Page 101 of Finn's Future

Reaper jerked his chin towards the station across the street. “Private compartments on there if you pay extra.”

That was definitely intentional.

Lucy shot Reaper a look that said she knew exactly what game he was playing before she stepped to Kate and pulled her into a quick hug.

“Call me if you need me,” she murmured.

Then she pulled back and followed Reaper to her side of the truck. I watched him open the passenger door for her before climbing into the driver’s seat. And before the truck pulled away, Reaper focused on me one last time through the windshield.

Fix it.

Then they were gone.

The walk to the station was quiet.

Kate stayed half a step ahead of me the entire time, arms wrapped around herself against the cold morning air, while I carried both our bags over my shoulder.

By the time we boarded the train, the knot in my throat felt large enough to choke on.

The private compartment was small—two seats facing each other, a narrow table beneath the window, too little space to avoid each other properly.

Kate hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside.

The train jerked slightly beneath us as it started moving, and silence filled the compartment.

No Lucy. No Noah. No distractions. Just me and Kate and everything sitting broken between us while the city slowly disappeared outside the window.

“Kate.”

She didn’t glance up, but I saw her shoulders stiffen. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say my name like that and then feed me more half-stories.”

The hoarseness in her voice hit me hard. I couldn’t lose her, not over Tamara, not over anything.

“That wasn’t a half-story. I explained what it was. Nothing.”

Her head turned slightly, just enough that I caught the edge of her harsh expression.

“Try again,” she said.

I exhaled hard, dragging a hand through my hair.

“You want the full story?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I nodded once. “Fine.” I perched on the edge of the dressing table, opposite her, needing something solid underneath me. “It was before prison the first time,” I said.

That got her attention, and she turned to face me properly, brows pulling together.

“The first time?” she asked.

“Yeah.” My voice came out rougher than I meant. “Before all of it.”

“My stepdad . . .” I trailed off, jaw clenching. “He wasn’t a good man. He was very much like yours.”

Her expression shifted, not in pity but understanding.

“I needed out,” I went on. “Didn’t have money. Didn’t have options. Didn’t have anyone coming to save me.”