Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Finn’s expression shutters.
“Most nights, I cry myself to sleep,” I blurt out.
Finn sucks in a sharp breath, his brows knitting. “Chess—”
I hold him off when he tries to hug me. “I’m not telling you for sympathy. I barely want to admit this to myself. But losing everything has thrown me, Finn.”
“Honey. Fuck.” His other hand cups the back of my neck with a gentle squeeze. “You should have told me.”
“I’m telling you now. Because the one bright spot in all this, the one anchor I have, is you.”
A distressed, almost angry sound leaves him, and he rests his forehead against mine. “Honey, I can’t . . .” His eyes squeeze shut. He seems at a loss for words.
My fingers curl around his wrists, holding on. “I don’t want to risk that. Not when I feel so . . .” Lost. But I can’t say it.
I don’t have to. He pulls me close, despite my protests, and tucks me into the shelter of his chest. “It’s all right, Chester. I’ll never push you. We’re good, yeah? Everything will be okay.”
“Don’t coddle me,” I mutter, even though I can’t find the strength to move away. “I don’t need it.”
Finn hums in his throat. “Yes, I know. You’re a total badass. But you’ve got this wrong. You’re coddling me. I have needs, woman.”
A broken laugh escapes me. “I’m already regretting my confession.”
“Chess?”
“Yeah?” My voice is a rough mumble in his sweater.
“Shut up and let me hug you.”
With a sigh, I give up the ghost and lean fully into him because hugging Finn should be a total body experience. Despite my weak-ass protests, he soothes the ugly jitters that have started up in my chest and belly.
I’m not certain how long we stand there. Long enough for me to grow warm and soft in his arms. Then I clear my throat. “I’ll be your lady beard.”
Finn draws away enough to look me in the eye. I hate that his expression is strained and worried. “No,” he says. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Well, it’s not your best,” I agree with a weak smile. “But I see the logic. If it helps your mom relax, and thus you, it’s worth doing.”
Finn frowns, but I can see he wants to accept.
“Come on.” I nudge his shoulder. “We can do this. A couple of cuddles. I’ll tell your family how much I worship you—”
“I do like the sound of that.” With a laugh, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and turns us back down the walk.
When I first met him, I’d have never guessed he was easygoing. I know his behavior then had been caused by stress and panic. But even so, he seems to be another person with me. There’s no bullshit with Finn, just open honesty.
He put his trust in me and revealed his pain. It isn’t something I take lightly. I wrap my arm around his waist as we walk along. “I’m sorry about the baby, Finn.”
His step falters a bit, but he doesn’t let me go. “Yeah,” he says low. “Me, too.”
We walk a bit before his voice cuts through our silence. “It’s not going to go away for me.”
My arm slides from him as I look up. “What isn’t?”
Finn’s expression is solemn, but when he catches my eye, the corner of his lip quirks. “Wanting you.”
I’m not aware of stopping, but suddenly I’m standing still, unable to speak.
The look in his eyes is almost self-deprecating, but there’s a thread of stubbornness beneath his gentle tone. “I said I wouldn’t push you, and I meant it. But one day, Chess, you’re going to feel safe enough to let go. And I’m going to be there to catch you when you fall.”
Twelve
Chess
Finn is waiting to catch me. The thought haunts me more than I want to admit. It runs through my head in the weeks that lead up to our trip to California. It looms large when James finally comes home and slyly offers to let me stay with him, both of us knowing full well that I’m not going anywhere.
I like living with Finn. Though I want my condo back desperately, living anywhere else doesn’t appeal.
Actual Thanksgiving rolls around. James and I spend it with Finn and his friends.
Finn’s team plays that day, but he gets us tickets, which nearly makes James cry. Wrapped up in team scarves and woolen caps, James and I sit at the fifty-yard line and scream ourselves hoarse.
At one point, Finn taps his fist to his chest and salutes in our direction. Which causes the crowd around us to go wild and speculate why he’d singled out our section; James, however, wraps his arm around my neck and gives me a happy noogie.
“Who’s caught the quarterback?” he sings.
I do a very bad job of pretending to be annoyed. And don’t even try to hide my joy when Finn and his team win the game.