comment. “Nah, I know alcoholics, and that’s not you.” Gone is the playfulness he had.
Finn doesn’t show his emotional side often. He’s a pro at maintaining the cool and fun guy image, but like me, sometimes, the things we want to hide the most shine through the cracks.
Even though it’s never been brought up, I’m certain there is alcoholism or addiction in his family. He never drinks more than two beers, I’ve never seen him drunk, and he’s the closest with the one friend in our group who doesn’t drink.
As bad as I’ve wanted to poke at Finn’s head until I picked everything out, I need to wait until he’s ready to tell me—that he fully wants to open himself up and release what pains him.
“What if we skip the drink and have a roomie pizza instead?” I suggest, tilting my head to the side and meeting his gaze.
His shoulders slump as if a weight has been lifted. “Pizza sounds damn good.”
Since neither of us wants to fix a pizza, we order one. I change out of my maxi dress into sweats and join Finn in the living room, taking the opposite side of the couch from him.
“I meant what I said, Grace. I’m here for you if you need anything. You name it, and I’m there. You never have to do anything alone.”
For a moment, he’s rendered me speechless. Finn has always been helpful, always told me he’s here for me, no matter what, but this goes deeper than before. He’s laying it out there—that he’s not only there for me but also my baby. There’s nothing Finn would refuse me.
That’s not me bragging.
It’s me knowing that I’ve never been in love with a man, and I will never love a man as I do him. Even if I searched high and low, Finn has a heart that no one else has—one filled with forgiveness, which is more than I deserve.
We eat pizza. We watch Netflix.
When I go to bed, my nerves spiral.
Please let this be a normal night for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Finn
There’s a scream.
A loud, piercing scream.
I jump out of bed and sprint out of the bedroom.
Rushing down the hall, I follow the second scream to Grace’s bedroom. Wiggling the doorknob, I find it locked.
“Grace!” I shout, pounding on the door in a panic. “Grace! Open up!”
The screaming stops.
My hands are shaking as I draw in deep breaths. The doorknob moves, and Grace flings the door open. A dim light in her bedroom allows me to see the expression on her beautiful face.
It’s fear.
Torment.
Expressions I’ve never witnessed coming from her.
A tear runs down her cheek.
“Are you okay?” My voice is harder than it should be, but I’m fucking scared.
She’s staring straight ahead, but it’s like she can’t see me.
Staring into nothing.
I snap my fingers in front of her.
She blinks as if powering back on and stares at me blankly.
I slip by her, barging into the bedroom to see if there’s anyone I need to kill.
“A nightmare,” she chokes out. “I had a nightmare.”
Whipping around, I watch the recognition dawn on her face of what happened. She takes slow steps to her bed and sits on the edge. I do another sweep of her room and verify the closet and bathroom are empty. I don’t want to seem overbearing, but I’ve never heard someone yell like that over a nightmare.
After confirming I’m not about to kick someone’s ass, I sit down next to her, leaving a few inches between us. Her hand is pressed to her chest, and her eyes are brimmed with tears. Her breathing is ragged, and she works hard to control it.
I wait until she calms.
Wait until she looks at me.
But she only does the first.
Reaching out, I tenderly take her hand. “Are the nightmares a normal thing … or is it because I’m here?” My body turns rigid with tension as I await her response.
I shut my eyes, and it hits me. All the times that Georgia and Cassidy said they couldn’t leave Cassidy alone. Her hating the dark and staying at her parents’ whenever they worked late.
I always took it as a woman not wanting to stay home alone—which is understandable. Especially since Georgia’s form of a good time is murder documentaries.
“I wouldn’t say normal …” She shrugs, forcing herself to appear nonchalant. “I get them when I’m stressed.”
My pounding heart relaxes when she half-turns to face me.
At least it’s something.
Better than her staring at the damn wall.
“It’s not you being here, I promise,” she says, her face pale. “They just happen sometimes.”
I nod, another question popping up inside my head. “Do you always sleep with your door locked?”
“It’s something I’ve done since my teens and not because I’m uncomfortable with you here.”
“Are you okay? You want me to grab you water? Anything?”
She shakes her head. “I’m okay.”
“I’m right down the hall.” I point toward the door.
Her face grows paler.
I change course, slightly stuttering as I struggle to find the right words. “If you’re not up for going back to bed, we can watch a movie?”