17. Ani
Ani
I t’s morning and I reach across the bed, expecting to find Finn, but there’s only the indentation where he used to be and the warmth fading fast from the sheets.
I sit up slowly. My body aches, but it’s not the kind that asks for painkillers or more sleep. It’s the kind that reminds me I was fucked oh-so good. I never thought I would be having thoughts like these. That just wasn’t how my life was going to go.
Still, a little bit of guilt lingers. I was raised to believe this was wrong—sex before marriage, wanting it, enjoying it. And I’m not just enjoying it with one man, but two. While still lusting after yet another man.
I think about Boone and the way my pulse jumps when I hear his deep voice. He’s all hard edges, but I can’t stop wanting him.
I remind myself it's okay to want this.
To want them.
To want .
I breathe in slowly and let the delicious ache settle in my body. The sheets fall around my waist as I shift slightly.
I slip from the bed and find my clothes in a small pile near the dresser. My hands tremble just a little as I button my jeans.
When I open the door, the scent of bacon greets me. I follow the smell to the kitchen.
Finn is barefoot, shirtless, wearing only a pair of soft gray sweats that hang low on his hips. He’s standing at the stove with a pan in one hand and a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. When he hears my footsteps, he glances back.
“You’re up.” He offers a sweet smile.
“Good morning. Where are Jonah and Boone?”
His smile thins, but he doesn’t falter. “Gone when I got up. Left early.”
“Did they say where they were going?”
He hesitates just long enough for me to notice. “Handling things.”
I don’t ask what things. I already know, and my stomach clenches at the thought. I didn’t think they’d leave so quickly.
I cross the room and lower myself into the same chair I’ve used every morning since I got here. My eyes are on the window, but I can’t describe a single thing I’m seeing. The sun cuts through the glass at an angle that makes it hard to focus.
I blink and try again.
I press my palms down on the table, trying to anchor myself.
I count the inhale.
One, two, three, four?—
Finn moves behind me.
He runs a hand gently through my hair, fingers sliding slowly from root to end. Then he tilts my face toward his with just enough pressure to make me follow. His mouth brushes mine.
There’s a pause as he waits for my reaction.
But there’s only one possible response: I lean in, finding his lips.
His other hand finds my jaw, his thumb pressing just beneath my chin as he guides the kiss deeper. When he pulls back, it’s only enough so he can look into my eyes.
“Eat,” he says gently.
I glance down at the plate he’s placed in front of me. Two slices of toast. Scrambled eggs. Sautéed vegetables. There’s even a little jelly in a ramekin. It’s perfect.
“Thanks,” I say. “You didn’t have to cook for me.”
He shrugs and sits across from me. “Can’t let my baby go hungry.”
I don’t answer right away. The food smells good, but my stomach is tight.
“You don’t have to pretend everything’s normal,” I say. “You’re worried. I can feel it.”
He looks at me across the table. “Yeah. I am. But if anyone can handle this, it’s those two.”
His honesty takes the edge off. He doesn’t lie to make me feel better. He never has. It’s one of the things I love about him.
“I keep thinking this is the day that everything collapses, and I’m the reason,” I admit.
Finn leans forward and rests his forearms on the table. “Nothing is going to collapse. And you can’t help what has happened to you.”
I want to believe him. He believes it. That much is clear in the way he speaks. But belief doesn’t undo the doubt rising in my chest.
“Boone and Jonah didn’t say anything?”
“Not to me,” he answers. “But they don’t need to. They have a plan.”
“What if something goes wrong?” I ask.
He stands and rounds the table before I can sink deeper into the spiral. His hand brushes my shoulder as he crouches beside my chair. “Then we adjust. You are not alone in this.”
I nod, trying to keep my breathing calm.
He presses a kiss to the side of my head and rests his hand over mine. “Eat what you can,” he says. “Then we’ll go outside. Mae’s been up for an hour, and she’s already asked for you twice.”
The mention of her steadies me—even if I don’t believe him. Mae has never once asked for me. But I nod again and eat another bite of food.
Finn stands and returns to his seat, tearing into his bacon without another word. I force myself to eat, bite by bite. We eat in easy silence. He makes everything feel easier and calms the storm that’s constantly brewing inside of me.
The anxiety doesn’t go away fully. It never does. But it softens when I’m with him.
By the time we’re out the door, the sun has pushed its way over the trees, casting long shadows across the gravel path.
Mae scampers off quickly, clutching her stuffed fox.
Finn holds the door for me and lets it fall closed behind us.
I wait for him to say something about where we’re going, but he just gestures with his chin and follows the edge of the porch toward the side yard.
The pond is out of the question because it’s too far from the safety of the house. I’d been hoping to take Mae down there today since it’s starting to get hot. But we don’t head in that direction. We turn the opposite direction, toward the storage barn.
I don’t even need to ask why he’s joining us outside when I know there are a thousand things to do around the property. They’re worried about me and Mae.
Mae is already there when we finally make our way down.
She’s pedaling slow circles across the paved space in front of the barn.
She’s in a hoodie that’s too big for her and striped leggings that are too short.
Her little pink bike is missing one of the handlebar streamers, but she doesn’t seem to care.
She glances up when she hears our steps and waves. Then she goes back to riding her bike.
Finn finds a half-empty bucket of chalk in the storage barn. He picks out a piece of faded green and starts drawing on the pavement. He doesn’t say anything to me. But he leaves space.
I hesitate at first, but eventually I sit cross-legged a few feet from him and pick through the bucket until I find a pale yellow stub. I test it on the edge of the pavement. The texture is gritty and dry.
I start with a curved line. Then another. A spiral, tight and even. I fill in the shapes slowly, then add leaves, trailing lines, little details that make it feel complete. I don’t speak while I work. Finn doesn’t either.
The breeze picks up. The sun feels warm on my back and I feel myself starting to relax.
When I glance up, Mae is watching me. She’s stopped near the edge of the pavement, one foot on the ground, the other resting on her pedal. She stares with those intense eyes that usually avoid mine.
I offer her a small smile. Then, finally, she speaks.
“I don’t want you to go.”
The tears are already building before I know what’s happening.
My hands fall to the pavement, and I push myself up on unsteady legs.
I close the space between us and kneel in the dirt at her feet.
My arms go around her little body. She stiffens for a second.
Then she leans forward and rests her chin on my shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”
Mae doesn’t say anything. But she doesn’t pull away either.
At dinner that night, Mae barely speaks, and I’m so stuck in my head I’m not much of a conversationalist either. Finn fills most of the silence with random topics.
He talks about a neighbor who once tried to grow banana trees in a greenhouse behind his garage.
He tells us about a job he had on a fishing boat and how after cleaning fish all day long he still can’t eat fish to this day.
He even throws in a terrible knock-knock joke that makes Mae roll her eyes, though I catch the small smile she tries to hide behind her hand.
I try to follow. I really do. But my mind won’t stay focused.
Boone and Jonah didn’t come home. I’ve seen Finn check his phone a few times, but I know no calls have come in. And whatever updates Finn has received, he hasn’t shared.
He says not to worry, that they’re just out handling things, but that doesn’t make the guilt any easier to carry. I keep checking the clock even though neither of us knows what time they’ll be back. I look outside but see nothing out there but trees and a cloudy gray sky.
“Do you like these noodles?” Finn asks Mae as he slides another helping onto her plate. “Or should I have gone with the spiral ones?”
Mae shrugs but doesn’t look up. “These are fine.”
“Just fine?” he teases.
She chews slowly, then says, “Better than Boone’s.”
I smile at that, and Finn catches my eye and winks.
“You’ve barely touched your food,” he says to me.
“I’m eating,” I answer. I lift my fork and take another bite of the noodles I’ve been pushing around my plate. They’re buttery and well-seasoned, but I can’t taste much of anything.
Mae sits across from me, her legs swinging beneath the table. She watches both of us like she might join in on the conversation again.
She hasn’t suddenly become a chatterbox, but she is starting to talk more—not just around me, but to me. I’m trying my best to be casual about it and pretend it hasn’t lit me up from the inside. I’m worried that if she knows how happy it makes me, she’ll stop. Which I know is probably silly.
I manage to finish about half of what’s on my plate. Finn gets up once to refill our water glasses, then again to bring out a dish of apple slices he cut earlier. Mae eats those, too, dunking each one into the tiny cup of peanut butter he sets beside her.
“You want story time tonight?” Finn asks her as he clears his plate.
Mae nods. “Can I pick?”
“You always pick.”
“But you always veto.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” she says flatly. “You said no to the pirate book last time.”
“Because you only wanted that one so you could say the word ‘booty’ twenty times.”
Mae looks down, her lips twitching. “It’s funny.”
Finn laughs and ruffles the top of her head. “Fine. Pirate book is back in rotation.”
She leans into the touch for half a second, then pulls away and hops off her chair. “I’ll go get it.”
She leaves the kitchen, her socks sliding a little on the floor. Finn watches her go, then turns back to me.
“You got through to her,” he says quietly.
“I hope so.”
“You did.”
I want to believe him. The hug this morning felt real. She didn’t flinch when I touched her. And she stayed closer this afternoon, circling us both, but never too far out of reach. And she is talking. I’ve heard her voice more today than I have in the previous days combined.
Finn moves around the table and pulls out the chair beside me. He sits close enough that our knees brush. I don’t pull away.
“You don’t have to pretend it’s not eating you up,” he says. “I know you’re scared.”
“They’ve been gone all day.”
“I know.”
“You think they’re okay?”
“I do,” he says. “And if they weren’t, we’d know. Jonah’s not subtle. Boone even less so.”
I exhale slowly, my eyes falling to the edge of the table. There’s a small nick in the wood I hadn’t noticed before, and I trace it with my nail.
“I hate not knowing,” I say.
“I know that, too.”
Mae’s footsteps echo down the hallway before I can say more. She enters the kitchen with a book tucked under her arm and a blanket dragging behind her.
“Story time,” she says to Finn.
He gives me a look. “You okay?”
I nod. “Go. I’ll clean up.”
“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”
“I want to.”
His eyes hold mine for a beat longer, then he nods once and follows Mae out of the room. I hear her voice trail off down the hall, something about buried treasure and a parrot with an accent.
I stand slowly and begin gathering the plates. The rhythm helps me relax. Plate, fork, cup. Stack. Rinse. Wipe. The familiar motions ground me. There’s a faint comfort in it, even if my stomach still feels tight.
My worried mind starts up again as I finish cleaning up.
Jonah and Boone are still gone, and I don’t know where they are or what they’re doing.
There’s a man out there, likely sent by my family, who is trying to sow seeds of doubt.
I don’t think it will work, but he’s still too close for comfort.
And if he’s here, it means my family is coming for me. Davit is coming for me.
I’ve had such a small taste of freedom. But it was enough for me to know that I won’t survive the box they were trying to force me into. That is not the life for me.
But there’s still time.
And, for now, I have Mae’s trust. I have Finn’s warm words and warmer arms.
I’m safe.
I repeat it like a mantra, over and over again. Maybe if I repeat it enough times, I’ll actually start to believe it.