Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
He pulled his attention away from her, told himself to stop being stupid.
“I’m sure there are those of you here that will also attest to how convincing Hattie can be, too, when she sets her mind to something.
I swear she once convinced me it was her who’d come up with the idea behind Zoom and someone had stolen all the software. ”
He remembered the conversation with Mel, where they ended up doubting themselves. How do we know for sure she didn’t, though? Are we entirely certain we know what she actually does?
“So convincing me to like Dylan, before I’d even met him, was easy for her. And luckily, from the moment she introduced him to the family, we all got it—the way they make each other brighter.”
He managed to get through the whole thing without stumbling, and when he raised a glass in a toast at the end and everyone clapped he was just so bloody relieved it was over.
His mum came to envelop him in a hug, smelling, as always, comfortingly of lavender. “That was wonderful, Finn. You should give speeches more often.”
He laughed as she pulled away. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
Hattie and Dylan came over, too, Hattie hugging him tightly, then punching him on the arm. “You didn’t need to be so mean about me.”
“Would we call it mean?” Dylan mused. “Or accurate?”
Hattie punched him too at that, but he could see her eyes sparkling.
Around them, dark had settled in, London’s skyline lit up against the dark, the lanterns on the terrace glowing.
He could see Mel, on her way over to them, but she stopped a little way back, chewing her lip as she read something on her phone, her face illuminated by the screen light.
“Mel okay?” Hattie asked, and although the question was casual, it made his stomach clench.
“I think so,” he said, and she gave him a curious look. Perhaps because he didn’t sound overly confident.
It made him feel ever so slightly nauseous.
Hattie pressed a margarita into his hand.
He was doing this to Mel. He was dimming her, bit by bit, making her anxious, the way his mum had been, even as she’d tried to hide it from them.
And although his mum was doing okay now and claimed to have no regrets, he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t strip Mel back, layer by layer, couldn’t watch it happen to someone else he loved.
And she wouldn’t talk to him—which meant it had to be bad, because Mel always said what she thought.
“So when are you going to pop the question?” Mark asked him, winking. “Or, don’t tell me, you’re too chicken.”
“Leave him be, Mark,” Kristen said firmly. “He’s teasing, Finn,” she said. Then she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “We’re both so proud of you.” Would they still be proud of him, though, when they learned that he’d quit his job, with no plan of what to do next? And what would Mel say then?
He couldn’t marry her, could he? He was unstable.
He didn’t even have a bloody job. The only thing he was good at was moving from place to place, instability inherent in every nail he hammered or wall he painted.
He couldn’t drag Mel around with him—it would only make her give up what she loved, and then he’d dim her even further.
“I can’t do it,” he said out loud.
Mark glanced at him. “What?”
The conversation had moved on, but he felt like he was treading water, standing in the middle of his family. He looked at his brother. “I can’t marry her.”
“Finn,” his sister-in-law said gently, “he was only joking.”
Mark was frowning at him now, clearly sensing something was wrong. “Yeah, mate, I didn’t mean—”
“I think it might be over.” He thought he’d said it quietly, but silence descended over their little group and it made him realize that he might have said it far more loudly than he meant to.
Then Hattie was looking over Finn’s shoulder. And he knew, of course he did, that she was standing there.
He turned, slowly, to see Mel’s face. She was staring at him, her skin draining of color, blue eyes scarily bright. His heart twisted. She’d heard. How had he not realized that she’d closed the gap between them?
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“Mel, I—” he began, his voice choked.
“You can’t marry me. You think it might be over.
” Her voice, on the other hand, was crystal clear.
And he was an idiot. He hadn’t meant it, hadn’t wanted her to hear, didn’t want to be the reason for the way she was looking at him right now.
None of this came out, though, because his brain had frozen.
“Well, Finn?” she demanded, her voice rising. “Is it? Over?” Her eyes, as always, were directly on his. And shit, no, this isn’t what he’d meant. He didn’t want to do this here, in front of everyone—and especially not at Hattie’s engagement party, which was supposed to be a celebration.
“Ah, we’ll just…” Finn wasn’t even sure which of his family said it, but, as one, they all seemed to dissipate around him, melding into the crowd.
Finn swallowed. “Mel, I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean that it’s over? Or that you don’t want to marry me? Didn’t mean to tell other people before you told me?” He could think of nothing to say. Why, for fuck’s sake, could he think of nothing to say?
“Well?” Mel demanded again. “When were you planning to tell me how you felt?”
“Maybe we should—” He reached out to steer her away from the roof terrace, away from prying eyes, but she snatched her arm out of his grip.
“No, you started this here, so let’s finish it.”
“It isn’t working, Mel.” He said it quietly, reluctantly. But he had to say it now, didn’t he?
“ What isn’t working?” There was an angry fire to her voice, her eyes—but worse than that was the hurt, laced underneath it.
And, shit, what was he doing? He didn’t want this.
He didn’t want to lose her. But if he dragged things on it would only be worse.
She wasn’t happy—he knew that. And she was too kind to end things herself.
She might hurt now, but it would be better in the long run. Wouldn’t it?
“Us,” he said. “We’re not working.”
She stared at him. “You’re serious.” She scanned his face, looking for clues. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “You’re actually doing this?”
“It’s for the best,” he said, and his voice sounded flat, uncaring. He could see the way her face shuttered, at the sound of it, but he couldn’t do anything to change it. It felt as if his whole body was shutting down, in preparation for what was to come.
“Fine,” she said. Then, louder. “Fine.” And she turned. She turned and walked away, before he could see the tears he knew were there, before he could see her break—though he knew her well enough to see it in the way she held her posture, the way she swept from the roof terrace.
She wanted him to go after her. He knew that.
And a part of him so desperately wanted to.
But all he could see was his mum’s face, impassive as his dad called to let her know that he wouldn’t be home for dinner—again.
Not one time but a mixture of hundreds, that expression that he and his siblings got to know so well.
He’d never do that to Mel, never cheat on her.
But he wasn’t right for her, was he? Not if he was making her stressed, and anxious, and dimmer. He had to do this.
So he didn’t call her back, as the crowds converged around her. Didn’t run after her, didn’t explain that, no, this wasn’t what he wanted . It was just the right thing to do—for her.
Instead, he just watched her go.