Page 62 of Finn's Future

It should’ve been Finn riding behind us instead.

My throat tightened at the thought, and I looked away quickly, focusing on Noah instead. He slept through everything, his tiny fist curled tight in his blanket, completely unaware that his whole life kept changing around him.

Motel. Clubhouse. Finn’s house.

Now, this. Another place that wasn’t ours.

I told myself that was why my chest hurt. Because I was exhausted. Because I was scared.

Not because I couldn’t stop hearing Finn’s voice in my head.

“She means nothing to me.”

“Just a job.”

The words hit just as hard now as they had the first time.

I stared out the window hard enough that my eyes burned, but it didn’t stop the memory from replaying.

Didn’t stop me hearing how easy he’d said it, like whatever had happened between us had only existed in my head. I should’ve known better.

Men said what they needed to say. They made you feel safe right before they reminded you why you shouldn’t trust them in the first place.

The sensation of Finn’s hands still burned beneath my skin anyway. The way he’d looked at me in his room. The rough sound of his breathing. The weight of him between my thighs.

Heat crawled across my face before shame followed right behind it.

I looked down at Noah, forcing the memories away before they could drag me under completely.

That was the worst part—not that we’d almost had sex, but that I’d almost believed it meant something. Finn had made everything feel easy without even trying.

The quiet mornings. The way he reached for Noah automatically. The way a room felt calmer the second he walked into it.

Safe.

My chest ached harder because somewhere along the way, Finn’s house had started feeling dangerously close to home. Not because of the walls.

Because of him.

The truck bounced over another rough stretch of gravel. One of the prospects shifted in the front seat, glancing out into the trees.

I barely noticed. Instead, I was thinking about Finn sleeping on the floor beside Noah’s crib, one hand resting against the side like even asleep he needed to make sure Noah was still there.

Still safe.

My eyes burned again. God, I was an idiot.

I’d started depending on him, measuring safety by the sound of his footsteps and by the low rumble of his voice telling me to eat something, to get some sleep, to stop worrying for five damn minutes.

And now, it was gone.

Noah stirred beside me, and I leaned over him, brushing my fingers over his chest.

“It’s okay,” I whispered.

I wasn’t sure if the words were meant for him or me.

His tiny hand twitched before settling again. I stayed there another second, staring at his face in the dim light.