But then when I called out, I didn't call for Lo even though she was home. I called for Cash.
And when he came running, pausing to ask if he could come in, touch my shoulder, help me out of the tub, I knew things had changed with him.
His long-sought trust had finally been given. And I never flinched again from him.
"Why didn't you tell me this?"
"I don't have a good answer to that," my mom said, shaking her head. "I think that after some time passed, after you started to improve with therapy, come into the woman you were meant to be, I didn't want to drag you backward, I didn't want to undo all your progress. So I sat on it. Waited to see if you came to me with it. Us with it."
"But you went to Finch McAwley with it," my father said, brows drawing together. "Of all people."
"He's a good man," I insisted, knee-jerk, seeing the way my mother's lips twitched.
"Malc sure thinks so," my father said.
"Wait... Malcolm? How would he know that?"
"Seems he went to have a visit with your man," mom said, smiling. "Wanted to get to know what kind of man Finch was. Malc concluded he was decent, and left it at that. And there is Ferryn and Vance too, of course. There's some curiosity about his past, but everyone thinks he's a laid-back, funny guy with a good heart. Funny, I have a soft spot for that type too," she said, hip-checking her husband who I swear still looked at her like she was the reason the sun came up every morning.
"He is all of those things. And I know about his past. It's not my place to tell you about it, but he had it rough."
"His dad was a dick," my mom agreed. "I suspected that he was the one who gave that kid that scar on his face."
"Compared to most of the people in this town, his criminal life has been pretty tame."
"Except for the stint inside?" my father asked.
"Let's just say things happened and no one would blame him. But he's away from that now. And he's here. And he is giving us the seed money for the project."
"Now, is this thing that happened last night part of the project?" Mom asked.
"No. That was more... I don't know. It was Finch's idea to road trip there."
"To do what?"
"For him to kill Michael," I admitted.
"You guys have only known each other a few weeks, but he was ready to kill for you?" she asked.
"Yes. It's been an interesting few weeks. And he has a good moral compass. But he didn't... in the end, he didn't do it," I told them, giving them a truth I had planned to keep to myself for a little longer, until I got a chance to analyze it myself.
"Told you she would want to do it," my father said, nudging my mom.
"I don't think I wanted to do it," I corrected. "I planned to have Finch do it. But then there he was. And there was a picture of me on the wall. And he said some ugly things and I just... I don't know. I lost it. I grabbed the gun. I took him out. And then, well..."
"A mind vacation? Mom asked, having always called it that, not to diminish it, but to ease my discomfort whenever it happened.
"Yeah. But he was good," I insisted, wanting--no, needing--them to see in him what I saw in him. "He got me out of there, got me back to the hotel. He stayed with me. And then he didn't look at me like I was a complete lunatic when I woke up in a panic and started snapping at him for not getting rid of our clothes from the night before. And, ah, he also sat me down and had a talk with me."
"What kind of talk?" Dad asked.
"A relationship talk. Namely, that he thinks we should give one a try. And if it doesn't work out, we can just go back to being friends."
"And how do you feel about that?" Mom asked.
"I want to try. I am going to talk to my therapist about it. I mean, not about the, ah, specifics of the road trip. But the rest of it. I think she is going to be all for it, but I want to get these thoughts out, y'know? What?" I asked when her lips twitched.
"A 'follow your head and not your heart' girl to the core," she said, and I knew it wasn't an insult. She had been much like that in the past as well. Before Cash charmed his way into her heart.
"Well, you know me; I have to be practical."
"And since we know you have to unpack," my father said, leading my mom toward the door, "we will get out of your hair. I imagine your mother will be bugging you about your guy later."
"Dad?" I called.
"Yeah?" he asked, poking his head back in after following my mom into the hall.
"You're not going to go all rogue like Malc, are you? Cornering Finch," I explained.
"Tell you what, you decide that he's something serious, the two of us will share a beer."
"Where? At the Henchmen compound with all the big, scary bikers there?" I asked, smiling because he looked so pleased at the idea. "With all the guns scattered around."
"What can I say? It's your old man's job to try to intimidate your man a little bit, isn't it?"
"You'll find he doesn't intimidate easily."
"Obviously. He's not intimidated by you," he said, coming forward, pressing a kiss to my temple. "And aside from your mother, you might be the most intimidating woman I've ever had the pleasure of knowing."
With that, he was going, leaving me there with warm and gooey feelings in my chest.
I methodically handled all my luggage.
Normally, I felt relief when everything was back in order, but there was a sad little pang in my chest when it was all done. I guess because a trip that had ended up meaning a lot more than I anticipated was over.
But, I reminded myself, what was to come would likely be even better.
I didn't exactly know what to expect for the progression of my relationship with Finch. I couldn't claim experience with such things. There was a small bit of reassurance, though, in the fact that Finch didn't have any experience with serious romantic relationships either. We would trip along this together, I guessed.
I called and made an appointment with my therapist, wondering what she would say about all of this.
That it was going to be good for me.
That I might find it healing.
A part of me bristled at the idea that I would need someone else--in a romantic sense--to help me heal. But maybe that thought pattern had been a defense in the first place. Because there was no denying that being around Finch had already started to soothe wounds I hadn't even been aware were still raw and open.
I'd gotten to used to my life the way it was, and to everyone around knowing what I had been through, and therefore never trying to push me.
Finch hadn't exactly been pushing anything either, but maybe nudging. And in his doing so, I realized I could be around men who weren't family --or very close family friends--without feeling that uncomfortable, distrustful rolling in my stomach, without flinching when they got too close.
I also learned that I could reach out to him, allow him to reach out to me, enjoy his closeness, feel the unfamiliar stirrings of desire.
And, admittedly, I could not have learned about that without him there.
So the logic was pretty sound.
I could heal old wounds with a new relationship. Maybe not quickly, not all at once. But slowly and steadily over time.