Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Finn
I’m not a patient guy.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor, trying to get the image of Raya’s face out of my mind.
I’ve never seen her look so scared.
I stand, clenching and unclenching my hands.
I sit back down.
I stand up and pace, wondering if anyone is ever going to come to the waiting room and give her parents an update.
She thinks she can handle everything on her own, but she obviously kept one too many tabs open for too long. Do her parents know what I know—that Raya isn’t nearly as strong as she wants everyone to think she is?
She puts up a great front. Half the guys on the team are terrified of her. And I get it. She’s blunt. Forward. Smart. She says what she thinks, and most people aren’t used to that.
I clench my teeth. I hate that this happened to her. I want her back in her office, rolling her eyes at me, secretly eating the chocolate I gave her after I leave, doing everything she can to pretend she doesn’t love it.
A stiff, protective feeling forces a deep breath. I just want to make sure she’s okay.
She needs to be okay.
I remind myself to slow down. I’ve been looking for ways to keep people safe since I was in high school.
Always the designated driver. The one who made sure my friends got home safe.
Heck, I took that job at the bar in college just so I could keep an eye out.
I took keys away from people who’d had too much to drink more times than I could count.
And I always paid attention when a guy tried to follow a drunk woman out.
Guys can be real jerks sometimes.
So I started doing what I could. Calling a guy back in, claiming he hadn’t settled his tab, stalling him while another bartender called a ride for the girl.
I perfected the art of the diversion—usually “accidentally” spilling a drink on a guy to divert his attention away from a woman who didn’t want it.
I’d follow the spill with a bunch of apologies and an open tab for the next hour, and most of the time, the guy would forget all about the woman he’d been bothering.
I look down the hallway, trying to see any sign, and walk over to the nurse behind the glass.
“Any news yet?”
She shakes her head, “No, I’m sorry, hon. As soon as we get word, someone will come out or we’ll let you know.”
I tap the glass softly with a closed fist, nodding. “Okay.” I cross my arms and straighten, staring at the door where they wheeled her.
In my mind, I imagine her walking through the doors of the bar—the first time I saw her. From the second she walked in, she had my full attention.
After her friend left, she looked a bit out of her element, and unsure what to do. She asked for the same drink she’d just had—a Long Island iced tea. As I slid it over, she just . . . started talking.
I hadn’t been a bartender long, but I could tell when someone needed to talk.
“Did you know I got fired today?” she said, and not quietly. “Me! Fired! Do you believe that?!”
I filled a tall glass with beer and handed it to one of the servers. “What happened?”
“I screwed up.” She blew a raspberry, and it was pretty obvious this woman was not a drinker. Those two drinks had gone straight to her head. “Plus!” She pulled out her phone, tapped a few buttons, and held it up, showing me the engagement announcement of two strangers. “Look at that.”
I’m not sure what kind of look I gave her, but a woman waved at me and ordered a Moscow mule.
I made the drink, half-listening to the dark-headed woman who’d had too much to drink.
“That’s Jeremy.” She pinched the image and enlarged the man’s face. “My ex.” Then, she swiped the photo over. “And that’s Margot. She’s the devil.” She went on a mini-tirade about Margot, then the conversation wound back to work, and she actually started to cry.
Alcohol, a poor man’s truth serum.
I didn’t know for sure, but it seemed like I was the only person who knew about any of this. I was trying to figure out how to respond to her when a guy slid onto the stool next to her and asked her to dance.
“I don’t dance,” she said.
“Oh, it’s not hard. I’ll show you all the steps.” It was clear she didn’t want to, but he eventually convinced her to follow him out onto the dance floor.
Different night, different guy, same old scene.
The other bartender, Mandy, watched me watching Raya, and when the guy started to get a little too handsy, Mandy nodded at me. “I got this, you go.”
I moved out from behind the bar and onto the floor, making my way through swaying, sweaty bodies. When I reached Raya, I pulled the guy away from her. “Hey, so sorry, she’s with me.”
“Get lost, man.” He tried to shove me, but I held my ground, and he stumbled back a few steps. He shrank and his expression shifted.
I took Raya’s hand and pulled her off the dance floor and into the back room, where it was quiet and cool.
Her eyes were wide. “Where are—what just happened?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I got you.”
“But—” she started to protest.
“He’s not a good guy,” I said. “Are you okay?”
The room was dark, but I could see her nod, a quiet “mmm-hmm” escaping her lips.
She stumbled a bit, and I reached out to stop her from falling.
She grabbed onto me, hands resting on my chest as we both went still in the small, dark space.
My fingers splayed across her waist, thumbs pressing gently at her hips.
My chest tightened at her nearness. My pulse raced as my eyes searched hers, and all I could think was—this is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Slowly, she wound her hands up around my neck, pressing herself into my chest. “Thank you.” She lifted her chin, eyes latching onto mine, and her expression changed.
She looked at me like she wanted me.
And yeah, I wanted her too. My breath hitched. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her. To inhale the scent of her. To let my mouth explore hers. I could maybe even convince myself that she needed something to take her mind off of the day she’d had.
She moved closer, drawing my lips toward hers. I closed my eyes for a flicker of a moment, but then reality snapped me back. I took her by the arms, firm but soft, and held her off. “I can’t—” I closed my eyes again for a quick second, hands still wrapped around her arms. “You’ve been drinking.”
Her body went rigid, and I watched as the horror of humiliation washed over her face, breaking whatever spell she’d been under. “Oh my gosh, I—” She shook her head, then rushed off, out of the room, and back into the bar.
The double doors that lead to the hospital parking lot slide open, and the paramedics wheel in another person on a stretcher, talking fast. It snaps me back to the present, and I’m still staring at the doors that closed when they took Raya back to get her checked out.
I wanted to protect her seven years ago—and all I want to do is protect her now.
So much for just being her friend.
I turn around, feeling trapped and frustrated. I need to do something.
I hate the emergency room. The sounds. The smells. The waiting. I shift my weight back and forth. I need air.
I walk back to where Raya’s parents are sitting, quietly signing back and forth. I don’t know American Sign Language, but I don’t need to in order to read their worried expressions.
Mr. Hart notices me watching them, and his wife glances my way. “Thank you for getting her here, Finn,” she says, signing. “Mick and I really appreciate it.”
I nod. “What’s the sign for ‘no problem’?”
She smiles, and shows me, partially closed hands moving apart from one another, then second and third fingers of each hand bent, twisting and crashing gently into each other like toy cars. I do my best to repeat the motion, and Raya’s dad nods.
“Did they say anything in the ambulance? Any other information about what might’ve happened?” Mrs. Hart asks, signing.
I shake my head. “No, but she already seemed a lot better when we got here, so I really think she’s going to be okay.”
Mrs. Hart signs this, looks at her husband, who nods at her and then at me, and takes her hand as they retreat with their mutual worry. I wish there was something I could say to ease their minds.
I wish there was something I could say to ease my own mind.
This emergency room is an unwanted reminder that not every story has a happy ending.
The exterior door opens again, and Raya’s sisters rush in. They rush toward us in silence, and confronting the “what ifs” no one wants to voice aloud.
There’s overlapping commotion, a series of questions from both Poppy and Eloise, all directed at me.
What happened?
Is she going to be okay?
Do you really think she had a stroke?
There were signs. Why didn’t we see the signs?
Finally, Eloise puts her hands up in front of her, as if to take the floor. “This has to be because she never takes a day off. I told her to get out and touch grass once in a while, but why would brilliant Raya Hart listen to her stupid little sister?” She rolls her eyes.
“Don’t call yourself stupid, Eloise,” Poppy says, signing. “We should’ve known when she fell asleep at Dallas’s the other night. That is not like Raya.”
Eloise waves her off. “Finn, what happened?”
I explain what I know, which sadly isn’t much. Black spots. Tingling face, numb lips and hand. Bad headache. Nausea. They’d already gotten the SparkNotes version of all of this, but as I lay it out for them, their expressions go from worried to panicked.
And I know what they’re thinking. It sounds like a stroke.
“The good thing is, by the time we got here, she was much better,” I say, hoping to reassure them. Poppy signs my words for their father.
“Shouldn’t one of us be back there?” their mom asks. “I hate that she’s alone.”
“You know Raya,” Eloise says on a sigh. “She probably prefers it that way. You know she’s back there, right now, trying to tell the doctors how to do their jobs.”
The phone in my pocket starts vibrating, but when I pull it out, I see it’s not mine. “Oh, shoot. I’ve got Raya’s phone.”