Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
Sweeney’s phone vibrated at five-thirty the next morning. Considering she and Fin had only been asleep for three hours, it was a rather rude awakening.
It was Veronica.
Airlines flying again. Job ready to go. Booked you on a plane leaving Brisbane airport in four hours. Emailed the deets. Text me when you’re boarding.
It was typical Veronica—brevity being her specialty.
And in her boss’s defence, she had let Sweeney know before she’d left for the Gold Coast that it should only be a matter of days.
Still, Sweeney had figured the missive would come once they were back in Ballyshannon and, with so much going on this weekend, she hadn’t been obsessively watching the news out of Indonesia as she had been for the last few weeks.
Also, her boss didn’t know she’d spent all night tangled up with Fin or how much, for the first time in her life, Sweeney wanted to stay put. And it was for that reason that Sweeney tapped a quick reply. Fin was the last guy she could stay put for.
Will do.
She sent it out into the ether. See your brevity, Veronica, and raise you one.
Glancing sideways, she stared at Fin’s back and was grateful for small mercies.
It would have been a lot harder to get out of bed and pack if she’d had to look at his face.
His sexy, whiskery, oh so familiar face.
But she had to get out of bed and pack. Because it was her job and this was who she was.
No matter how her hand itched to slide onto his shoulder and kiss him one last time, no matter how her heart ached at the thought of leaving, no matter how empty she felt at the thought of all the days ahead without Fin in them being Fin.
Once upon a time she’d taken his presence in her life for granted. And then they’d grown up and life had taken them in different directions and their connection had been fond and nostalgic but infrequent and that was fine because that was the way of the world, right?
But she’d had a Fin reboot, got used to having him around again, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to go back to the odd DM and a birthday text.
Even though they’d promised they’d keep in better contact.
The hot well of tears built at the backs of her eyes and Sweeney blinked them away. She didn’t cry when she walked away. She never cried over a man. And she wouldn’t cry over Fin, who she would see again—they’d made a pact, damn it—and who would, one way or the other, always be in her life.
Would the fact they’d crossed a line last night make those times a little awkward? Sure, at first. But they were grown-ups and they’d just have to get past the bit where they now knew each other carnally.
Thanks to their mothers.
Okay, maybe not. The mothers hadn’t pointed to the bed and used their best mum voices to order their kids to just do it already, but none of this would have happened without them and their big fat birthday lie, either.
So, right now, with a whole bunch of feelings swirling like a witch’s brew in her stomach and too close to tears to be rational, Sweeney was perfectly happy blaming Ronnie and Connie and their grandbaby ambitions.
It was because of them, damn it, that Sweeney couldn’t even begin to contemplate anything more than last night with Fin. Because Sweeney and Fin didn’t get a chance to suck it and see. To date for a bit and screw for a bit and figure out if they could be together.
Their mothers had been best friends for almost forty years—there would be expectations. It had to be all or nothing.
Easing out of bed, Sweeney quietly repacked her carry-on and placed it near the door along with her camera bag. She had more clothes in Ballyshannon but it would be easy enough to get them sent on or just leave them there. God knew she had enough clothes in her closet at home.
Home. That thought sat like a cold rock in her squally stomach and when the hell had that happened? When had New York stopped feeling like home?
Leaving that disturbing thought behind in the room with a still sleeping Fin, Sweeney padded to the bathroom, twisting her hair into a topknot as she stepped into the shower.
Part of her didn’t want to wash away the smell of him.
The smell of them. But a long day of travel awaited—it was best to start fresh.
She used his body wash, though, as had become her habit and, on impulse, as she was throwing her belongings into her toiletry bag, she grabbed it from the shower cubicle and threw it in too.
Some might have called it strange, maybe even a little creepy, but Sweeney preferred to think of it as sentimental.
It felt like she could keep Fin with her for a bit longer, and she wasn’t going to question that impulse right now.
Zipping up the bag, her gaze fell on Fin’s granny’s ring she’d been wearing for the last four weeks.
It was surprising how quickly Sweeney had got used to it being there.
Used to its weight. Used to seeing the two hands clasped around a heart every day.
Putting it on had felt strange and wrong but now it felt strange contemplating taking it off.
She had to, though, because it had just been a prop in a charade they’d been reluctantly dragged into. And now the charade was over.
Twisting it off, Sweeney placed it in her palm and closed her fingers around it as she emerged from the bathroom to find Fin awake.
He was propped against the bedhead, his hair pushed carelessly back off his forehead, his shirtless chest drawing her gaze like moth to flame.
He looked warm and sleepy and her heart gave a funny little giddy-up in her chest.
Pausing in the doorway, Sweeney ground her feet into the floor to stop herself from picking up where they’d left off last night. ‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hey.’ His voice was still husky from sleep as he took in her soft, loose-fitting capris and t-shirt. Flicking a glance at her packed bags, he asked, ‘You’re leaving?’
Sweeney leaned her shoulder into the door jamb. ‘Flights have resumed.’
‘So, you’re …’ He placed a hand over his heart and sighed for dramatic effect. ‘Breaking up with me?’
Sweeney could have kissed him for making this light and easy instead of angsty and uncomfortable. Picking up his vibe, she cocked an eyebrow. ‘Is it really a break-up if it was only ever pretend?’
Except it hadn’t all been pretend and she knew it and, with his gaze locked tight on hers, she knew he knew it, too. Their rekindled friendship hadn’t been pretend. And the sexual attraction that had culminated in last night hadn’t been either.
But Fin didn’t call her on it. ‘Good point.’
Drawing in a steady breath, Sweeney crossed to his side of the bed and gently placed the ring on his bedside table as she sat on the edge of the mattress.
‘I’m sorry to be leaving you in the lurch with the mums.’ Turning up in Ballyshannon tonight without his fake fiancée hadn’t been in the plans.
‘I’ll call mine from the airport and smooth things over. ’
For long moments, Fin stared at the ring, his expression pensive, his lips pressed together, and she wondered what he was thinking.
Was he relieved the situation was finally over and he could stop living a lie?
Was he regretting it had ever started? Or was he maybe a little bit sorry to see the demise of Feeney?
Turning his attention to her, he met her gaze. ‘I can handle the mums.’
Sweeney laughed at the patent falseness of his statement. ‘The mums cannot be handled.’
He grinned like he didn’t think their sixty-year-old mothers being incorrigible was the worst thing in the world, and that added an extra little kick to her pulse.
‘Sure they can,’ he insisted.
‘Fin … the last time we tried, we ended up agreeing to a fake engagement.’
‘A tiny detail,’ he dismissed with a wave of his hand.
He smiled at her then and Sweeney smiled back, and then they were laughing and it soothed the ache that had sprung up in her chest. ‘I’m taking your body wash with me, by the way,’ she said as their laughter settled.
If he was surprised at her announcement, he didn’t show it. ‘It’s all yours. Think of me when you use it.’ And then, as if he’d suddenly realised what he’d implied, he bugged his eyes. ‘No, wait. I didn’t mean … I meant …’ He shook his head. ‘That came out all wrong.’
Sweeney laughed. ‘It’s okay, I get it.’
And she would think about him when she soaped up. In the way he meant and in the way he hadn’t meant. The distinctive aroma would be a constant reminder of him—for better or for worse.
‘Well …’ She smoothed her palms down her thighs. ‘I’d better go.’
She stood then, and he made a move to follow but she waved him back. ‘Don’t,’ she murmured. She didn’t want some sappy hotel doorway departure scene—she’d rather remember him like this, all rumpled and sexy with bed hair. ‘Stay. Go back to sleep for a bit. You didn’t get much last night.’
Neither of them had.
He looked as if he might protest but stopped and smiled as he reached for her hand and she slid it into his. ‘Bon voyage,’ he murmured.
‘Thank you. Have a great day with the kids. I’m so glad I got to be the Banshees official photographer.’
‘And I’m glad if I had to be fake engaged to anyone, it was you, Sweeney Bailey.’
The ache in Sweeney’s chest intensified. ‘Ditto.’
‘I’ll send you an invite on WhatsApp so we can chat.’
She nodded, even though part of her thought it might be best if they cut off contact for a while. But it was Fin. Of course she was going to chat with him. ‘I’ll look for it.’
He let her hand go and Sweeney squared her shoulders. That was her cue. ‘Goodbye,’ she murmured.
Fin shook his head. ‘Not goodbye. See you later.’
A ball of emotion lodged in her throat. She hoped she would see him later at some point and that what had happened last night and over the past four weeks hadn’t screwed things between them forever.
Turning on her heel, she strode to the door, shoved her toiletry bag in her hold-all, grabbed the handle of her case, opened the door and stepped out of the room.
Absently, she rubbed at the ache in her chest that only seemed to intensify the more steps she put between her and Fin. Was this indigestion, anxiety or a heart attack?
Or was this just how it felt to lose your best friend?