Mistakes We Never Made

20 Friday Afternoon

(One day before the wedding)

“I DIDN’T MEAN FORyou to overhear that.” Finn’s tone is clipped.

“Okay…” I look at him quizzically.

“It’s just, I didn’t want to get your hopes up. She didn’t pick up. I was leaving her a voicemail.”

“Oh. Too bad.” I stand there like a moron, holding the plastic bag of gas station treats. The sun is high in the sky now, and the heat beats down between us. Finn squints at me, but he doesn’t say anything. At a loss for what else to say, I venture, “So… should we get back on the road?”

“We should.” Finn lets out a deep breath and returns to the driver’s side. I slip into the passenger seat, feeling like a character in a horror film who doesn’t know there’s a psycho with a knife behind her. Like there’s some big obvious reason why Finn is so edgy about my overhearing his call with Sybil, but I’m just too blind to see it. He fires up the Singer and pulls out of the parking lot, leaning a little heavier on the gas than he usually does. I reach out to steady myself on the center console.

“That voicemail sounded pretty intense,” I toss out, hoping Finn will elaborate.

“I’m just worried about her,” Finn replies, his eyes trained on the road. “I don’t like the idea of her getting back with Liam.”

I wait for him to say more, but he slips back into silence. “What did you mean?” I ask. “On your voicemail to Sybil when you said, ‘Remember what I told you that night’?”

“It was nothing.” Finn reaches out to turn on the radio, the international signal for I don’t want to talk about this anymore, but I’m not letting go that easy. I’m getting the distinct impression that Finn knows more than he’s telling me about where Sybil is, about why she might have run in the first place.

“If it’s nothing, why not just tell me? Was it something that you guys talked about on Wednesday night at the tequila bar? Because if you said something that set her off, then I think I deserve to—”

“I was talking about prom night,” Finn says through gritted teeth.

Prom night?Why would Finn bring up prom night? I rack my brain trying to come up with a reason for why, nearly a decade on, they’d still be talking about prom—especially since Finn wasn’t even at the dance. I think back to that night. I remember standing on the dance floor, Sybil evasively telling me that she borrowed Finn’s car to come to the dance. I remember storming to Finn’s house, telling him I wasn’t a consolation prize… Then I remember another night, years later, on our rooftop when Finn revealed he’d been at the hospital the day of prom—not at the mall like Sybil had said. He told me Sybil had been there too. When I asked her about it, she brushed me off—I was just picking up a prescription for my grandpa. I had accepted this explanation at the time, too wrapped up in Finn and everything that had happened on the rooftop to give it much thought. But now, there’s a squirming in my gut. I can’t shake the feeling that something major happened between Sybil and Finn that night that they’re not telling me about. Something that Sybil has been carrying around with her for eleven years. Something that might explain why she bolted from her happily ever after.

I take a deep breath, trying to stave off a wave of anxiety and agitation. I’m operating on barely three hours of sleep, and I can feel myself growing snappish. “Finn, please. You have to tell me what happened with Sybil at the hospital.”

Finn looks over at me, starts to open his mouth, then closes it. Finally, he sighs and says, “It’s not my story to—”

“For the love of god, Finn!”

“Let it go, Emma!” Finn matches my volume. “You don’t get know every single detail of everyone else’s life, okay?”

“Seriously? You think this is just me being nosy?” I bark out a scoff. “This is about me protecting the people I love. I have to know what’s going on in their lives in order to fix things when they go wrong.”

“Well, since I’m clearly not one of those people, why don’t you just drop it?” The bitterness in his voice fills the Singer. “You can’t control everything.”

“So fucking what if I want to control things?” I’m nearly shouting now. “How does not wanting to let my friends get hurt make me such a shitty person?”

Finn doesn’t say anything to that.

I’m not an idiot. I know I have a bossy streak a mile wide. That I badger, and nag, and relish being the big sister—not just to Liz, but to all my friends. It’s more than that though. My need to fix everything isn’t just about being responsible or looking out for my friends. It’s about trying to protect my own heart. To hold the shattered pieces of myself together by whatever means necessary. Because when there’s one massive thing in your life that you have zero control over—like when a parent abandons you—then you look for stability where you can get it. So Finn can say I’m controlling all he wants. Frankly, I think I’m justified. Especially when it comes to him.

I turn my body as far as it will go within the confines of the seat belt, hunching my shoulders and leaning my head against the window.

We drive another forty minutes in silence.

I try to regulate my breathing, but I’m still fuming. Angry at Finn for not telling me the full story about what happened with him and Sybil that night, and angry at myself that I let myself get sucked back in. I’ve been here before—fresh off the high of Finn Hughes touching me with more passion and reverence than any other man has, only to have the cold shock of reality set in soon after. But I’d made contingencies this time to protect myself. I’d told Finn this was a onetime thing specifically to avoid succumbing to this same feeling, but I can’t help the memories that start to bubble up. I’m suddenly bombarded by scenes of Katie Dalton’s wedding… just a few months after the night Finn and I shared on my rooftop. Me, thinking things were finally going to happen between us; Finn, ripping my heart out of my chest, yet again… That was supposed to be the last time. But I let a stupid hammock and a starry sky and the magic of Vegas cloud my vision. I let my guard down once again and got burned. What was I thinking, pretending I was someone who could just make fun mistakes and not suffer the consequences? Whatever proclamations of casualness I made at the diner were just wishful thinking. I’m not Sybil. I can’t just ride the roller coaster, experiencing the highs and lows with equal exhilaration. What I need is stability. Honesty. Trust. And Finn Hughes is not someone I can trust. I need to remember that.

Just then, Finn’s phone rings, and we both reach for it, but he’s faster than me. He takes a look at the screen, answers, and tucks the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Hi, Christine,” he says, his voice a little rough from disuse. I try my best to listen in, but I can’t hear the words of the caller. “I’ve been hoping you’d call.” He smiles into the phone, and his mood seems to lift a bit. I hate the jealousy spiking through me. “I’m a little tied up right now—I’m at a friend’s wedding this weekend.” There’s a pause while Christine replies, then Finn gives another grin—but this time, it’s his too-cool-for-school smirk, the one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah, no plus-one. You know that’s not how I roll. But hey, let me text you when I’m back. We’ll get something on the calendar… Looking forward to it.”

I’m burning to ask who it was, but I won’t give Finn the satisfaction of calling me nosy again. So I offer up my own explanation instead.

“One of your dating app matches, then? Make sure Christine knows you’re an open relationship kinda guy.”

Finn flinches as the barb lands, and I almost regret saying it. “Why would you even care? I’m out of your system, remember?” His tone is angry, but there’s a thread of hurt running through it.

I can’t believe the hypocrisy. “I don’t care.” Much. “I just don’t understand why you’re so mad at me, when you’re literally setting up a date while I’m sitting next to you in the car.” Images of Finn with a leggy blonde—which is what I’ve decided Christine looks like—flood my brain.

Then, without warning, he swerves to the side of the road. “You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” He slams the car into park.

“What are you doing?”

“I think there might be an issue with one of the tires.” Finn’s answer is completely out of left field. “Haven’t you heard the clunking for the past five miles?” No, I hadn’t. For half a second, I’d thought Finn was pulling over so we could have this argument out, once and for all. Is it possible that part of me is disappointed it’s just Singer maintenance? Not that I would even really know what I’d say. I wish the lines were more clearly drawn. I wish I knew what side I was supposed to argue for. Am I team pro or con?

Finn gets out of the car and circles around back, bending down to take a look at the rear tires. Seconds later, I’m out of the car too. I may have a million conflicting feelings about Finn swirling around inside me, but I have nothing but love for his vehicle. I walk around to the back of the car and hover over his left shoulder.

“Do you need any h—”

“I’ve got this,” Finn says coldly.

And that sends my blood boiling. Sybil might need me to be her anchor, but spending all this time with Finn has left me drowning. The best thing I can do for Sybil is get back to LA and get my head on straight. “You know what? I think we should just call it. We should go back to LA and help the Rains with whatever damage control they need to do, and I can figure out how to help Sybil from the resort.” And then I can handle my own damage control. I thought I could handle sleeping with Finn and staying friends, but I clearly can’t. I need to put an end to this road trip from hell and get back to my real life.

“We can’t stop now,” Finn says. “We’re so close.”

I almost bark out a bitter laugh. It’s a complete role reversal of the positions we’ve held for the past two days. Just when I’m fed up with the chase, Finn hooks his claws in.

“We’re no closer now than we were when we left Malibu,” I say. “At this point, Sybil’s going to make it all the way to the Atlantic before we’re able to pin her down. Give me these.” I yank the keys from his hand, and before he can stop me, I’m in the driver’s seat with the door locked. I crack the window down an inch. “I will let you in the car if you agree to head back to LA.”

Finn crouches down, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. I’m upset that even angry, Finn manages to look gorgeous. My skin is flushed a mottled red from my hairline down to my chest, but he just looks like a knight heading into battle.

He exhales once, and his nostrils flare. “Fine.” He makes his way over to the passenger side and tugs at the door handle. It’s still locked. I roll the passenger window down one inch, too, and say, “And you promise not to take the keys from me.”

Very deliberately, he unclenches his fists. I can’t see his face, but through the passenger side window I watch his chest fill with air and this time when he exhales, it’s laced with a growl. “Yes, Emma. I promise not to take the keys—to my car—from you.” The low rumble of his voice sends a shiver through me. My eyes dart to the hood of the car, remembering the feel of Finn’s hands holding me steady, keeping me from slipping to the ground. I shake it off and unlock the car. He slides into the passenger seat, buckles his seat belt, and looks straight ahead. I plug the resort’s address into my map app, point the car west, and we’re off. In eight hours we’ll be back in Malibu, and we’ll both go our separate ways.

The mood in the car is heavier than it’s been the entire trip. This stretch of Arizona highway is a flat expanse of nothingness—scrubby little brown plants stretch out in every direction. The occasional semitruck is the only sign of life. Finn hasn’t said a word for twenty miles, so I nearly run off the road when he yells, “Stop!”

I slam on the breaks. “What?”

“There’s a raccoon.”

“Are you serious right now, Finn?” This should be sweet, Finn’s eagerness to save another little furry animal’s life, but for some reason all I can think of is all the times Finn was sweet to me, and in the end, it didn’t mean anything. Sorry, Miss Raccoon, you might think he loves you now, but tomorrow you’ll be roadkill.

“You have to try to save everyone, don’t you?” I say, pulling back onto the road. “No creature is safe from Finn Hughes, Boy Scout extraordinaire: stray animals, Sybil, your dad.” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth.

The silence in the car hangs heavily until Finn breaks it. His voice is soft as he says, “Maybe you’re right, Emma. But at least I don’t avoid my own problems by trying to run the lives of everyone else around me.”

“Excuse me?” I demand.

“You’re bending over backward to keep your sister afloat instead of just letting her learn by failure. You forced Nikki to go on LovedBy, and she got her heart broken. You’re constantly badgering Willow to stop smoking. You drag us across three states trying to force Sybil to get married.”

“I don’t force my friends to do anything. I just know what’s best for everyone.”

“And what about what’s best for you?” Finn challenges. Then he sighs and rubs a hand across his face. “God, Emma. Sometimes I swear you don’t even know yourself. You push everything down but expect people to read your mind.”

I flinch, knowing that the words wouldn’t sting so much if they weren’t true. But I can’t deal with being lectured by Finn right now. “This whole trip has been a mistake,” I mutter to myself, thinking back on everything that’s gone wrong over the past thirty-six hours. The kayak fiasco at the Hotel Del Coronado, all the Vegas mishaps…

“Well, maybe your life would be a little better if you were a little more willing to make mistakes,” Finn says, “and forgive other people for theirs,” he adds pointedly.

“The only mistake I’ve made this trip is feeling like I could trust you. Especially after what happened the last time we saw each other.”

Again, images of the Dalton wedding spring into my mind. The dripping of an ice sculpture and the loud banging of a commercial kitchen. The hot wash of shame slicing through the sting of winter cold.

I turn to look at Finn, daring him to tell me I’m wrong, and in that moment, I lose control of the wheel.