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The next morning, Blythe sat on the edge of the bed, her stomach turning circles as she scrolled through her phone. How on earth had she once felt so safe around a man who’d done such horrible things? How had he managed to keep that part of himself from her so effortlessly? She supposed that’s what criminals did, after all.
She’d told Asher she had an upset stomach, using the excuse to spend the morning searching the internet to find more details about Finn’s past. He’d told her the truth, as multiple articles confirmed. At age seventeen, Finn O’Brien had committed murder in the second-degree. A drug deal gone bad had resulted in a forty-two-year-old man, Cedric “Ed” Jackson, being found the next morning with his skull crushed, the result of blunt force trauma. His head had been beaten against a building in an alley so hard he died instantly. Reports said no one had seen the assault, but two witnesses saw Finn entering the alley just before the attack. Finn was brought in for questioning less than a week later, and he confessed almost immediately. He claimed his dealer had been trying to assault him for money he didn’t have and his actions had been done in self-defense. All in all, it was a terrible accident. With thehelpof his lawyer, he received ten years.
The articles contained pictures of the victim as well as a mugshot of Finn, his hollow eyes familiar but empty and distant. He was skinnier, a sign of the drug use. His face was dirty, his hands dirtier. He had the same hairstyle, but the similarities ended there. His words echoed in her head:I’m not who I was.
“Hey.” Asher’s voice called her back to reality from across the room. He’d popped his head in the doorway, staring at her with a bright smile. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m better,” she lied, rubbing her belly. “I’m sorry this has been a lousy last day of vacation. I hope your mom understands.”
“Of course,” he told her, walking into the room and sitting next to her on the bed with a kiss on her forehead. She closed out of the browser before he could see what she’d been researching. “Everyone understands. I just feel so bad that you’re sick.”
“Oh, I think it was just a bit of heartburn, maybe. I’m feeling much better already.”
His eyes lit up. “Are you sure?”
“Mhm,” she assured him. “Positive.”
He took her hand in his, leaning in and kissing her lips carefully. “I’m so glad.”
“Me too,” she told him, resting her head against his.
“I’m going to load up the car. You ready to head out?”
“I am.” She nodded.
“Great, I’ve already gotten everything packed up. I’ll just grab your bag over here.” He stood up, lifting her bag from the floor and looking around the room to make sure they weren’t forgetting anything. “You packed your phone charger already?”
“It’s in there.”
“Okay. I think that’s everything, then.” He held out a hand to her. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she confirmed, taking his hand and slipping the phone into her pocket. He kissed her fingers, leading her out of the bedroom and down the stairs. As the living room came into view, Blythe immediately knew something strange was going on. The cabin’s living room was full of people, all of the family gathered around with flutes of champagne in their hands. No one seemed to be talking, all eyes on them as they descended the staircase.
Mona rushed forward, surprising Blythe by pulling her into a quick hug. “I’m so sorry that you’ve fallen ill, dear.”
“Oh, I’m okay. Just a bit queasy. Honestly, it’s probably just from eating too much yesterday. I couldn’t help it with all of the amazing food.”
Mona patted her chest humbly, though she was obviously proud, pressing her lips into a firm smile as she looked away. “Oh, psssh.” She waved off the praise but smiled again. “Thank you.”
“What is everyone doing here?” Blythe asked finally, staring around the quiet room.
“One last tradition before we hit the road,” Asher explained, taking a glass from a table in the corner and handing it to her. He took another for himself, drinking it quickly.
“Drinking is your family tradition before hitting the road?” Blythe asked, a small smirk on her face. “That seems…appropriate.”
“Just a glass,” Asher told her. “It’s more for nerves than anything.”
“Nerves?”
He looked to his mother, who squeezed Blythe’s arm before making her way back to stand beside Jacob. “Sixty years ago, my grandfather proposed to my Grandmother Lorene, right here, on the Friday after Thanksgiving. Nearly every year since then, someone’s made a huge announcement on this day, right before we leave. My dad proposed to my mom here thirty years ago.”
“Steve proposed to me there six years ago,” a woman in the back told her, raising her glass. Blythe couldn’t seem to recall her name.
“We announced this little guy in that spot last year,” another woman said, holding up the baby in her arms. Blythe was pretty sure the baby was called Declan, but she hadn’t spoken to the mother much since they arrived.
“So, it’s kind of an anniversary of sorts, this day, for most of us,” Asher told her, running a hand down her forearm. She took a sip of her wine.
“That’s sweet,” Blythe said, staring around the room at the large family. Despite her perception of rich New York families, everyone in this room had been nothing but warm and welcoming to her. Asher’s family was truly special. And happy. Happiness seemed to follow them everywhere.
