Chapter 39
I don’t make Asher hang around.
He followed behind me in his car all the way to Finn’s house, and only after I promised him that I’d be okay if he left did he finally drive away. I still haven’t shaken the guilty feelings away, but they’ve been forced down by the nerves that have grown the closer I get to seeing Finn.
Now, as I stand a few feet away from his front porch, I think I might pass out in the grass instead.
I only had a few minutes to come up with a speech, but I’m pretty sure as hard as I tried to memorize it, I’ll forget every word once I get myself to move any closer.
It isn’t just the fear of his rejection that’s keeping my knees locked, either.
I know he’d be kind to me regardless of how frustrated and hurt he may be, and that does nothing to soothe me. If anything, that makes it worse.
There have been at least a dozen times in my life where I feared I wasn’t good enough for him, but not one of them has felt quite like this.
He has never made me feel like my blunt, sometimes cutthroat personality was a negative thing.
I’ve loved him for that from the moment we met and I let him take my hand and pull me away from the group of jeering seven-year-old boys who were tugging on my braids.
They deserved to swallow my sparkly pink flats for the way they teased me, yet once Finn had taken my hand and said that I was too good for them, he was the only person who mattered to me.
I’ve always known how opposite we are, not only in what we chose to do for our futures, but also in our outlooks on life and the way we approach relationships.
Where I see things in black and white, he points out the hidden flecks of colour.
If I’m dealing with a bad case by drinking a bottle of wine and taking a scalding shower, he’s dumping glitter into my glass and offering to rub my feet, even though I know he secretly hates toes.
I see his disappointment when he has a bad game and show up at his doorstep with a case of Dr Pepper and a new autobiography for him to read to me until I inevitably pass out from boredom.
Finn makes me want to be a better person, and that pressure has led me to dig myself into a hole more often than I’d like to admit.
Tonight, I’ve started burying myself in one that I didn’t know I’d be able to fight my way out of.
But seeing Asher at my door was more than enough to remind me that if I let the dirt suffocate me, I’d lose my soulmate this time.
It was a bone-deep realization that I still can’t shake.
I’ll never know how we work when we’re so opposite or why I was so drawn to him that day as a child when I’d never been swayed by anyone, but maybe I’m not supposed to have those answers.
For once in my life, I don’t care about going into a situation blind.
Without allowing myself another moment to delay the inevitable, I walk up the sidewalk. It’s dark, but the grass smells freshly mowed, like maybe he was as upset today as I was and busied himself with landscaping. The mental picture that follows that thought corrupts me in the best way.
Finn without a shirt, his hat on backward, and shorts hanging low on his hips, as he pushes the lawnmower and drips sweat down his rock-hard abs. I’d bet his shoulders would be damp, too, while all of those thick muscles bunch and ripple with the effort it takes.
Thank God for the high shrubs that wrap around his property, because if other people got to see him do that .
. . Yeah, I’m not mentally well enough to wonder about that at the moment.
My core throbs before I shove that image out of the way.
The heat lingering in my cheeks isn’t enough to keep me from climbing the three porch steps in my thin stilettos and knocking on his door.
I rub my lips together and immediately wish I’d worn gloss instead of lipstick when they don’t glide the way I like.
Nerves flutter beneath my skin. I can feel my heart beating as I wait for any sign of him at the door.
The silence around me chips away at the frail confidence I’m attempting to use to keep myself on my feet.
In all the scenarios I went through in my head on the drive here, I didn’t come up with one for what to do if he isn’t home.
Glancing behind me, I pinch the thin shoulder strap of my dress and start to panic.
There’s no backup plan here. If I don’t go to the gala with Finn, then I’ll be going alone.
And if I go alone, then I fear I’ll be waking up in a jail cell, hungover and with bloody knuckles from beating Spencer into a pulp.
My chest feels wrong. Like it’s suddenly too small for the nervous shake of my heart. Spencer won’t get one up on me. Not ever. I’ve come too far to allow a man like him to dictate my life and my relationships. Rowena will have my back if I break his nose. I hope so, at least.
“Aubrey?”
My ankles nearly buckle with the impact of my step backward.
I snap my head forward, my stomach filling close to bursting with butterflies. The shaky inhale I drag in is the only sound to be heard as I blink quickly, like I’m expecting Finn to disappear like a hallucination.
“Are you going somewhere?” I blurt out.
Because why else would he be wearing a tuxedo? Or for his hair to be trimmed and styled in a way I haven’t seen since we went to his cousin’s wedding in London three years ago?
I’m struggling to keep my trembling hands from reaching out and tugging the bow tie at his neck to see if it’s real. I want to run my fingers through his hair and mess it up just a bit but refuse myself. He’s something out of a magazine in front of me right now.
His black suit pants are hemmed just right and hug his legs in a way that’s almost filthy.
The lapels of his jacket are a velvet that matches the pop of red in his breast pocket.
I stare at the piece of cloth in choked disbelief.
If I tugged it out right now and held it to my dress, it would blend seamlessly.
The white button-down beneath his jacket isn’t left unbuttoned at the top, and his forearms are hidden, the cuffs around his wrists held together with silver links.
Everything about how he’s dressed is so opposite to what I’m used to, and that trips me up enough that I almost don’t notice the lack of mustache over his top lip.
There isn’t a single facial hair to be seen as I stare at him right now, close enough that I can smell his cologne, but too far to feel his body heat. My chest aches at the distance left between us, but I don’t move. I wait.
“Asher told me the dress code was black tie. Should I have worn something different?” he asks, his voice rough, as if he hasn’t used it in a few hours.
I move my head side to side, piecing together a response. “No. You’re perfect. I just wasn’t expecting you to be dressed like this. Did you know I was coming?”
“If I did, I would have tried to prepare myself for the sight of you like this.”
At his words, I allow myself to look into his eyes for the first time since he appeared in the doorway. The utter awe and disbelief in them steals my breath.
“I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be this beautiful, Aubrey.
But I should have known it would be you who destroyed every expectation I’ve ever had.
To change what I thought was possible and what should have only been possible in a dream.
” His features shudder, twisting almost painfully as he fists his hands at his sides. “Why are you here?”
“Because—” I choke on my rehearsed explanation and glance away. My palms are drenched when I press one to my middle. “I’m sorry.”
Forcing my gaze back, I meet his eyes and try to push my shoulders back so I don’t look as weak as I feel.
“I didn’t want to go with Asher. The only person I want beside me tonight is you, and when I thought that I’d ruined that possibility, everything started to hurt.
In my head and my chest, even my muscles started aching.
I haven’t been able to sleep, either. It’s like I’m addicted to you, and these last few days, I’ve been going through withdrawal.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you to come with me in the first place.
From the very beginning of our ridiculous dating coach arrangement, I should have just accepted that you were going to be the one who would be coming with me.
Out of everyone I’ve ever known and who I’ll ever meet, you’re the person I need beside me.
I used to think it didn’t matter if that was with you as my best friend or as something more, but I know now which is the only right answer. ”
He looks pained, like maybe my words are doing more damage than good, but I don’t let that stop me. If I back off now, I risk losing him, and that—that’s not a possibility for me.
Ignoring how badly I’m trembling, I extend my hand and take his, squeezing like I’m trying to steal his strength.
“I’ve always been independent. I guess I used to see my success and confidence as the result of that, because giving credit to anyone else makes me feel like I don’t deserve it.
If I haven’t earned it on my own, then it doesn’t really belong to me.
I used to think that my career was the best thing that ever happened to me.
It was a way for me to look at how hard I’ve worked and be reminded that I did it.
I accomplished what I set out to do, and I don’t want to stop anytime soon.
But what is success if I don’t get to share it with the man I love because I’ve been so hyperfocused on getting bigger and better?
There’s always been one constant in every high moment in my life, too, Finn.
Whether that’s being accepted into my dream school, graduating from said school, or getting a position at a firm where I can see myself staying for the rest of my career, I can look at those wins and see you.
“And you’ve helped me get there. I haven’t done it all on my own.
Yes, I win lawsuits with my knowledge and trained abilities, but I got to the place where I can battle it out in a courtroom because of you.
Because I have a best friend who’s given me more than I could have ever asked for and who I know would give me everything if I simply asked for it.
I’ve never been easy to love, Finn. But you still do, don’t you?
Even when I’m being stubborn or high-strung, or completely na?ve and turning away the chance to show you off as the man whom I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with, loving with everything I have in me. ”
The moisture clinging to my lashes and smudging the makeup beneath my eyes doesn’t worry me.
I don’t care that I’m gripping his hand so tightly I may be cutting off the circulation or that he hasn’t reached for me yet.
My eyes don’t move from where they cling to his, searching for the emotions I’m dying to hear him describe.
I feel lighter than I have in years. With my thoughts and emotions laid at his feet, my heart raw and thrashing in my tight chest, I count the seconds until he speaks, silently pleading for him to tell me what I need to hear.
He doesn’t reply with words.
Instead, it’s his steady hand on my cheek, guiding me close, that shreds the final string holding me together. It’s the feel of his arm around my back, holding me up, that allows me the chance to crumble, knowing I won’t fall.
And it’s his lips on mine that put me back together again.