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I don’t miss a beat, shadowing him to the stairs—I swear my job description should’ve been “Chasing after Finn Richards.”I follow him up to his bedroom, where he yanks his closet open and pulls out a baseball bat.
We lock eyes, but he’s too far gone to see the plea in mine.
I shriek when he takes a swing into the framed picture of him and his basketball team on the wall. The picture smashes into a thousand pieces, glass flying everywhere, and I have the good sense of backing away to avoid the fallout.
He’s operating on crazy as he smashes everything in sight—furniture, lamps, you name it. Before I can blink, Finn is darting out of his bedroom in the direction of the double doors down the hall. The library.
Ruining his own stuff wasn’t enough.
He needs to ruin his dad’s, too.
I stood by and let him go apeshit on his room because I knew if he didn’t let it out now, he’d drown in grief, but I can’t let him lose what’s left of his father’s trust.
There are first editions books in there. Priceless art pieces and collector items Mr. Richards must’ve spent a fortune andyears of his life amassing. Finn might not see it through the veil of rage blinding him, but he told me once that all he’d ever wanted was his father’s respect…
I can’t let him do this.
I pick up the pace behind him, nearly tripping over my own feet to reach the library before he does irreversible damage. He’s bursting through the doors the next second, already rampaging through his dad’s possessions by the time I get there.
I’ve tried begging him, screaming his name, standing in his way earlier. Nothing worked. No, if I’m going to stop him from tearing every book in here to shreds, I need to do something drastic.
I tense up when he takes the bat to a crystal liquor bottle on a golden trolley, the smell of booze flowing to the entrance of the room. I understand he’s found his next victim when he speed walks to a porcelain vase displayed on a pedestal by the fireplace.
Just as he’s taking a swing, I let out a shrill, guttural “Stop!”—the kind that could break windows—and make a decision I know for a fact won’t go down as my finest moment.
It all happens in a matter of seconds.
I jump in front of the vase in a desperate, impulsive attempt to bring him back. I see fear in his eyes when he realizes his target isn’t the vase anymore.
It’s me.
I curse my lapse of judgment as soon as I realize he might not be able to stop himself and squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for impact. I wait and wait, but nothing happens.
My entire body quivering with fear, I force my eyelids open, only to see Finn holding the bat in the air less than an inch away from my skull. His mouth is open, an expression of pure horror plastered to his face.
He almost hit me.
The thought must be too much to bear because he stumbles back a step, a million apologies in his gaze. I can tell it’s becoming harder and harder for him to retreat to his safe place. Soon, he won’t be able to bury his emotions at all.
“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, lowering the bat.
Struggling to catch my breath, I lift my hand to my chest to calm my pounding heart.
“It’s okay,” I promise and close in on him slowly, never disconnecting my gaze from his as I reach for the bat in his hand.
He lets go of it without a fight, and I lob it to the side.
“No, no, it’s not fucking okay. I almost…” He stumbles backward again, eyes burning with pain, and scans the library with an expression of disbelief.
It’s like he can’t believe he did all that.
His hands fly into his hair, and he grips strands of it between his fingers before falling to his knees on the library rug. This is the third time I’ve seen this boy on his knees since I’ve met him.
Once was at the bridge after he almost died.
The second time was earlier today when Lexie was fading away in his arms.
But somehow, this time feels different.
