One or two people win, and everyone else loses.
Like my mother lost.
No. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. But I’ll tell him I’ll think about it. I’ll think about it whether I want to or not. I’ll think about it every time my father hurls a beer can at me or slaps me for buying the wrong brand of frozen pizza. I’ll think about it every time I clean the toilet covered in his piss. I’ll think about it every time my leg aches. Every time I wake up screaming in a house where I’m not safe.
He’ll know I’m not lying.
I wash my clothes in the sink again. I won’t be the smelly poor kid. Never again.
Ugh. I can’t stop thinking about how good it felt when Finn touched me. And then our strange, oddly romantic dinner, and that kiss at the end?
A cruel part of my brain reminds me that this is probably another tactic he’s using to get his way. That no one could be attracted to me physically. Especially not someone like Finn. He’s arrogant, sure, but handsome and intelligent. He’s fighting for his family. It’s for all the wrong reasons, but maybe it’s hard for him to see another way out. Maybe that’s something I can help him with.
I need to be careful, though. Undermining his intelligence set him off in a big way.
A tingle of desire courses through my body. I leave my clothes to dry and climb into his bed. The sheets and comforter are silky soft, but smell like him—warm, oaky, masculine. I’m being silly, but I wonder what it’d be like to have a man sleep next to me—one who would protect me from my bad dreams and the people that caused them. Someone who valued me for more than the things I did for him.
Finn is not that man, but I still think of him kissing me and let my hand wander between my legs. I’m wearing the shirt he loaned me, but I couldn’t put on his ex’s yoga pants again. I just couldn’t.
His deep, throaty question floats through my mind.
How often do you touch yourself?
I close my eyes and fantasize about a different life. One with that imaginary man who can’t keep his hands off me, but not in the bad way I’m used to. I stroke myself, exploring what feels good as I picture someone else’s hands doing it. My orgasm catches me by surprise, and I let out a little gasp. It was different than the one with Finn—less intense, smaller, but nice.
I wish it wasn’t his face I saw when I came, though. And I wish it wasn’t his hands I imagined touching me.
How long does he expect me to stay here? It’s all so surreal. Technically I’m being held against my will, but it’s mostly my fear at what would happen if I left that’s keeping me here. Honestly, I could get up and leave right now if I wanted to.
But Finn’s warning about P.J. and his father coming after me and my brother scares me. Am I safer here? I’m not so sure about that. But I’m conflicted. I’m not going to give up on the union, but how can I keep James Carney from coming after Benjamin? Would Finn at least give me that?
And if he did, what would he expect in return?
The next morning, we drink coffee together and it’s so bizarre. Does he know I thought about him and touched myself last night? This man has an uncanny ability to know everything.
“What’re you thinking about?”
Jesus. Right on cue.
“You’re blushing,” he says, giving me a lopsided smile.
He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and black and gray pajama pants that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Even in loungewear, fresh out of bed, he’s outrageously attractive.
I decide that’s a better angle than confessing my silly schoolgirl fantasies about a man who is so far out of my league, oh, and who also is the son of the man who had me nearly killed.
Jesus, Sasha. Remember that part?
“I’m just embarrassed,” I say. “I look and feel ridiculous, especially next to you.”
He frowns. “You don’t look ridiculous.”
“Come on, Finn,” I sigh. “This is absurd. I’m bad-side-of-the tracks trash wearing shit you probably wouldn’t even burn for fuel and I’m so out of place here.”
He props his hand up on his chin. “You’re not trash, Sasha.”
God I’m going to start crying. I can’t with this man.
“I can’t give you what you want.” The tears pooling in my eyes course down my face. This is strategically a huge mistake, but I don’t know what else to say. I don’t have anything to fight the Carneys with other than my integrity. I can’t give that up. “I’m sorry, Finn. I wish I could take what you’re offering, and you’re right; I’m probably stupid not to. I’ll end up being one of the bodies dredged out of the Mystic when your family finally cleans it. But I can’t give up someone else because I’m afraid.” I put my face in my hands and cry.
I hear Finn leave the table and I fold over, placing my arms on the table and resting my head in them. When I finally get a hold of myself, I see that Finn’s left a box of tissues next to me. The expensive ones, naturally. I try to clean my face as best I can, but I’m red and blotchy. Just another reminder of how different I am from Finn’s cool refinement—I must look so repulsive.
I move to the couch and tuck my knees under my chin, holding on to my sore ankle.
I don’t get up when Finn sits down next to me.
“I wish you would let me help you,” he says.
“Come on,” I sigh. “None of this is for me. You want me to sell someone out to keep your father off your back.” I look up at him. “I don’t know what he has over you, Finn, but is it worth it?”
He flinches. His emotions always reveal themselves in small flashes.
“You don’t understand,” he says, evenly. “And that’s not your fault. But I’m telling you that if you continue your work, continue to defy my father, he’s going to hurt you. And not just you. Your brother too. And eventually, when he finds out who started this, and he will, he’ll hurt that person too. If we stop the unionization now, I’ll do my best to improve staff conditions so they won’t need a union.”
I tilt my head. Jesus, he means it.
“I believe that you would try,” I say. “But when it comes down to it, you’re going to do your father’s bidding, whatever the cost. And if he tells you to fire someone for asking for a raise, you will. The staff need protection from a unit not under your father’s direct control.”
I’m not foolish enough to think James Carney couldn’t infiltrate the union in another way, but there’s a better chance of improvement with the union than without it.
He’s staring straight ahead. I find myself oddly compelled to touch him, but I’m too scared to do it. He’s probably furious with me. For defying him, but also for pointing out how he’s under his father’s thumb.
“I don’t approve of what my father does.” His voice is quiet. “I didn’t know he’d hurt you so badly. And I was disgusted when I found out. I admire your integrity, Sasha, I really do. But you’re making a mistake by fighting him like this.”
Like this? I wonder what that means.
“You’ve never had the chance to do anything but fight,” he continues. “And I don’t want your life to end that way.”