Chapter Thirteen
The Dildo Returns
Finn opened the door to his house, furiously glad that Holly’s car wasn’t in its spot. He needed half an hour to dissociate on the floor of his shower before he could pretend to be a human being again.
He unlocked the front door, kicked off his shoes, hung up his keys. Scrubbed his hands over his face, because he was supposed to be a person who learned from his mistakes. Or was this just inventing a whole new category of mistake?
Okay. Shower. Dissociating. Then breakfast. He could have a crisis after he had food in his stomach.
Except when he looked down at his feet again, he saw that his shoes were not alone. There was a pair of pink-and-purple Reeboks shoved haphazardly into the corner of the mat, one half on top of the other and upside-down.
“Finn?”
I can have the crisis later, Finn told himself, and then followed the voice into the living room.
Imogen almost always texted first, so if she’d shown up unannounced, chances were her crisis was going to take precedence.
Given what he’d overheard from Sawyer this morning, he wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted to talk about that.
He found her sitting on the couch, hands clasped between her knees. A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t be able to look so serious. A fourteen-year-old shouldn’t be able to feel serious enough to look like that.
“Hey, Imogen.” He took the seat on the ottoman across from her so they could talk face-to-face without sitting awkwardly. “What’s up?”
Imogen pursed her lips, lowered her brow. She said, “You’re crying.”
Unthinking, Finn raised his hand to his face. His skin didn’t feel wet. But now that he was paying attention, it had that tightness to it—the dried-salt feeling. He was sure his eyes were red. “I’m not.”
“You are. Or you were.” To his surprise, instead of doing something about it—Imogen was a hug first, ask questions later kind of girl—she took out her phone and started texting. “This is bad.”
After a moment he remembered how to use his mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Texting Sawyer.”
Oh my God. That was why she was here? Because Sawyer caught Finn at Robbie’s this morning and—Sawyer was supposed to be having his own crisis, when did he have time to butt into Finn’s? “Why?”
Stupid question, but one he felt like he had to ask.
“Damage control.” Imogen huffed and tossed her phone on the couch beside her. “This isn’t—” She pulled at her hair, then reached for Finn’s hands. She projected misery. “Finn. I’m so sorry. We didn’t think this would happen.”
He managed another deep breath. “Stop. Rewind. What is it you think is happening and why do you think it’s your fault?”
Not that he was really looking forward to hearing the answer, but if he got clarification up front, he wouldn’t accidentally reveal more information than he needed to.
“You and Robbie.” Yep. Confirmation didn’t make it any more fun.
“When Sawyer and I decided to sign him up for the show, we just thought—we thought if you saw each other enough, you’d get along.
You’ve been so lonely, and Robbie is basically hopeless at meeting people, so we thought we could just give you a little nudge.
You weren’t supposed to end up dance partners. ”
So great to know that two fourteen-year-olds thought Finn’s love life was so pathetic they tried to steer Robbie into his path indirectly, because, what, if they saw too much of each other at first, they’d move too fast and fuck things up?
Fuck, was it worse that they thought that in the first place or that they turned out to be right?
“Imogen. Robbie and I are adults who can make our own decisions. Decisions that are none of your business.”
“You’re my brother, Finn, and you’re hurting because of me, so it is my fucking business!
” Her face was bright red with emotion. But after the outburst, she took a deep breath and dialed down the volume.
“Will you please tell me why you’re upset?
Did Robbie do something? Sawyer said he said you were—” Her face puckered.
“—friends with benefits. With like, a little puke emoji. But your face says feelings.”
“Yeah, well,” Finn grumbled, “my face should shut up.”
Imogen caught a giggle behind her lips. After a second, it escaped as an inelegant mouth-fart noise. “Oh my God. Sorry, just—”
Finn had to laugh too, even if he didn’t feel the levity. “No, it’s fine.”
Unfortunately, the reprieve didn’t last. “So,” she said. “Feelings.”
Fuck. He sighed and rubbed his face again.
“It’s not Robbie’s fault. He’s got a lot going on with Sawyer right now, you know?
He was pretty clear that he doesn’t have time for a relationship.
I knew that was going to be a problem for me and I kept sleeping with him anyway.
So don’t go, like, blaming him.” All Robbie and Sawyer needed right now was to be upset at each other over Finn.
Imogen ducked her head to text again. Finn realized with a sinking sensation in his stomach that she was probably repeating this conversation to Sawyer more or less verbatim.
“Imogen, hey—look, the two of you can’t tell Robbie this, all right?
This isn’t his problem, and it’s not your place to make it his problem. ”
The look she gave him could’ve peeled paint. “If the two of you are going to be this stupid, it’s everyone’s problem.”
God, this was mortifying. “I’m serious, Imogen. It’s—I’m touched that you care, okay? Really. But you cannot tell Robbie about this. It will ruin our friendship, and I’d like to keep that. Don’t put me on the news.”
She huffed. “Whatever, I guess.”
But Finn could read her texts upside-down. Why are adults so bad at communicating? she’d asked Sawyer.
Sawyer said, idk I think it’s bc of their hormones.
Finn groaned, but Imogen typed out an instructional text to Sawyer—low key. Don’t spill the tea to Robbie, Finn will flip. We have to be sneaky.
When Finn left that morning, Robbie had the distinct impression something wasn’t right—had, in fact, gone wrong—but he didn’t know what.
Maybe Finn was supremely embarrassed to have been caught by a teen? Or wasn’t ready to have anyone know about them?
Jesus, Robbie hoped Finn wasn’t worried Sawyer would tell anyone. No, that couldn’t be it. Surely he knew Sawyer would respect their privacy.
Speaking of… Sawyer fell into the room all teenaged Bambi grace.
“Pancake time?”
Robbie snorted and pulled out ingredients. Trust a fourteen-year-old to stay focused on the important things in life—food—despite having gone through a traumatic wake-up call.
Sawyer helped cook, probably more because he wanted to be close to Robbie than out of any real desire to be useful, and soon Robbie slid a stack of pancakes to him across the counter.
Once his stack was smothered in maple syrup and topped with berries, Sawyer demolished his first few bites. Then he took a breath and his eyes off his food long enough to see Robbie again.
“So—” His phone pinged. Sawyer looked at the text, scowled, and furiously typed back. Robbie bit his lip. He knew that frown. Imogen must be starting something. Though, given this morning… maybe she was being overprotective?
When Sawyer finally put down his phone, Robbie arched a brow and prompted, “So?”
A confused puppy stared back at him. “So?”
“Yeah. So. That’s what you said.”
“Oh. Right.” Sawyer looked panicked for a brief, confusing moment. “I, er, forget.”
“You forget.”
“Yes.” He nodded vigorously.
“Okay.” And now his kid was lying to him.
Follow-up questions would have to wait, though, since he had pancakes to plate and batter to pour. His own phone buzzed on the counter as he did so, and he figured he might as well take a page out of his kid’s book and see who was hailing.
A new text from Gail Graham. He frowned. They didn’t tend to text really, unless they needed to arrange pickups or drop-offs.
Robbie Zeiger. What are you doing with my stepson?
Robbie frowned. That sounded aggressive. Not knowing how to address that, he sidestepped, Competing on a reality tv show?
Robert. Do you think I don’t know his car when I see it.
Right. Of course. It should have occurred to him earlier that Gail must have brought Sawyer home and would’ve noticed the other vehicle in the driveway. Then again, Robbie wouldn’t have put it past his kid to have used the Uber app that Robbie had installed in case of emergency.
Ah. Guess that explains how Sawyer got home.
Not the point!
Look. You should really talk to Finn about this.
I did! Days ago! But when I worried about his impending broken heart, it didn’t occur to me that YOU were the unnamed new man!
What the fuck? Why was Gail worried Robbie would break Finn’s heart? He frowned and reread the text. It didn’t sound like typical nebulous worries about her child in a new relationship.
He started to text. Stopped. Deleted it. Restarted. He wondered if Gail was looking at her phone and being driven nuts by Robbie’s bubbling. He didn’t feel too bad about it considering the turmoil she was putting him through.
He finally settled on, I am so confused right now.
Time to flip the last of the pancakes.
Nothing new from Gail. Apparently she was confused too, since she was bubbling him back.
He turned from his phone to focus on pancakes. He was just about to finally dig into his own breakfast when his phone rang.
Eugene.
Jesus. Just what he needed. “What is it now?”
“Nothing new, but I need you to come to my office. I’m getting ready to file affidavits and need some receipts and your signature.”
“Yeah?” He rubbed his face and wondered if he couldn’t finish breakfast first.
“Yup. Bring evidence of any communication from the monsters that shows they’re unfit.”
“I can do that.” Robbie eyed Sawyer’s phone, which he had propped up so he could easily scroll TikTok and eat at the same time. Eugene needed that DM from them.
“Also, can you bring Sawyer? A statement from him would help.”
“Uh, I think so? I’ll check and get back to you.”
“’Kay.”
“Eugene?”
“Yeah?”