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Finn
Her hand was bandaged.The cut deeper than she thought. Stitches holding together her delicate skin. I wasn’t about to leave her. I couldn’t. My heart wouldn’t let me. I had to see for myself that she had a fresh dressing in the morning, so it didn’t get infected.
When I asked to stay the night, the last thing I thought would happen was a repeat of last summer. Not that I’m disappointed.
Hell, in my haste to be with Willow again, I fucking forgot a condom. I didn’t even realize it at first, and once I did, I begged her not to make me stop. Thankfully, she didn’t. Not my finest moment. But sinking into her sweet heat, it was like coming home again only better.
She was made just for me. Her body, her mind, her heart. They are mine. And I claimed her last night.
I wanted to go slow but there was no way I could, so instead I made sure she knew how I felt with my words as my body showed her. The second time was slower. The third, a welcome surprise after talking this morning. But my favorite moment from the last twenty-four hours was when I took her in the shower. When she begged for more.
We talked more last night than we have in the last year. About how we feel. What we want. Not just from each other but in life. Today. Tomorrow. In the future. She wants to keep this from Max. I understand why, but at the same time I don’t think she realizes how serious I am. I’ve said the words, showed her, but when she referred to herself as a fling, I wanted to punch the wall.
She could never be just a fling.
Still, when I get back to my loft, I avoid Max. I don’t want to answer questions about where I was. If we don’t talk about it, I don’t have to lie to him. That doesn’t stop him from seeking me out. Thankfully, it isn’t to interrogate me, which makes me wonder if he even realizes I didn’t stay here last night. I mean, he knew I wasn’t home this morning.
“Party tomorrow night. Can you help me grab booze later?”
“Sure.” You can hear the hesitation in my voice. Max isn’t much of a partier. Yeah, we throw some kick ass get-togethers but we’re both responsible. Neither of us drink more than we can handle, always maintaining a level of self-control.
“I need to let off some steam,” he explains, reading my mind. “To focus on something else for a night. Just the guys. Nothing crazy. Julian said he’d bring over some food, which I was more than happy to pass off.”
Max needs me to have his back right now and if getting drunk is what he wants to do, I’ll let it slide … just this once. I’m going to keep my eye on him to make sure this doesn’t turn into a habit. Alcohol is a nasty crutch to lean on. I don’t want him to think he has nowhere else to turn, that he needs to drown his sorrow at the bottom of a bottle. It would be too easy for him to slide down that slippery slope.
Just the guysmeans all of our closest friends, including my brothers, and a few of the guys from the Kappa house, Max’s fraternity. Don’t get me wrong, those guys are okay. I have nothing against them, we just don’t really click. Altogether, there are eight of us sitting around the poker table, drinking beer, and talking shit.
“Look at Finn’s face,” Declan says. “His hand is shit. I raise.”
My hand is not shit, and him announcing that is his tell. A year younger than me, we used to play poker in our basement, and I always crushed him. Micah, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber as he stares at me, attempting to read my blank face. Of the three of us, he may be the youngest, but he has the best poker face.
“I’m out,” everyone but Declan and Julian announce.
Oh yeah, Julian has a stick up his ass tonight. He hasn’t won a single hand yet. We’re only playing with quarters but they’re adding up. We each started with a roll, ten dollars of silver, and he’s down to his last three. He just doesn’t know when to fold.
The three of us show our hands, and Declan’s smile deflates. My four of a kind trumps his straight and Julian’s full house. They groan in unison as Max pushes away from the table, stumbling a little. Everyone’s eyes fall to him while he staggers down the hall toward his room. Looking around, I see the uncertainty in everyone’s eyes. No one knows what to do or how to react right now. They’ve never seen Max like this before. Hell, I’ve only seen him drunk a handful of times and it was when we were younger, before we realized the buzz was more fun than the hangover.
He needs a reminder of that right now.
“I’ve got him,” Dec and I say at the same time.
The rest of our friends follow at a safe distance as we make our way into Max’s room, rounding his bed, and heading into his adjoining bath. I don’t think anyone is prepared for what we find.
Max with a bottle of whiskey. Sitting on the floor next to the toilet, leaning back against the bathtub. His eyes are closed but tears are streaming down his face as he silently cries into the bottle as he takes another gulp.
After sharing a look with Dec, he corrals our friends back into the living room. Taking a seat next to my best friend, I lean back against the tub, stretching out my legs. Neither of us say anything, knowing words won’t take away the pain. They won’t change his situation. When he passes me the whiskey, I take a sip, the warm amber liquid burning its way down my throat, before setting it aside.
“I was drinking that,” Max states, his words slurred.
“The buzz is better than the hangover.”
“The buzz doesn’t ease the pain,” he retorts, opening his eyes and glaring at me.
“Nothing will.” Staring into the depths of Max’s blue eyes, the same blue eyes his sisters have, an ache settles in my chest. He’s broken and no amount of alcohol will ease the pain.
Closing his eyes again, Max slumps against my shoulder. His tears soak the sleeve of my shirt as we sit there in silence until I hear the soft sounds of Max snoring. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and text Declan for help. Together, we lift Max off the floor and into his bed.
“I love you, Dad,” he mumbles softly as I pull the sheets over him.
My heart breaks all over again for my best friend as I stare down at him. My mouth opens to answer him, wanting him to know his father loves him as well, when Declan’s hand lands on my damp shoulder.
“Don’t, man. He won’t even remember in the morning.”
If only he could forget the last week as easily as he’ll forget the last hour.
