Even once was too often. She had known the answer before she’d asked the question. His father had drowned his grief in scotch and taken his rage out on the boy that lived, on Finn. Her Finn.
She’d brushed his wet, floppy hair from his eyes and made him look at her when he didn’t answer. “It’s okay. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I will always be here to sit with you. And I’ll always patch you up.”
Even at sixteen, she’d meant it with the fierceness of a grown woman, and as she’d matured, so too had her desire to protect him from his pain.
The men still chatted over ribs, tearing into the meat like cavemen while Mom watched her with worried eyes.
Another memory assaulted Molly as she struggled to breathe. Mom had found her and Finn the next morning: Finn laid out on the sofa, his head in Molly’s lap as she’d stroked the side of his face. Mom had carried on like it was totally normal to find her teenager alone in the dark with an older boy, but her sorrowful eyes conveyed all they needed to: Mom knew, too.
When she’d gotten home from school that night, Mom sat her and Will down at the table. As a teacher in their high school, she’d heard rumors about Finn’s father in the staff room. Finn’s behavior in school, picking fights, detention every day, and joining any and all after school or weekend activities suggested a disruptive home. It was hardly surprising, all things considered.
Finn’s mom had sunk into a dark depression after Liam’s death. She’d received treatment, but spent most of her days in an almost fugue state at a local medical facility. It had been just Finn and his dad at home. Molly shivered.
Mom’s brow creased. “You okay?” She mouthed, glancing around the table.
With a barely noticeable shake of her head, Molly pointed at Finn. Mom’s mouth pulled into a grim line, and she nodded. It was the same every February. As a family, they mourned: the loss of Liam who none of them had ever met, the loss of Finn’s own family, who he never spoke to anymore, and the loss of Finn’s childhood.
The food on her plate had lost its appeal, and the food already in her stomach churned, curdling with each breath she forced into her body. She pushed back from the table, her chair squeaking against the tiles. “I’m not feeling great. I’m going to the bathroom.”
Mom nodded, Will and Dad kept eating, Finn met her stare and canted his head, but she waved him off.
She was used to Finn’s February Funk, it happened every year without fail. It shouldn’t impact her as badly as it was. There’d been no trigger, nothing new or out of the ordinary to send her into such a spiral. Yet she sat on the edge of the bed in her old room, clawing at her scalp as she held her head in her hands reliving fragments of her past with Finn, unable to stop the surge of anguish over what he had to endure.
She locked her feelings down for a reason – she never knew what to do with them when they hit, and when it came to Finn… they always hit that much harder.
Recalling the morning after she’d patched him up for the first time, she pressed the heels of her hands, against her eyes to stop the prickling of tears behind her eyelids. He’d bounded off the couch, pleading with her not to tell anyone and apologizing for dumping his shit on her lap.
She’d wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around him, but Will burst in, ruining the moment and asking why Finn was there, looking like crap.
“That must have been some shit, MoMo. You’ve been up here for a while.” Finn’s unexpected voice was smooth, like bourbon pouring over perfect ice cubes.
She rubbed her tummy and gave him a small smile. “Period shits. They’re the worst.”
He pointed a finger, tossing a grin at her. “Your period was last week.”
She shook her head. He couldn’t possibly know she’d had her period last week. But he was right. Was it a lucky guess? Or did he really know? She dreaded to think how he knew the inner workings of her cycle. She shook her head, he couldn’t. He had to be deflecting. Her heart twitched. “Stop pretending you’re okay. I know you’re not.”
“Don’t be sad for me, Molly.” He didn’t deny it, but wouldn’t meet her eyes, either.
A sob caught in her throat as she stepped toward him. “I’m sad because you’re sad. What can I do?” She reached out to touch his chest but stopped short. If she touched him, he might feel how much she… liked him, which would only be embarrassing for the both of them. She curled her fingers, lowering her hand to her side.
A heavy smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “What you always do, Mini Mo.” He ruffled her hair.
“Pizza and beer?”
He nodded. “And patch me up when Austin kicks my ass in the ring.”
She hugged herself. “I hate when you go fighting.”
“But you’ll still patch me up?”
“I’ll always patch you up.”
His cornflower blue eyes were sad as they held her gaze. They flicked to her lips, and her skin caught fire as he took a step toward her. She bit the inside of her cheek. Was he going to kiss her? She had to have read the signs wrong, right? He was sad, emotional, looking for comfort and she was a warm body who knew his darkest moments, standing in front of him in an empty room.
Her heart stuttered as he reached for her jaw. A throat cleared behind Finn and he dropped his hand. Dad hovered a few feet back. “Mom’s boxing up your dinner, Molly. Will’s heading back to the dorms. Are you staying?”
She took a very deliberate and long step back from Finn. “Nah, I’ll head back to ChoCho.” She needed to be alone, to distract herself from the crappy feelings toying with that traitorous heart of hers. Maybe she’d find a party to hit up, or call the hot blonde from the bar, maybe she’d booty call one of the Murphy brothers, and if he said no, maybe she’d try the other one.
