She’s never been impressed with me, less so since she started dating Kieran Doyle.
“Finn. Is everything okay?”
I never call her. We don’t talk, not like that. And I was such an asshole to her about Kieran, smug just like our fucking father, thinking I knew everything about her, about Kieran, about their relationship.
I don’t know a goddamn thing about people loving each other.
“I need your help.”
She sighs quietly and then says, “Is it about the woman? The one Bridget told me you took to the gala?”
“Good news travels fast,” I drawl.
“You have to admit that it’s unusual for you to take a date to a family event. We haven’t met most of your lady friends.”
“I know.” I swallow the sharp comments I want to make. I’m angry, and Siobhan doesn’t deserve to be the recipient of that. “I like her. But I fucked up.”
I can’t believe I’m saying it. Least of all to Siobhan.
But I tell her what happened anyway, all the grisly details.
“How could Dad do something like that? And how could he ask you to hurt that poor girl or her brother again?”
Jesus. To have access to that sort of belief in our father, still. What’s that like?
“You have to know that the family business involves collateral damage, Siobhan. I know you’re cut out of a lot of it, but you’re no fool.”
Still, she and my father have always had a decent relationship since she gave him what he wanted; she’s a talented, professional musician who elevates the family name and hides some of the uglier things he does.
Who could believe that world-class violinist Siobhan Carney’s father is a criminal?
“Do you want me to talk to him?” she asks.
“No. You’ll just be another target and I don’t want that for you.”
“Finn, you don’t have to take this all on yourself.”
“It won’t change anything,” I insist. “I can handle what Dad throws at me. I just don’t know what to do about Sasha.”
“Have you apologized to her?”
“How?” I snap. “How the hell do you apologize for something like that? You know how much I love language, but I don’t know what the fuck I should say. I don’t know how to make it better.”
“It’s not about making it better,” she says. “It’s not about getting her to forgive you. It’s about admitting you were wrong and acknowledging the damage you did to her. It’s about finding ways to address the fallout so things don’t get worse. She gets to set all the terms, Finn. She gets to set up all the boundaries, and you have to respect them, no matter what.”
Even if she never wants to see me again.
I’ll tell her the truth, then. All of it. Even the part I’ve never told anyone.
“And don’t just show up at her house,” Siobhan adds quickly.
Damn. She knows me better than I’d like to admit.
“Let her pick when and where, if she wants to meet you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate this. I know I haven’t been supportive of you.”
She laughs. “That’s an understatement. But Finn? I know what it must’ve taken for you to call me and ask for advice. I’m proud of you.”
“Okay, I’m not interested in therapy time here…but I appreciate what you’re saying.”
“Let me know how it goes. Good luck.”
We say our goodbyes, and I stare at my phone. Sasha’s number is in my phone from when she texted me that ridiculous card last week.
Has it really only been a week?
I think about what Siobhan said and write out a message to Sasha.
I owe you an apology and an explanation. If you want to hear either, tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.
I hit send, and all I can do now is wait.
17
Sasha
What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
I stare at Finn’s message on my phone and take a swig of shitty red wine.
Drinking a glass of wine locked up in my childhood bedroom while my father drunkenly rages about some hockey trade downstairs is the cherry on top of a real peach of a day.
But I’m mixing my fruit metaphors.
Benjamin’s at a friend’s house for the weekend, and I’m just glad he’s away from this hellscape and in a place with a decent security system at the very least.
I did a lot of research at work, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about the Carneys’ threats. A crime hasn’t been committed, so I can’t go to the police. They have to wait for me or Benjamin to get hurt before they can follow up.
It’s not a surprise—I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know that women often take their fears to the authorities and are met with sympathy, but little else.
Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to up and leave—first and last month’s rent alone would wipe out my savings, and I’d need to find something Benjamin and I could share. The house is in my father’s name, so even though I cover most of the mortgage I have nothing to show for it.
I could still go to the Globe, and that’s my reserve plan. With the election on Tuesday, it doesn’t make sense to stir the pot. Not yet.
So it’s waiting. And worrying. Which is where the wine comes in. It’s not as good as the glass Finn gave me last night. Jamilah told me that was a two-hundred-dollar glass of wine. I hope Finn appreciated the part of the evening where I chugged it after telling his father to fuck off.
I look at his message again. Do I want to meet him?
A wave of excitement and disgust passes through me. I can’t help but remember coming under him last night, and an echo of that pleasure moves through me. Intellectually my attraction to him is gone, but physically? Still there.
It’s hard to reconcile the pleasure with the pain of his orchestrating that second assault.
Apparently his father caught him up on our morning conversation.
Is this another setup? What’s the smart thing to do here? Even if I do hear him out, how can I believe anything he says? I couldn’t see through his lies, not at all.
I drink another glass of wine, looking around my bedroom. There are still vestiges from when I was a little girl, and it’s depressing what a small life I’m leading. I’m trapped here by my responsibility to others, just like I was trapped in Finn’s apartment. Not directly by him, but by the fear of what would happen to me and the people who rely on me if I left before he was ready for me to go.
Until now, I’d been focused on getting through to the end of the summer, but even if I manage to get Benjamin in school, then what? What’s next for me?
It’s unrealistic to think I could pick up and move to California with Benjamin. We don’t have that kind of money, and even if we did, he needs his own space to grow. As much as I hate to admit it, Finn was spot on about that. He can’t be a man if I don’t get at least partially out of the way.
I turn my phone over in my hands a few times.
Fuck it. What have I got to lose at this point, anyway?
Dunks on the corner of Broadway and Union in Everett. 9:00am. Tomorrow.