Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GENEVIEVE
I can’t stop shaking.
I thought I was past this. Thought I had healed, or at least learned how to live with the gaping hole in my chest where a father should have been.
But then he walked into the library today, and I was six years old again, my backpack straps cutting into my shoulders, my legs swinging off the edge of the porch. I can still picture that flickering streetlamp, just like on the day I waited for him to come home. Every set of headlights made my heart leap. Every car that passed somehow shattered it all over again.
And today when he looked at me, really looked at me, I saw it in his eyes. Recognition. He knew who I was and still walked away. Just like he did all those years ago.
A fresh wave of hurt crashes over me, suffocating and raw. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the walls of my living room. I should call someone. Claire, maybe? But she wouldn’t understand. She never knew him. Mom would listen, but what good would it do? She’d only tell me the same thing she has since he left. That he’s not worth my tears.
I immediately think of Finn.
Any other day, he’s exactly who I would call. He’d come over, no questions asked, and sit with me until the weight of everything didn’t feel so crushing. But I can’t keep leaning on him. I need to pull back. Redraw the lines we blurred.
So I stew. Alone.
As I stare at my phone, an idea pops into my head. I shouldn’t do this. I’ve gone years without looking. But the need to know outweighs the warning bells going off.
My fingers move of their own accord as I navigate to a popular social media app and type the name that has haunted me my entire life into the search bar.
Calvin Faulkner.
A few results pop up and I scroll through them, somewhat relieved when they’re not my father. But that relief is short-lived when I stumble across a familiar face. The same man who stood in front of me today and said nothing.
I should stop. Put my phone down and forget he ever stepped foot in my library. But I can’t help myself. Can’t help but be curious about the man who was supposed to love me. Who was supposed to cherish me. Who wasn’t supposed to leave.
I click on his profile, finding it bare. A few shared links, nothing personal. Nothing to indicate what kind of man he is. Who he is now. Why he abandoned us.
Why he didn’t love us.
Didn’t love me.
I’m about to click off the screen when my thumb hits the app’s home button out of habit, and suddenly, I’m staring at another picture. One I wasn’t expecting.
Ethan .
My breath catches, a sharp inhale that feels like it gets stuck in my chest. It’s been a while since I’ve seen his face and, for a second, I wonder if I’m imagining it. If maybe my mind conjured him up because I’m already feeling raw after seeing my father.
But there’s no doubt in my mind. This is real.
Rebecca is beside him, her hand resting on his chest, her fingers curled like she belongs there. And nestled between them, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, is a baby.
Their baby.
Then I read the caption, the icing on an already shitty cake.
I never knew a love like this could exist until I became a father.
It shouldn’t sting like this. After all, I’m pregnant. I’m going to be a mother. That was the goal. That was the dream. But seeing this photo rips something open inside of me.
A tear slips down my cheek, then another, until I’m gripping the phone with both hands, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.
Why wasn’t I enough?
Why didn’t he stay?
First my father. Then Ethan.
If I ever needed confirmation I did the right thing this morning with Finn, this is it. It’s better I do this on my own. That way I don’t come to depend on someone, only for them to leave.
Just like everyone else in my life.
Suddenly, the sound of the doorbell rips through the space, the surprising invasion causing me to nearly drop my phone.
I don’t make any move to answer, in no mood to talk to anyone right now.
Then a familiar voice cuts through.
“Genevieve, it’s me.”
Shit .
Just my luck. During my lowest moment, Finn stops by to witness it.
“I know you’re home,” he calls through the door, knocking louder this time. “If you don’t open up, I’m letting myself in. We need to talk.”
I close my eyes, my fingers curling against my palm. Damn him for having a code. Damn me for giving it to him.
Just as I stand to let him in, the lock beeps and the door swings open.
I barely have time to swipe at my wet cheeks before he’s steps inside, his eyes immediately finding me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern covering his expression. “Is it the baby?”
“No,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “The baby’s fine.”
Relief flickers over his face, but it’s brief. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just hormones, probably.”
He doesn’t buy it. “Genevieve.” He closes the distance between us in three long strides.
I try to step back, but the coffee table stops me short. His hand comes up, gentle but firm, his fingers grazing down my arm, like he’s trying to soothe whatever storm he can sense is raging inside me. Finn has always been my safe place, the one person who sees through me even when I don’t want him to.
Right now, I really don’t want him to.
“Talk to me,” he says softly. “Please.”
I stare at the spot on my arm where his fingers rest. His touch is warm, grounding. The weight of the day, the unbearable ache in my chest, it all comes crashing down until I can’t hold it in anymore.
“My dad,” I whisper. “I saw my dad today.”
Finn goes still. His thumb pauses mid-stroke against my skin. “Your…dad?”
I nod.
On a long exhale, he wraps his arms around me. And I let him hold me. It’s the one thing I don’t want, but the one thing I need.
“What happened?” he asks after a beat.
“He was at the library,” I say into his chest. “He was the HVAC repair guy. And he knew, Finn. He knew who I was, and he didn’t say a damn thing.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. Hate how weak it makes me sound, but I can’t stop. “He just… looked at me. Like he was seeing a ghost. And then he walked away without saying a word. Without an explanation. Without a fucking apology.”
Finn cups my cheek, forcing my gaze to his. His touch is so damn careful, like I might break apart in front of him. Maybe I will.
“He’s not worth your tears, Genevieve.” His voice is low, steady. “Don’t give him that power.”
I let out a shaky breath, pressing my lips together so they don’t tremble. “And then?—”
“Yes?” he prods.
“Then I saw Ethan.”
“Where?” He frowns, his thumb catching a tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
“Not in person. On social media. There was a photo.” My stomach twists violently, bile rising in my throat. “Him. Rebecca. Their newborn daughter.” I laugh, but it’s a broken, brittle thing. “And the best part?” I drag in another breath, my entire body shaking now. “The caption. ‘I never knew a love like this could exist until I became a father.’”
The words taste like acid on my tongue. Saying them out loud makes them real, makes the pain sharper, slicing through me all over again.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Finn’s arms are back around me, pulling me in, holding me together while I fall apart. I don’t fight him. I can’t. Not when the grief and loneliness are suffocating me, dragging me under.
“Why?” I whisper, my fingers fisting in his shirt. “Why wasn’t I enough?”
“Don’t,” Finn demands, pinching my chin and dragging my eyes back to his. “Don’t you dare say that.”
“I just…” A sob rips through me, raw and unfiltered. “Why am I so unlovable?”
Finn pulls back just enough to cup my face in both hands. “You are not unlovable, Genevieve.” His gaze is fierce, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “I love you.”
The room tilts, and I swear the floor shifts beneath me. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but those three words.
I love you.
My body locks up, my grip on his shirt tightening as if I can hold the moment still. Rewind it. Erase it.
He can’t say this.
Not when my heart is already cracked wide open, bleeding out from wounds I don’t know how to close.
I sensed he wanted more this morning, but I thought he just wanted to keep sleeping together. Maybe see if this thing between us might go somewhere.
I never expected he’d tell me this.
“As a friend. Right?” I ask softly, praying I misinterpreted him.
A serenity washes over his face, as if he didn’t just turn my world upside down. “No. Not as a friend. I’m in love with you, Genevieve.”
My breath hitches, panic clawing its way up my throat. Finn’s hands are still on my face, his thumbs sweeping over my cheeks, erasing my tears.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” His voice is rough, strained, determined. “I’m so damn in love with you. Have been for years. It just took me this long to figure out what these feelings are.”
“No,” I exhale, shaking my head.
“You can act like you don’t know it. Like you don’t feel it, too. We both know you do.”
“I… I can’t do this.” I manage to free myself from his hold, putting space between us. “You’re not supposed to feel this way.”
“You don’t get to tell me how to feel, Genevieve.”
“But you can’t. You can’t love me.”
His brows draw together. “Why the hell not?”
I press a hand to my chest, trying to hold myself together. “You’re my best friend. The only person who’s never let me down, never left me.” My heart squeezes painfully. “If I lose you, I lose everything.”
Finn pushes out a long sigh as he steps toward me, reaching for my face again so I can see the truth in his words. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“Yes, I do.” He adjusts his stance, bringing his body within a breath of mine. “You think I haven’t imagined every way this could go wrong? I have, Genevieve. Every damn day. But as I’ve played through all these scenarios, I’ve learned something.”
“What’s that?”
“That the only thing worse than losing you would be never having you at all.”
“Finn…”
“Don’t push me away,” he interjects before I can give him more excuses. “Don’t do that to us.”
“There is no us. There can’t be.” I push out of his hold, fighting to put space between us.
“There’s always been an us, Genevieve. It just took me this long to finally realize it.”
“No.” I vehemently shake my head. “There isn’t. Not like that. Not now. Not ever.”
My words echo in the house, the seconds ticking by in a slow march. I see the hurt in his expression, but I can’t take them back.
“Then say it, Genevieve.” His strained voice breaks through the silence.
“Say what?”
“Say you don’t love me. I need to hear you say it. Hear you say you haven’t thought about this. That you’re not dreading falling asleep alone tonight, wishing it was me in your bed instead of being surrounded by this empty fucking house.”
His jaw is tight, his hands fisted at his sides, like he’s bracing himself for impact.
“Say the last few months meant absolutely nothing to you. That I mean nothing to you. Say the words and I’ll go, Genevieve. But I need you to tell me first.”
I lick my lips, avoiding his gaze, hating what I see within. “Finn?—”
“Say it.” His voice cracks. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”
My throat burns. My insides twist into something awful. Something unbearable.
But all I can think about is the way my father looked right through me. The way Ethan held his newborn daughter, his entire world cradled in his arms while I stood on the outside looking in.
Finn is compassion and warmth and safety. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Which means he’s the biggest risk of all.
I force myself to meet his gaze, even as my stomach clenches. Even as my hands tremble at my sides. Even as my throat fights against the words I’m about to say.
“I don’t love you.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Finn’s chest rises and falls with quick, sharp breaths, his jaw clenching so hard I swear I hear his teeth grind. Then he steps closer, his fiery eyes boring into mine.
“You’re lying, Genevieve.”
“I’m not.”
“The hell you aren’t. You think I don’t know you? You think I don’t see right through you?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just something wrecked and hollow. “You’re scared, Genevieve. That’s all this is. That’s why you’re doing this.”
I swallow hard, but I keep my expression blank. I have to.
“You think I’m like every other man in your life,” he says, his voice quieter now but just as fierce. “That I’ll leave. That I’ll disappoint you. That loving me is a mistake. But I’m not them.” He takes another step forward. “And I’m sure as hell not giving up on you just because you’re too scared to admit you love me.
“You don’t get to push me away and expect me to just take it. I know what this is, and I know you. I’m not giving up on you, Genevieve. Not like every other man in your life has. I’ll give you the space you obviously need to process this and get your head on straight. But this isn’t over. We aren’t over.”
Then he turns and storms out of the house, the door slamming shut behind him.
I stand there, frozen, my pulse hammering, my chest caving in on itself.
The silence is deafening, the emptiness unbearable.
And for the first time in my life, I feel completely, utterly alone.