Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
The hollow ache in Finn’s chest had settled into something permanent overnight, a constant reminder of every word, every expression that had crossed Ollie’s face during their conversation.
Three hours of actual sleep—maybe—the rest spent replaying the moment when understanding had dawned in Ollie’s eyes, followed by something that looked dangerously close to betrayal.
The smell of coffee and something burning drifted up from the kitchen. Brooklyn was up early, which meant she was either stressed about school or worried about him. Given yesterday’s revelations, he suspected the latter.
He pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a clean shirt, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he padded downstairs. Brooklyn stood at the stove, poking suspiciously at what appeared to be scrambled eggs that had seen better days.
“Morning,” he said, his voice rougher than usual.
She glanced up, taking in his appearance with the practiced assessment of someone who’d learned to read his moods early. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly what every father wants to hear from his daughter.”
“You told him?” The question was direct, no preamble.
Finn poured a cup of coffee from the pot she’d already made, buying time. “Yeah. I told him.”
“And?” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She started to say something, then stopped.
“And I’m not sure where we stand now.” The admission tasted bitter, like failure. “He was hurt. Understandably.”
Brooklyn abandoned the eggs, turning to face him fully. “But he didn’t throw you out of the store or anything, so that’s a good start.”
“No. He listened. He said he needed time to think.” Finn took a sip of coffee, grateful for the familiar burn. “I offered to do the event. To step in as Rhett Wilder for the showcase.”
Brooklyn smirked. “Wow, Dad. That’s huge.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure he’ll even accept the offer at this point.
” Finn shrugged, trying to appear casual about something that terrified him.
“I have to go to Chicago in a couple of weeks for an awards ceremony, and I’m sure there will be pictures and such online, making it impossible for me to keep the secret any longer.
I honestly figured that if I’m going to come out anyway, I’d rather do it here for a good reason, where I can control the narrative. ”
Brooklyn turned off the burner and leaned against the counter, studying him with that too-perceptive gaze. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s actually mad at you. I think it was a shock, and he’s a bit embarrassed by how he incessantly recommends your books to people.”
“You can’t be certain of that.” He wanted to believe her, but she hadn’t seen the way Ollie had looked at Finn as he revealed the truth.
“No one can.” She crossed her arms. “Look, I get why Ollie’s hurt. But you told him the truth, right?”
Finn nodded reluctantly.
“And you offered to help with his event, even though you hate being the center of attention?”
“Right.”
“Then you did the right thing. Finally.” Brooklyn’s voice softened slightly. “It’s a start, but you may need to figure out some swoony moment to prove how much you care about him and that you’ll never keep something this huge from him ever again.”
The words hit with unexpected force. Finn looked up, meeting his daughter’s steady gaze. “Are you a relationship expert all of a sudden?”
“Ollie’s not the only one who reads romance books.” She pushed away from the counter, gathering her backpack. “Besides, someone has to keep you from being a complete disaster.”
After Brooklyn left for school, Finn sat in his kitchen, staring at his phone. He could text Ollie, ask how he was doing, and whether he’d made a decision about the event. But that felt like pushing, and he’d done enough damage already.
Instead, he finished his coffee, showered, and made a decision of his own. He was going to the bookstore. Not to pressure Ollie or demand an answer, but to show up. To be present, whatever that looked like.
Shelf Care Central was dark when Finn arrived, but he could see light spilling from the back office. Finn knocked gently on the front door, not wanting to startle Ollie. A moment later, he appeared, looking tired but not surprised to see him. He unlocked the door, stepping back to let Finn in.
“You’re out and about early,” Ollie said, his voice carefully neutral.
“Thought I’d see if you were in on my way to work.” Finn closed the door behind him, suddenly aware of how the space felt different now—charged with unspoken things. “I have a bit of time if there’s anything I can help with.”
Ollie studied him for a moment, then nodded toward the back of the store. “I was just organizing the event materials. Trying to figure out what needs to be done if…” He trailed off.
“If you decide to let me participate,” Finn finished.
“Yeah.”
They walked to the back office together, the silence not quite comfortable but not hostile either.
Ollie’s desk was covered with papers—promotional flyers, author information sheets, a timeline for the event.
Finn recognized a photo of himself on the sheet, the headshot that was on the Anderson Homeworks website, since Rhett was currently faceless.
“I pulled everything I had on Rhett Wilder,” Ollie said, following his gaze. “Of course then I started spiraling, comparing the few facts that are out there about him to the man I know you are.”
Finn picked up the photo, studying his own face. It looked like a stranger—too polished, too distant. “I hate this picture. Keaton thought we needed to get them done, and I suppose it works for that job, but it’s not really going to work for Rhett.”
While things still weren’t easy between the two of them, it felt like progress that they were able to talk about his author life without Ollie practically flinching. There was so much Finn needed to consider if he was going to drag Rhett out of the closet he’d been locked in.
“Yeah, that is a problem. This screams forensic accountant more than sexy curator of steamy gay sex.” Ollie settled into his desk chair, gesturing for Finn to take the other seat. “That’s part of what I’ve been thinking about. Who you are versus who Rhett Wilder is.”
“We’re the same person,” Finn said, then paused. “But I understand what you mean. Rhett Wilder is…a version of me. The man who writes, who creates. But he’s not all of me.”
“No, he’s not.” Ollie leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. “And that’s what I’m struggling with. Not the fact that you write—that’s incredible, Finn. It’s that you kept it separate. Kept me separate from it even after you had to have known I wouldn’t judge you.”
The words hit like a physical blow, but Finn forced himself to listen, to really hear what Ollie was saying.
“I’m not mad at you, but I want to understand why,” Ollie continued, his voice gentler now. “Not why you didn’t tell me sooner, but why you’re ready to come out of hiding now. I know what you said yesterday, but is that the only reason?”
“I’m ready for the world to see me. For people in my real life to know who I really am.
When I started writing, it was because I knew I wasn’t straight, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
I was convinced no one would love me exactly as I am with a kid in tow.
The stories became a way for me to live out fantasies that would never become reality.
” Finn’s voice grew steadier, more certain.
“And then the books found readers, and suddenly, there was this expectation that Rhett Wilder was this confident, sexy author who had it all figured out.”
“In a lot of ways, that’s exactly who you are,” Ollie said softly, understanding dawning in his eyes. “But you couldn’t show that to anyone, could you?”
“Exactly. Because I’m also the guy who constantly worries about doing anything to upset Brooklyn’s world.
” Finn met his gaze directly. “And I sure as hell don’t have everything figured out.
If I did, I would have told you so much sooner.
I wanted to, I swear. It was so hard, but I convinced myself things would never work if you knew I was him. ”
Ollie leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying a warmth that made Finn’s chest tight. “You worried I’d compare the man I know to the person capable of writing those books?”
“Didn’t you? At least a little?” The question came out vulnerable, raw. “Even before you knew I was him, you can’t deny you had a crush on the mysterious author, the guy who writes these beautiful love stories—”
“Maybe, but you’re so much more than him,” Ollie interrupted gently.
“Who remembers that I hate crowds but loves watching me get excited about new book releases? Who took so much care when helping me inventory everything after the leak, when most people would have written everything off as a loss and tossed them around?” He paused, his smile soft and real.
“I fell for you, Finn. All of you. I just didn’t know how much of you there was to love. ”
The admission hung between them, honest and raw. Ollie was quiet for a moment, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across his desk. “You love me?”
“Of course I do,” Ollie scoffed. “How could I not? You’re so much more than I ever dreamed of. I just wish you could see what I see in you.”
“I love you too,” Finn admitted. Saying the words felt like a weight lifted off his chest. “And I promise there are no other secrets. I’m sorry I kept this from you for so long.”
“You almost told me before, didn’t you?” he said finally. “That day with Mrs. Abelman, when she bought three copies of Hearts in Hiding?”
Finn’s breath caught. “How did you—”
“You got this look on your face. Like you wanted to say something but couldn’t.” Ollie’s voice was soft, understanding. “I wondered about it afterward. But in all the scenarios I ran through my mind, I have to admit you being the author never popped up.”