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Fine.
Then we’re not going to talk. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave him to self-destruct. Silently, I plop down on the floor next to him and stare at the sunset.
He doesn’t look at me again, but he also doesn’t tell me to leave, which I take as a good sign. Over ten seconds elapse before I can’t contain myself anymore and wrap my arms around him for an awkward side hug.
Finn doesn’t react, his sculpted body growing stiff in my arms. I don’t let go, but it isn’t long before a voice in my head tells me to take a hint. He came here to be alone, and I completely ignored his wish and tracked him down anyway.
Maybe I shouldn’t have come.
Maybe he—
A gasp gets stuck in my throat when Finn’s tattooed arms snake around me out of nowhere, and he tilts his body to the side to give me a proper hug. I can feel his walls shatter as I hold him tighter, and he buries his face in my shoulder, inhaling a shaky breath.
I let out a sigh of relief, my hand climbing into his hair and massaging his skull slowly. We don’t speak for a while, holding each other in silence. If he wants to say something, then he can say something, but I’m not going to make this moment any harder than it already is by forcing him to talk to me.
I play with his hair with one hand, rubbing his back with the other, and there’s something particularly vulnerable in the way he clings to my body. He doesn’t cry or make a sound; he just lets me hold him for a minute. He eventually pulls back, slouching against the glass behind him and closing his eyes. It’s like he needs this moment to sort out his thoughts and emotions.
I guide my legs to my chest and circle them with my arms, resting my chin on one of my knees. Only then do I notice the cardboard box placed next to Finn. It’s just sitting there, Finn’s name written on it in black Sharpie. He obviously brought this box here, but I can’t figure out why. Still, I don’t surrender to my curiosity, waiting for him to speak first.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make me wait too long.
“How did you know I was here?” His voice is straining with pain.
“Believe it or not, your brother told me.”
His eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Since when do you talk to my brother?”
“Since he showed up at the apartment worried sick about you.”
He lets out a bitter scoff. “I don’t know who you talked to, but it sure as fuck wasn’t my brother.”
A laugh rips from my throat.
“I know, I was surprised, too. But he seemed genuinely concerned about you. He told me I might find you here.”
Finn doesn’t argue, but I can tell he’s not buying it one bit. The conversation begins to die down, and I feel the need to revive it.
“What’s in the box?” I gesture with my chin, and Finn glances at the unopened box, hesitant to share.
He answers a few seconds later. “Letters.”
I think back to the letters I found in his room the summer we first met. He wrote them in therapy after his mom died.
“Are those the letters you wrote in therapy?”
“No.” I assume he’s going to leave it at that until he adds, “They’re letters from her.”
I blink at him in shock.
Is he saying… that box is filled with letters from his dead mom?
“My dad found them in the garage after the fire.”
The words Lacey said when the girls told me the Richards’ house had burned down echo in my head.
It was so bad the only thing left standing was the garage.
“He happened upon two boxes just like this one while he was clearing it out. He’s been keeping it for me for months.” His voice carries a smidge of self-hatred. “He wanted to tell me in person, but I wouldn’t pick up the fucking phone.”
