Chapter 25
Finn
SIMPLE MAN BY LYNYRD SKYNYRD
I wake up to the distinct sound of whispering, and pain from my head throbbing.
My skull feels like a tiny, angry construction crew is jackhammering it. Something soft and fuzzy brushes my face, and I realize I’m not in my bed.
“Is he dead?” a small voice whispers.
“No, he’s not dead,” someone whispers back. “He’s breathing.”
“I can hear you,” I groan. My voice feels rough, like sandpaper, and I've made some bad decisions that involved a bottle of whiskey last night at my shop. A wet tongue slides up my cheek, making me turn my face.
I open one eye and Junie’s standing two feet away, clutching a stuffed narwhal.
Ivy’s behind her, coffee mug in hand, smiling like this is the best entertainment she’s had all week.
And their blue heeler, Lola, is watching me with concern.
Allen is perched on a chair across from me, silently judging me with a glare.
He’s been out here healing from his neutering, and he’s become friends with Lola the dog.
“Hey, buddy,” Ivy says, voice far too cheerful for the hour. “You’re on our couch.”
I grunt. “Yeah.”
Remy’s at the kitchen counter, leaning against it with that quiet smirk that says you’re gonna get roasted for this. His mug steams, the smell of coffee filling the room.
“Rough night?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I press my palms to my eyes, trying to rub the headache out.
“You showed up around midnight, mumbled something about ‘ruining everything,’ and passed out on the couch, halfway through explaining it.”
“Sounds about right,” I mutter.
Junie climbs onto the couch beside me, curls bouncing. “Uncle Finn, you smell weird.”
“Thanks, kiddo.”
She beams. “You’re welcome.”
Lola climbs up beside her, tongue hanging out watching our interaction closely.
Ivy looks at us and says, “Junie, Lola, let’s go get ready for the day.”
Junie grumbles but follows her down the hall, the dog trotting behind them.
Remy finally sets his mug down and joins me at the couch. “All right, what happened?”
“She’s pissed.” I let out a hard exhale, but even as I say it, the words feel wrong.
“She’s more than pissed,” I admit under my breath, almost to myself.
“She’s hurt. She feels betrayed. And… she has every right to.
” I run a hand over my face. “I hurt her. And now she needs space. She has every reason to tell me to back off.”
The words are heavy, but they feel closer to the truth. I’m not shifting blame. I’m not minimizing her feelings. I’m just finally admitting it: I messed up, and she knows it.
Remy studies me for a second, then nods. “That's fair. It probably feels like a betrayal.”
“I would never hurt her. I love her.”
“She loves you, too,” he says simply. “But she has every right to be angry. You two need to talk it out, figure out what’s next. It’s all new, you’re still learning how to be in it together. Even in the hard stuff.”
I glance toward the window. The morning light’s filtering through the kitchen, catching on the dust in the air.
Junie’s playing with her dog. Ivy’s wiping down the counter, pretending not to listen but absolutely listening. And Remy’s already pulling on his boots, heading toward the door.
“Come on,” he says. “We’ve got work to do. You can sweat the guilt out while we work on our plan for that asshole, Briggs.”
I stand and go to the door where my boots are next to it and Ivy hands me a to-go mug of coffee and a few Ibuprofens. “For what it's worth, she's just as upset as you. But she's not murdering you right now, so that's a good sign.”
I snort laugh. “There's that.”
“It'll be okay,” she promises.
“Hey, Uncle Finn, just say you're sorry!” Junie calls from the kitchen counter.
“I will, Bug. I will.”
We head out to the tree farm and the air’s cool, heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth.
After a while, Remy breaks the silence. “So. What’s your plan with Briggs?”
I shrug. “He can fuck right off.”
“Briggs is a moron," he says. "I have an idea to get around it."
“Thank God.” I heft a plank onto the pile, jaw tight as we step into the barn.
Remy watches me for a beat. “She’ll come around. Rowan’s got fire, but she’s got a big heart, especially when it comes to a big dufus like you.”
I let out a breath, my throat tight. “God, I hope you’re right.”
He grins, clapping me on the shoulder. “When am I ever wrong?”
I snort. “You want the list alphabetically or chronologically?”
“Easy there,” he says, chuckling. “He can't legally make you work for him, and he definitely can't blackmail you like that.”
“Yeah,” I say, sipping my coffee.
“So, you provide him with the asshole tax. Whatever you would have bid for him, quadruple it. Make it an astronomical number to work with Bennett Construction so that he could never afford you. There's no way anyone on the town board would ever approve that. There's just no way.”
“That's a good idea. Play nice. Get as much in writing as I can from him. Meet at the bookstore or somewhere public when I talk to him and have others overhear what's going on so I don't break this ridiculous NDA,” I say.
“You could do that. I could get Mom and Pete to conveniently sit at the bookstore, doing their crossword puzzles, and overhear it, then spread the news through town. Once everyone knows about this, he can't sneak around,” Remy adds.
“He thinks he's going to pull all of this off, and there's no actual way.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“We'll make damn sure it doesn't happen. Period,” Remy says as he pulls out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” I ask, rubbing my forehead.
“Mom. I know she'll be in on this. She hates that guy. Schedule a meeting with Sammy for this afternoon at 2:00 p.m. at the bookstore. Pete has a doctor's appointment this morning.”
I nod. “Okay.” I pull out my phone, and it's dead. “I'm going to head home and get this done. Thanks for letting me crash on your couch.”
He claps me on the back. “Anytime.”
For the first time since that awful meeting with Sammy, something in my chest eases. The ache’s still there, but it’s quieter now, dulled by hard work, coffee, and Remy’s quiet steadiness.
And maybe, just maybe, by the thought that Rowan hasn’t given up on me yet.
I let Sammy think I’m on board. I tell him 2:30 at Wisteria Books & Brews, and he actually sounds surprised before he says yes, like a man who thinks he’s already won.
He gets to be smug all the way until I hand him the bid.
Then hopefully he'll lose his shit, and Mom and Pete will hear it all and tell everyone, leaving me not to have broken an NDA, which is what he wants. He wants to be able to come for me. And I won’t let him.
I stroll in right at 2:30, and Willa gives me that look that says, “What are you doing here?” Ivy’s working the counter over in Rowan's shop, bright and steady as ever, and she gives me a quick wink. Rowan’s upstairs teaching yoga, thank God.
I need to resolve this issue before I can fix things with her.
I owe her a massive explanation on things.
Sammy’s there without his developers, a mug of coffee in front of him, watching for me. I sit and then hand him the bid.
“I'm glad you finally came to your senses,” Sammy says as he takes the papers out of the envelope and reads through them.
I hammered out the bid this morning. It’s absurd. Ridiculously, astronomically high. No sane municipal budget would ever allow it, and that’s the point. I signed that stupid agreement because I was foolish, and I let him think he had me. Now I’m here to make sure he doesn’t.
He may have caught me at a weak moment, but he won't be catching me again.
Sammy flips through it, brow furrowing. “What is this?” he asks slowly, like he’s reading a punchline he doesn’t get.
“That’s my bid,” I say, steady. “Permits, labor, materials. That’s what it costs to do this right.”
He looks up at me, eyes surprised, turning to anger. “This is—this is way too much. You know we can’t hire you for this. You need to come down on these numbers.”
“No.” The word comes out hard. “I don’t have to do anything, Sammy. This is my bid. Take it or leave it.”
The muscles in his jaw twitch. He’s not used to being played. “This is a waste of my time.” He leans forward. “You did this on purpose to sabotage the project. I could have made you a wealthy man. You’re going to make me make this personal. If you want to—”
“You want to ruin our town and call it an investment.” I cut him off.
The heat in my chest is a hard, bright thing.
“You pushed false permits on Rowan and Ivy. You tried to choke their businesses with bureaucracy while you were an investor in a competing business. Isn’t that a conflict of interest?
You’re getting a kickback on this project, aren’t you? It's all about your pockets, Sammy.”
He snorts, voice thinning. “Where are you getting this—”
“I’m getting it from watching you,” I say. “I’m not dumb, and neither is anyone else in this town. You aren't getting away with this.”
Donna’s at the table behind Sammy. She lifts her phone. “I recorded every word you said, Sammy. I have it, and I know what you’re doing. I’m not letting you get away with it.”
For the first time in the room, Sammy looks pale. His eyes dart to the door, like he’s searching for the nearest exit. “You can’t record me,” he starts. He glances up and sees the camera above us that's always been there.
“Yeah, and when you and your developers came in here to start trouble, that camera caught you, too.” I shrug and smile at him. For once, it feels good to watch Sammy squirm since he takes pleasure in hurting everyone else.
Pete doesn’t hold back, either. “Come in here and start trouble again,” he says. “I’ll bury you.” It’s gruff and ridiculous and exactly Pete, with half protective fury, half old-man stubbornness. “I’m a dying man. No one’s locking me up for clocking you, Sammy.”
Sammy’s lips press into a hard line. He storms for the door.
Donna’s already pulling out her phone, fingers moving fast. “Everyone’s getting a text,” she says. “Emergency town meeting tonight. We’re pulling a recall petition. We’ll be at the hall by seven.” Her voice is fierce and confident.
“Thanks, Mom,” I mutter.
“I'm proud of you, Son. You did the right thing. We're finally going to get him out of here. He's nothing but a menace to this town.”
The yoga class must have ended because people trickle down in clusters, muttering questions.
“Is Rowan okay?” someone asks. And that makes my ears perk up.
“She said she wasn’t feeling well,” one student says. “She told us to head out early.”
My stomach drops. “Rowan canceled class early?” That's not like her at all.
A woman from the class looks at me with an apologetic face. “Said she’d be back, but she looked pale.” She points up the narrow staircase to where her apartment is next to her yoga studio upstairs.
I move up the stairs, and I take them two at a time, and the small world of the bookshop blurs past, the chatter of people below, the smell of coffee.
I get to the door of the small upstairs studio, and the sound that hits me is not talking or the soft hum of wind-down breath, but a retch. My heart thuds so hard it feels like it might hammer through my ribs.
She's sick.
I throw the door open. Rowan is doubled over the toilet, heaving. Her hair is loose, damp at her temples. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes and something raw and vulnerable.
“Finn,” she manages, voice tiny and ragged. Her hand clutches the rim like it’s the only solid thing left. "Go away. Don't look at me like this."
I’m halfway to her before I realize I’m on my knees. I reach for her hair, gentle as I can, and she nods toward me, embarrassed and relieved in one messy breath.
“You okay?” I ask, pulling her hair back.
She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “I’m not.”
I don’t know how much of this is the spin of everything—Sammy, the bid, the betrayal—and how much is the physical. I scoop her into my arms like she’s the only steady piece I can trust, like if I hold her tight enough, she won’t fall apart.
“I’m here,” I tell her. “And I’m so sorry.”
She leans into me, all shaky breath and exhaustion, the weight of her pressing against my chest like something fragile that finally gave in.
Her head finds my shoulder, and I can feel the tiny sigh she lets out—one that sounds more like surrender than sleep. It’s quiet, content, the kind of sound that crawls under your ribs and stays there.
Within a minute, her breathing evens out. She drifts off against me, still clutching a handful of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I ease her back gently, keeping one arm around her as I grab a towel from the hook near the little sink. I wet it with cold water, wring it out, and crouch beside her again. Her skin is warm, flushed, and a few damp strands of hair stick to her face.
“Hey,” I whisper, brushing them back. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”
She doesn’t answer, murmurs something sleepy and leans into me.
I wipe her face and the back of her neck, slow and careful, the way you’d handle something precious. When I’m done, I set the washcloth aside and slide my arms beneath her. She stirs but doesn’t wake as I lift her and carry her to the little bed tucked against the wall.
“I'm just so tired, Finn,” she says as she drifts off.
Her room smells like lavender, like her. I pull the blanket up to her shoulders, tucking it around her as she sighs again, softer this time, almost peaceful.
“There you go,” I whisper. “You’re okay now.”
She doesn’t answer, but her lips curve the slightest bit, like she heard me somewhere inside the dream.
I grab her a glass of water from the kitchenette, set it on the nightstand, then stand there for a while, watching her. The rise and fall of her chest, the tiny crease between her brows easing out bit by bit.
I reach out and brush my thumb along her temple. Then I settle into the chair beside the bed, elbows on my knees, eyes on her.
I don’t know what tomorrow’s going to look like—what we’re walking into, what she’ll say when she wakes up, but for now, I'll take care of her. She's my priority.
And that’s enough to make me believe that maybe, just maybe, we’re going to find our way back.