Chapter 17 Finn
seventeen
Finn
There was the world before that afternoon with Rosie and there is the world after.
The first was compartmentalized with all the moving parts and priorities ordered and packed away in little boxes.
I knew where everything went, where to find what I needed, and what I had to do to get through a day.
No chance that anything or anyone would slip through the cracks.
The second world is a spilled drawer with questions and passion scattered all over the floor, and I’m standing in the middle, surrounded by it all.
The strange part is I don’t have the vaguest desire to tidy up.
When it’s time to make my life neat again, it’ll be time to say goodbye, and I’m not ready to do that.
After what happened on the porch, Rosie dug another flannel from my closet and curled up on the sofa where she watched me cook dinner.
Following her near-fire, not to mention almost constant distractedness the last few days, she’s given up her claim on the kitchen.
I prefer it this way because, yes, it means the food on our plates is actually edible, but more than that, I like taking care of her.
Rosie’s eyes never leave me unless it’s to scribble something on the notepad at her side.
When that happens, I throw her knowing smiles and affectionate winks.
She’s thinking about sex. She’s thinking about the song we wrote.
I wonder if her moans and dirty talk have imposed themselves on the notes and lyrics we wrote together, creating a song nobody will ever know but us, and if it’s on repeat in her mind the way it is in mine.
I might be onto something, because she rests her head on the back of the sofa and replies to my smiles with looks so soft they could be caresses.
There’s a peacefulness about her that wasn’t there before.
An energy of acceptance or surrender, like everything is right in her world and there’s nothing left to fight.
That’s what I’m focused on. Not the mind-blanking rage of knowing that jackass ever got to touch her—and when he did, he didn’t do it right.
Her asshole ex better hope we never cross paths again because the list of reasons I have to knock that fucker on his ass gets longer every day.
It makes no sense to be jealous of a man Rosie was with before she ever knew me, but I hate that guy for fucking up the privilege of being Rosie’s guy.
She put her body, her spirit, and her soul in his hands, and he desecrated them.
Rosie honored me with that holy trinity today. Making music with her. Sinking into her. Understanding her. She stripped me down and made me hers, and I’ll never be the same.
“Food’s ready,” I say, and when she gives me a lazy smile, like she’s still recovering from what we did on the porch swing, I collect our bowls and cozy up beside her on the couch.
She shares a light blanket we really don’t need, throwing it across my knees, then accepts her macaroni and cheese and hums with delight.
“Pasta ai quattro formaggi,” she says, scooping up a forkful and blowing over the hot sauce to cool it.
I’m temporarily distracted by the tight O of her mouth, picturing her plump pink lips wrapped around my cock, but finally manage to say, “It’s mac and cheese with toasted breadcrumbs on top.”
She volleys back one of the winks I’ve been throwing her way. “I know, but my version sounds better.”
Fuck, I love her like this. At ease in her own skin.
“So.” I swallow a mouthful of pasta that’s too hot because I don’t have the patience to wait until it cools. “Today was…”
“Magical?”
Rosie turns her body to mine and snuggles closer, and when Dakota notices the lovefest happening without her, she launches herself onto Rosie’s other side and cuddles against her hip.
I kiss Rosie’s forehead. “It was,” I agree. “How soon until we can do it again?”
A pretty blush warms her cheeks as she turns her glittering baby blues on me. “You’re thinking about next time already?”
I chuckle and bury my nose in her curls. They’re tighter and fluffier than the style she wears for the cameras, and in my opinion, much prettier. “Ah, Songbird. You’ve got no idea.”
She seems to like my answer because she burrows in against my side. I’m not liking even the hint of space between us, so I wedge my bowl between my thighs, wrap my arm around her, and tuck her in close.
I down another forkful of pasta and think about our afternoon.
Not the sex—or not only the sex because the bounce of Rosie’s tits isn’t a picture I’ll ever get out of my head—but what led to it.
Writing and playing and singing. I’ve never created music with another person before, and I’m curious if it’s like that for everyone.
The way we fed off each other, finished each other’s lyrics, read each other’s minds.
Is that what making art is like? Because I could do what we did today for the rest of my life.
Rosie squints up at me like she knows what I’m thinking. “You want to talk to me about something,” she guesses.
“Yeah,” I admit, deciding not to ask is it always like that for you? I’m not prepared to hear her say that what the two of us shared is something she’s experienced with a dozen other musicians. Instead, I go for something with lower stakes. “Isn’t the music enough?”
Her brow creases, and she drops her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
I set my half-eaten dinner on the coffee table, out of reach of Dakota’s quivering snout, so I can circle Rosie with both arms.
“I suppose what I’m trying to say is there are things about your world I don’t understand.
When your calling in life is your music, how can you stand all the shit that goes with it, like people centering you in their lives and wanting things from you that you shouldn’t have to give?
How do you live with people looking at you all the time?
How do you prioritize the important stuff?
When you’re so freaking good at the art, why isn’t the music enough? ”
“Well…” Rosie gazes up at the vaulted ceiling beams like the answers are hidden in their shadows. “I think if I had to choose, the music would be enough. I mean, even if all the other things went away, I couldn’t not be a songwriter. It’s who I am.”
There’s a pause, and I prompt her with a gentle “but?”
She drops her head onto my shoulder. “But what would that look like? Yes, fame comes with drawbacks, and money makes things complicated, but they allow me to do things that other artists can’t.
For instance, I don’t need to divide my time or my focus.
I don’t need to spend my days waiting tables and my nights writing songs.
Music is my job, and I’m lucky to do what I love for a living. How many other people can say as much?”
I frown to myself and brush my thumb along her flannel-clad shoulder. “That makes sense.”
“And money isn’t necessarily evil. It makes it possible for me to help people.
” She pokes at her dinner, stirring the cooling macaroni around the base of the bowl, then sets it on the table beside mine.
“I give away a lot of it. I want to set up my own foundation one day, but the plans aren’t there yet. ”
Pride and admiration and a fuck-ton of respect almost drown me, and I tip up her chin so I can kiss her full on the mouth. “You’re something special, do you know that?”
Rosie darts in for another kiss, a smile on her mouth when she does it, and for the first time I can see an upside to her situation. It’d be awesome to have the power to change the world. It might even make a complicated life worthwhile.
“Those sorts of things turn fame into a trade-off I’m willing to make.
” She wriggles closer against me, and Dakota follows, resting her heavy head in Rosie’s lap.
“I know lots of talented songwriters and producers who make plenty of money, but nobody would recognize them if they walked down the street.”
I perk up at this, thinking it doesn’t sound so bad, but then Rosie rolls her head back to grin up at me.
“But Finn? That’s not me. I love the rush of performing.
Maybe that makes me shallow, and yes, it’s a fickle measure of validation, but nothing compares.
” Her eyes grow bright and her back straightens, like she’s reliving a moment on stage.
“The lights and the energy. Thousands of people screaming my name. Those same people singing along to songs that started as a tiny spark in my soul and now burn bright in the hearts of so many others. The humanity of it. The connection. Reaching people and validating them. Changing them. Yes, I’ll always make music, but I also want to share it.
What use is art if we don’t give it to the people who need it most? ”
Rosie makes sense, and even the uplift in her tone tells me that she’ll never walk away from the stage.
Not that she should, and not that I’d ask her to, but it makes her life and mine that much more incompatible.
I live in a one-bedroom bungalow on a property I share with four brothers and sisters.
Charles pays me a salary, but I barely touch it because my costs are covered by the family business.
Ten days ago, my sole purpose in life was digging up twenty feet of old flagstone.
Today it’s making this beautiful woman come.
Empty hands. That’s all I have to offer.
I slip my fingers into hers and lift her knuckles to my lips. “You’re stunning on stage,” I tell her. “You belong up there.”
She shoots me a puzzled smile before understanding falls across her features. “You mean the shows you saw on the tour.”
I tilt my head side to side. “Those and every clip I could find on YouTube and social media of you performing on the tour. Before the tour. After it. In bars and in stadiums. On television. I think I’ve seen everything there is to see and you’re unforgettable in every single one.”
Rosie feigns a gasp and then pokes me playfully in the ribs. “Have you been stalking me, sir?”
I snatch her hand and hold it against my chest, hoping she can feel how steady my heart beats beneath our palms. Always the truth.
“I couldn’t stop caring even after he kicked me off your security team. I watched it all. Your performances. Your social media. Interviews. News reports. I kept an eye on you as best I could. I promise.”
Tears fill her eyes as Rosie glides her hand around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss. It’s deep and soft and slow. A taste of what’s to come the next time I get her naked.
She pulls away just enough to press her forehead to mine. “Thank you.”
I slip my hand under the hem of Rosie’s shirt, palm skating the smooth length of her thigh. She moans and shifts to give me greater access, and I glance at Dakota over her shoulder, who’s watching with liquid eyes that are more curious than I’m comfortable with.
“Hey, Songbird,” I murmur before kissing her again. “Why don’t we—”
My phone chooses that moment to light up with a call from my brother, and the vibration makes it scoot sideways along the coffee table.
“He won’t give up,” I grumble as I reach over to reject the call, but Rosie stops me with a hand on my forearm.
“Has he been trying to reach you?”
“Yeah.” I pick up the phone and let it vibrate in my palm. “A couple texts the last few days. There’s a thing happening up at the main house tomorrow evening and he wants to make sure I’ll be there, but—”
“What kind of thing?”
“Izzy, my niece, puts on family nights where we get together for dinner and games or whatever she wants to do. Dylan’s trying to pin me down, but I can’t go and I can’t tell him why, so I’ve been an asshole and avoided him. He’ll get the hint.”
Rosie twists her fingers in my hair. The phone grows still in my hand, and my dick takes both as positive encouragement. I set the device aside and resume exploring Rosie’s upper thighs.
“You should go,” she says even as she offers me the hollow of her throat to kiss.
“To the house?” I mumble against her sweet skin. “No. I’m not leaving you here.”
“I’m not suggesting you do.”
I nip at her earlobe then kiss the soft skin at the juncture of her jaw, and Rosie sighs, pretty and needy enough to send blood bolting for my crotch.
“I’ll go with you.”
“You’ll…” It takes a second for her suggestion to pierce the sex-fog, and when it does, I sit back. “You want to go with me? To family night? At the Davenport house?”
“Yes?” Rosie narrows her eyes cautiously. “Why? You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not at all. I mean, they’ll give me shit for bringing a girl, but that’s to be expected. You’ve already met Chord and Violet and Charles, so that’s a third of the family already done. It’s just…”
She picks up my free hand and gives it a supportive squeeze. “Just what?”
“It’s a little exposed,” I explain. “We all know how to keep our mouths shut—even Daisy, thanks to growing up with a famous hockey player for a big brother—but I can’t promise that Izzy won’t let something slip at school or her extracurricular activities.
She’s only six, and I don’t feel comfortable asking her to keep secrets.
And it won’t be just my brothers and sisters.
Violet’s dad will be there too. Possibly Poppy’s mom.
They’re good people, but even good people can unintentionally do the wrong thing. ”
Rosie draws her bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling the pink pillow as she contemplates her next steps, completely unaware that one little action has my dick fighting for freedom. I try not to squirm.
“Finn.” She adds her other hand to mine, trapping my fingers between her palms. “I’ve been off the grid for three weeks, and as much as I love it here, I can’t stay forever.
We’ve been avoiding the obvious, but…” Her shoulders drop, and she gives me a regretful half-smile.
“I can’t hide out much longer. The last lot of security personnel you sent me were good enough to hire, and my record label is connecting me with a new publicist and legal team.
” She studies my hand in hers, tracing the veins underneath my skin as her voice grows quiet.
“It’s probably time for me to go back to LA. ”