Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Finn’s phone vibrated against his desk, his agent’s name flashing on the screen. His stomach clenched. Meredith never called this early unless something was urgent—or important enough to disrupt his carefully constructed routine.
He glanced at the clock: six forty-two a.m. Brooklyn would be up in less than an hour, and he’d planned to use the quiet time to finish the last chapter of revisions. Instead, his finger hovered over the screen, dread pooling in his gut.
“Morning, Meredith,” he answered, keeping his voice low despite being alone in his bedroom.
“Finn! Thank god you picked up.” Her voice was bright with the particular enthusiasm she reserved for good news. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a week.”
Finn winced. He’d been avoiding her calls, knowing exactly what she wanted to discuss. “Sorry. I’ve been busy with…real-life stuff.”
“Well, I need an answer. The award ceremony is in three weeks, and they need to know if Rhett Wilder will finally make his public debut.” She paused, her voice softening. “This is huge, Finn. You’re nominated for Best Contemporary Series. People want to meet the man behind the words.”
Finn closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Meredith.”
“What’s holding you back? Your books are bestsellers. Don’t you want recognition for your work?”
The question hit a nerve. Of course he wanted recognition—what writer didn’t? But recognition meant exposure. Exposure meant questions. Questions from his family, from Brooklyn’s friends, from Ollie…
Ollie.
The thought of him sent a complicated wave of emotion through Finn’s chest. Just over a month into whatever they were doing, and already Finn felt more seen, more understood than he had in years.
He used to roll his eyes when he wrote about instalove despite it being a popular trope, but now he was a believer.
He couldn’t imagine a world without Ollie in it.
Hell, today was the first time all week he hadn’t woken up with Ollie snoring softly next to him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
But Ollie still didn’t know about Rhett Wilder. Nobody did, except Meredith and his mom.
“It’s complicated,” he said finally. “I have Brooklyn to think about. And…other things.”
“The mysterious ‘other things.’” Meredith sighed.
“Look, I get it. You’ve built a life there.
But this isn’t just about a fancy trophy.
This is about your career. With the buzz you’ve created, there’s so much we could do.
I’d love to put out some feelers about TV or streaming options, possibly even court some publishers to see if we could get you a multi-book deal, but all of that will be easier if they have a face to put with the name. ”
Finn’s pulse quickened. A multi-book deal would mean financial security, maybe even enough to stash away in Brooklyn’s college fund with some left to take her somewhere for Christmas if Holly flaked again. But at what cost?
“Can I think about it?” he asked, already knowing her answer.
“You’ve been thinking about it for two years,” she replied, not unkindly. “I need an answer by the end of business tomorrow. That’s the best I can do.”
After promising to call her back—a promise they both knew might go unfulfilled—Finn set down his phone and stared at his laptop screen. He needed to power through so he could send this file back to his editor.
How had he let this get so complicated? What had started as a private creative outlet, a way to process his loneliness after Holly left, had somehow become a secret second life. One where he could explore desires and vulnerabilities he’d never allowed himself in reality. Until Ollie.
The sound of Brooklyn’s bedroom door opening jolted him from his thoughts. He quickly saved his document and closed the laptop, the familiar guilt settling like a stone in his stomach.
“Dad?” Brooklyn appeared in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, oversized T-shirt hanging to her knees. “You’re up early.”
“Work call,” he said, the half-truth bitter on his tongue. “What are you doing up? It’s not even seven.”
She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Couldn’t sleep. Isabel texted about some drama with Zach and Kaylee, and now my brain won’t shut up.”
Finn smiled despite his inner turmoil. “Teenage problems, got it. Want to talk about it over breakfast?”
“Maybe. If you make those egg things with the cheese.”
“Deal.”
As Brooklyn shuffled toward the bathroom, Finn remained at his desk, the weight of Meredith’s call settling over him like a physical presence. Three weeks. A decision that could change everything.
His phone buzzed again—a text this time, from Ollie.
Morning! Any chance you’re free for lunch? My mom is working the store, and I have a sudden craving for your company (and maybe those sandwiches from the deli). My bed isn’t as comfortable as yours.
Finn stared at the message, warmth and anxiety battling in his chest. The easy affection in Ollie’s words made something loosen inside him, even as fear tightened its grip. How could he face Ollie today, with the weight of his secret pressing down harder than ever?
Rain check?
Swamped with work and Brooklyn stuff.
The reply came almost immediately.
No problem! Dinner later this week?
Finn hesitated, then sent back a thumbs-up emoji—noncommittal enough to buy him time, but not so distant as to raise concerns. The coward’s approach, and he knew it.
In the kitchen, he mechanically gathered ingredients for breakfast, his mind still churning with Meredith’s words. The publisher needs to know if Rhett Wilder will finally make his public debut. As if Rhett Wilder were a separate person, someone he could simply become by stepping onto a stage.
“You’re burning the eggs,” Brooklyn’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Finn blinked, suddenly aware of the acrid smell rising from the pan. “Shit,” he muttered, quickly removing it from the heat.
Brooklyn raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You seem weird.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically. “Just distracted. Work stuff.”
She studied him for a moment, that too-perceptive gaze that reminded him so much of himself. “Work stuff or Ollie stuff? Because you’ve been acting strange since he started staying over more. You know I don’t mind if he spends more time here, right?”
Heat crept up Finn’s neck. They hadn’t discussed the time Ollie spent with them in detail.
Things had been awkward when she walked in to see Ollie there the morning after their first night together.
His daughter had surprised him when she invited Ollie over for movie night, and since then, the two of them had been getting along just fine.
Brooklyn was right. Finn was the one making things weird at this point, but he couldn’t tell her why.
“It’s not Ollie stuff,” he said, scraping the salvageable eggs onto a plate. “It’s just work. A deadline I’m not sure I can meet.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The decision about the award ceremony was a deadline of sorts, one with consequences that rippled far beyond his writing career.
Brooklyn seemed to accept this explanation, digging into her breakfast with the single-minded focus of a hungry teenager. Finn picked at his own food, appetite lost in the swirl of anxiety.
“Can I use your laptop before school?” Brooklyn asked between bites. “Mine’s acting up, and I need to finish that history paper.”
Finn froze, fork halfway to his mouth. His manuscript was saved, but his browser history was full of research for his latest book—gay romance forums, LGBTQ+ history sites, articles about coming out later in life. Things he wasn’t ready to explain.
“Sure,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I just need to save some stuff first so I can close the files.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to snoop through your boring spreadsheets, Dad.”
“I know. Just…give me ten minutes.”
She shrugged, returning to her food, but Finn could feel her curiosity like a physical presence. When had his life become this complicated web of half-truths and evasions? When had he started keeping parts of himself hidden from the people he loved most?
After breakfast, Finn retreated to his office, quickly clearing his browser history and making sure all his writing files were secured in a password-protected folder.
He was about to close his laptop when a new email notification appeared—the latest newsletter from the Romance Writers Guild, featuring an article about the upcoming awards.
Without thinking, he clicked it open, scanning the text until he found his pen name. “Rhett Wilder, the reclusive author whose Small Town Secrets series has captivated readers with its authentic portrayal of queer love in rural America, is nominated for Best Contemporary Series…”
“Dad? You done yet?”
Finn startled, quickly minimizing the window as Brooklyn appeared in the doorway. “Almost,” he said, his voice unnaturally high. “Just finishing up.”
She crossed the room before he could close the laptop entirely, peering over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
Panic surged through him as he realized he’d left a document open—not his current manuscript, thankfully, but notes for a future book. Still, the file name Wilder_Notes_Book7 was visible in the tab.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly, closing the laptop with more force than necessary. “Just some…writing I do sometimes. For fun.”
Brooklyn’s eyebrows shot up. “You write? Like, fiction?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Finn said, standing to put physical distance between her and the laptop. “Just a hobby.”
“Can I read it?”
“No,” he said, more sharply than he intended. At her hurt expression, he softened his tone. “It’s not ready for anyone to see. Maybe someday.”
Brooklyn studied him for a long moment, suspicion and curiosity warring in her expression. “Whatever,” she said finally, the casual dismissal that was her default when she felt shut out. “I’ll just use my phone for research.”