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It isn’t lost on me that Finn would set the world on fire for one more minute with his mom while my own dad could be living his life somewhere, just waiting to be found, and I’m not doing squat about it.
Is it that my bio dad didn’t want to know about me? Or that he didn’t know about me period? What if he has no idea he has a daughter out there? Granted, this is the only scenario that could justify his absence, but maybe…
It’s one that’s worth fighting for.
* * *
The time on the stove shows 2:25 a.m. when I drag my feet down to the kitchen for a glass of water. I haven’t slept a wink, waiting for the sound of Finn’s tires screeching against the driveway.
He’s been MIA all day.
Theo says he hasn’t heard a peep from him either.
My room faces the front yard, so I cracked a window open to make sure I’d hear him come home, only to end up lying awake, listening to my blinds chattering in the wind with Lexie snoring next to me.
I want to apologize to him.
Finn Richards might be an asshole sometimes—okay, all the time—but last night? He was merely collateral damage from his brother’s selfishness. He apologized for lashing out at me once. The least I can do is return the favor.
The sounds of keys jingling, then being inserted into the lock startle me a minute later. I stiffen up at the thought of Finn bursting through the front door.
Except… there’s no bursting.
It happens slowly.
I hear a groan. A low, gravelly “Shit” that’s tainted with pain and the door closing with a thud. I don’t move a muscle, waiting for him to reach the kitchen and see me, but it takes him a while and a few more groans to even cross the hallway.
Is he… limping?
Every hair on my body stands on end when he turns the corner and we come face-to-face.
Finn spots me leaning against the kitchen counter, gripping my water for dear life. My feet sink into the ground when we make eye contact.
Shock colors Finn’s hazel eyes for a fragment of a second, his eyebrows lifting upward like he didn’t expect to find me in his kitchen ever again.
And yet, he remains quiet.
I let out a small gasp when I get a better look at him.
He’s bloody.
From the crease of his eyebrow to his cheek and bottom lip—nothing’s been spared. A purplish wound colors the edge of his jaw, and the worst part? None of it even comes close to dimming his beauty.
Even with a ripped shirt that’s covered in blood and dirt, he looks like a work of art.
I notice he has a gray duffel bag drooping from his shoulder but don’t question it, too horrified by his bruises to think twice about it.
We just stand there, staring at each other across the kitchen. Then, without a word, he turns away, his pain rendered obvious by the strain in his moves, and disappears up the stairs.
I drop on my bed next to a sound-asleep Lexie shortly after. I stare at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity until I hear Finn’s door creaking open down the hall.
The wooden floor squeaks as Finn pads down the hallway toward…
My room?
Wait, why is he coming toward my room?
I go from breathing quickly to not breathing at all,his footsteps proving me right when they halt in front of my bedroom. I can see the shadow of his feet through the crack beneath the door. He stays there for long seconds, like he’s debating on his next move.
