Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Rhodes
It feels wrong.
That’s the first thing I notice when I walk into the kitchen after the short road trip.
Not quiet, exactly.
Chloe’s in the family room with one of her shows playing on the TV, the kittens are tearing around like the tiny furry demons they are, and Chrissy is stirring food on the stove…but it all still feels wrong.
Like someone reached into the center of our house and removed its heart.
No.
I’d done that.
Took out the part that made everything softer. Warmer.
Alive.
And I’d stomped on it.
I just stand there for a second, taking it in.
No fabric squares on the table.
No lingering scent of cookies in the air.
No cocktail ingredients on the counter.
No Finn.
And Christ, but her absence is loud.
“Hey,” Chrissy says, walking over to me. “You okay?”
I nod. “Thanks for watching her. The new nanny is coming tomorrow so we should be good from here on out.”
Because Finn left this morning.
But not without making arrangement for Chloe.
Something flickers across Chrissy’s face, but she just nods, presses her lips to my cheek. “Anything you need. Anytime you need it.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
A pat to my shoulder. Then she calls, “Chloe girl, I’m out of here!”
“Bye—” When Chloe realizes I’m here, her face lights up in a way that never fails to soothe the rough edges of my soul. “Daddy!” She barrels into me before I can brace, wrapping both arms around my waist hard enough to knock me back a step.
I hug her back automatically, scooping her up into my arms and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey, pumpkin.”
Her grip tightens for a second.
Then loosens.
And when she tips her face up to look at me, I know her next words are going to hurt like hell even before she asks, “When’s Finn coming back?”
The question lands like a whip, flaying me open, and it takes everything in me to not react.
Something that’s even harder with Chrissy wincing as she slips from the room.
I force my expression to stay neutral as her footsteps fade.
As the front door opens and closes, the lock making a quiet snick as it’s engaged.
Only then do I carry Chloe to the couch and sit down with her in my lap. “She’s not, baby.”
Her face crumples, though she doesn’t dissolve into full tears, not yet.
But it’s close enough.
Close enough that guilt rushes through me with such force my insides churn and…I think I might puke.
“She had to leave?” Chloe whispers.
That doesn’t calm my stomach.
Because I think of Finn walking out of my office with those applications in her hands.
Think of the way she flinched.
Think of the itinerary she wanted to show me…the one I hadn’t found until the next morning when I left for the road trip.
A vacation for three.
Scheduled for after the season was over.
It doesn’t change anything.
And it also changes…everything.
“What do you mean?”
“I…” A breath. “She’s not going to be living here anymore.”
A beat.
Then another.
Olive streaks across the living room and launches herself onto the arm of the couch. Pear follows two seconds later and misses, tumbling sideways and righting herself with deeply offended dignity.
Normally Chloe would laugh.
Today she doesn’t.
Instead, she just nods once, a tiny, broken sort of nod that wrecks me. “At least she said goodbye before she dropped me off at school.”
“She did?”
Another nod. “And she hugged me really tight.”
Christ.
“And she gave me this—”
I look down, see what Chloe’s pointing at. Her blanket. The beautiful cacophony of pink squares she and Finn have been working on for months.
It’s completely finished.
Christ.
“Can I put a picture of Finn in my memory box?”
My throat goes tight, but I manage to say, “Yeah, baby.”
“Okay,” she says.
Nothing about it is okay.
I swallow hard. “Do you want a snack?”
Another nod.
“Apple and peanut butter?”
This time there’s the smallest flicker in her eyes. “With chocolate chips?”
“Is there any other way?” I joke, even though my insides are shredded.
My choice.
My fault.
My pain to endure.
We walk into the kitchen, the scent of dinner in the air, but I don’t move to the pot Chrissy left simmering on the stove, don’t snag an apple from the fridge.
Because I’m noticing all the things that are wrong.
The dish towel not folded the right way.
The island full of clutter.
The bananas going brown on the counter.
And when I finally make it to the fridge…
It’s wrong too.
Chloe’s lunch box isn’t in its spot. There aren’t any rogue cocktail ingredients hanging out on the shelves. Her favorite yogurts are missing and the leftovers are cleared out. And my stash of peanut butter cups is completely depleted.
There’s no sign of Finn here either.
I grip the door too hard and close my eyes for a second.
What the fuck have I done?
No.
I breathe deep and slow. I had to do it. I had to protect Chloe.
I did the right thing.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
So why does this all feel so wrong?
I shove that down and get Chloe settled at the counter with her apples and peanut butter and chocolate chips and glass of milk. Doing something so innocuous, so normal almost convinces me that I can get through tonight.
Almost convinces me that I can get through losing Finn.
Then Pear jumps onto the stool beside Chloe and she strokes the kitten’s back.
“Finn used to do this,” she says quietly.
I stop with my hand on the spoon, stirring the pot of pasta sauce Chrissy left behind. “Do what, pumpkin?”
“Pet the kitties when she was thinking.”
My throat goes tight. “Are you thinking?”
“Yeah.”
“About what?”
“About Finn.”
Fuck me.
“Yeah?”
Chloe nods, eyes on Pear. “She’d squish her mouth up”—a little crease forms between her brows, mimicking Finn almost exactly—“like this.”
I almost laugh.
Almost.
Because it’s so damned accurate. But…it hurts too fucking much.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Did I do something wrong?”
The question is so soft I barely hear it.
I’m at her side in two strides. “No,” I say firmly. I cup her face in my hands, tilting her head up so I can meet her gaze. “Absolutely not. Never.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Then why did Finn go?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Because what am I supposed to say?
I’m trying to protect her, so I told Finn to go?
Maybe.
But she speaks first. “Is it complicated?”
“What?”
“Finn said that sometimes being a grownup is complicated.”
I freeze, suddenly wanting to laugh. Then smooth back her hair. “Yeah, baby, it’s complicated.”
Boy, is this complicated.
She studies my face for a long moment.
That’s when she finally cries.
It’s not loud.
It’s not dramatic.
Just silent tears slipping down her cheeks as she climbs off the stool and crawls into my lap.
I hold her while the kittens circle our feet and the kitchen grows dark around us.
And for the first time since Finn walked out, I stop pretending.
This wasn’t something noble.
It’s brutal and awful and…
It’s a loss.
The kind I chose with both hands.