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“Son, that’s great.” Abram exudes, flabbergasted but overjoyed, nonetheless.
Finn’s feet slide out as he slouches further down in his chair. Fisting the wadded-up napkin he’d made into a ball like one of those squishy stress toys. Open and close does his hand move around the object.
His stare stays fixed on nothing when he adds, “Can’t wait.”
thirty-one
Cole
“Ihatethis!”
“Wow, haven’t heard that sentence in about ten seconds. I think that’s your personal best,” I deadpan, never raising my head up from the documents below.
“Shut up, C,” Finn retorts, vexed.
I click my teeth. “Do you want me to try and explain it to you again?”
I mean for it to come off as helpful—well as beneficial as I can, without it coming off as degrading. That’s a hard one for me.
Finn exhales roughly. “I’ll figure it out.”
This is the same thing that’s been happening since he started working at Hardin. He’ll get frustrated, complain, refuse help, and then in about thirty minutes he’ll give in. Then and only then will he let me break it down for him.
To be fair, he’s not doing bad, just… struggling. Every day it becomes more and more apparent that he loathes this.
Is it only Hardin though? That small voice inside that I almost never listen to tells me it’s not. But I mean, if it’s not that, it’s most likely the sharing a father thing, or Lorna still being MIA.
Morally insane adult.
Eli’s tried keeping us updated but that’s hard to do when there’s nothing new to share. Weeks have gone by.Weeks.
“I can’t do this,” Finn says, shoving the papers away. His head dips, dropping between his hands which are now secured to the back of his neck.
Collecting them as I restraighten the mess, I say, “It’s not a big deal. Let me show you again.”
“No,” he asserts, lifting his chin. “Ishouldn’t be doing this. I should be on the court. Practicing.Getting ready.”
A mixture of reprieve and stress seeps from his airways as he eyes me.
“Ugh, this is so stupid,” he complains, throwing his back into the couch we’d been working at. It’s comfier than the hard back of the chairs so we’d shifted to this side of the room about an hour ago.
“What’re you talking about?” I ask slowly, calmly.
That knowing voice inside my head grows louder, and I tell it to shut the fuck up so I can hear what Finn has to say.
“I hate this.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”Only about a thousand times.
Biting down on my tongue, I taste blood to keep myself from adding that last part. Upsetting him would only drag this out longer and he’s being spacy as is.
My tolerance most days hangs by a thin cord which doesn’t help the situation either.
“I got a scholarship,” he blurts out. Rising, he paces to the window before coming back. “Coach helped,” he hiccups, holding back his excitement. “But a school wants me. Areallygood school. They want me to come and play for them next year.”
This is the happiest and not stiff I’ve seen him in a minute. One word tumbles, rolling into the next like he can’t believe he’s gotten it as well.
Sharply that glee is replaced with clear-cut clarity. His eyes meet mine and they hold there. “I want to take it.”
