Chapter 18
Juliet
This bed. I was never getting out of this bed.
I wasn’t usually that woman—the snuggle-in-bed, self-care woman. At home in my apartment, my bed was for sleeping—alone—and avoiding my roommate with my headphones on. I did not have men over, firstly because of my roommate, and secondly because I hadn’t met one recently that I was willing to have in my space. If I dated someone, I would go to his apartment, where I could make a quick escape.
But this bed—I could live in this bed. The roominess, the calm peace of it, the blankets that were just warm enough but also cool to the skin. And, mostly, the man in it. The man who was sprawled naked next to me as the gray light of dawn peeked through the blinds.
When I looked over at him, I could see the taut muscle of one shoulder, the back of his neck, and the curve of his spine, dipping gracefully under the covers just as it got to the good part. I stared in fascination. How was I so obsessed with Finn’s body? Why did I want to trace the length of spine with my fingertip as if I’d never seen it before? Why did I want to feel the nape of his neck, then touch the scar I knew was hidden under his tousled hair? I had to flex my fingers to stop myself, because I didn’t want to wake him. It was ungodly early, and he probably needed sleep.
The second round of sex, incredibly, had been even better than the first. I was pretty sure I had the marks of Finn’s thumbprints on my inner thighs, and I was pleasantly sore in all the right ways. I needed a shower and a huge breakfast, followed by a nap, but instead of doing those things, I studied the line of Finn’s shoulder and thought about models.
I knew he’d dated models when he was famous. I’d teased him about it while he drove me home from the fitting weekend in Portland, one of my usual shots at him. I’d said that as a rich asshole, he was used to dating models, not women like me.
His reply was, “Those were fake, you know. Those relationships. Our managers set us up, because when I was seen dating a model, it got publicity and everyone made money.”
I had known, in theory, that celebrities dated for PR reasons all the time. I hadn’t thought about it too deeply, but if I had, I would have thought about grown adults doing it, which was none of my business.
Finn, who had been a kid, was my business.
I listened to the rise and fall of his breathing in the gray light and thought about what it would be like, as a teenager, to date someone who was hired for the job. I’d had some trash boyfriends and hard breakups, but I couldn’t imagine sleeping with a guy who was doing it for money. Everything about that was wrong. At least when I made mistakes, I made them honestly, because I’d really felt something. Finn had had to navigate all of that on top of a stressful career at sixteen.
I hated it. I hated thinking of the Finn I’d met, the boy with the seriousness of a man, believing he was supposed to sleep with a stranger to keep the business afloat, to keep the money coming in for everyone. I’d called him a rich asshole, but no amount of money changed the fact that he’d been a kid, and the girls had been kids, too. It shouldn’t have upset me so much, because it was a long time ago, but I couldn’t help it. I always felt too much. It pissed me off and it made me sad.
I rolled over toward Finn. I wasn’t sure what I planned to do. Hug him, maybe, or tell him I wasn’t going to make any more rich asshole jokes, and that anyone else who tried would deal with me. Maybe I was going to start things up for round three. I was interrupted by a dog’s soft moan from the floor beside the bed, followed by two paws lifting Gary’s head up to stare at me over the edge of the mattress.
I blinked into the dog’s soft, sad eyes. “Gary,” I whispered, trying not to wake Finn. “What do you want?”
“He needs to go out.” Finn’s sleepy voice was half muffled by his pillow. He rolled back onto one shoulder, lifting an arm and rubbing his forehead as he slowly woke up.
I watched his arm flex, his hand. There was something wrong with me.
Finn didn’t notice. He moved the hand to rub his eye. “I’ll take him.”
“No, I’ll do it,” I said. “You go back to sleep.”
He seemed to consider this, but he was too tired to argue. “Just let him out back,” he said. “He doesn’t need a leash.”
“He won’t run away?”
This amused him. “He’s old, and he hasn’t had his breakfast. He’ll barely let the bowl out of his sight. He’ll go far enough into the grass to do his business, and no further.”
Gary moaned urgently, as if in agreement. I swung my legs out of bed. I found my panties on the floor, but I couldn’t find my shirt, so I quickly tugged on the sleeveless tee Finn had worn yesterday. The arm holes weren’t exactly modest, but it didn’t matter. I hurried downstairs and to the back door before Gary had an accident.
It had drizzled in the night, and the morning air was crisp and clean, washed with damp. Tattered clouds moved over the pale sun. Spring was coming, which meant more rain. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling goosebumps on my skin, but I didn’t go back inside. It felt good to inhale the fresh air in the silence of the peaceful morning.
As promised, Gary didn’t wander far, and when he was done his business, he came back, giving me a doggy grin and wagging his tail. “Good boy,” I told him, and I bent to pet him, but he saw something behind me and rushed past me into the house, excited.
I closed the door and followed him into the kitchen. Finn was at the counter, getting out the dog food. He had put on an old pair of flannel sleep pants a T-shirt. His hair was messy and his eyes were half open.
“I could have done that,” I said.
Finn looked at me and his hands went still. His eyes opened all the way.
I glanced down. I still had my arms crossed over my chest, but I was wearing only panties and Finn’s shirt. I hadn’t looked in the mirror, but I definitely had morning-after hair.
Finn cleared his throat, and his voice was soft, almost reverent. “Jesus Christ, Juliet.”
So this was the morning after, then. And it wasn’t going to be awkward. I dropped my arms and put my hands on my hips, giving him the full display. “Feed your dog, Finn. He’s starving.”
From his spot at Finn’s feet, Gary made a pitiful sound of agreement.
“Yeah, sure,” Finn said, still staring. He’d said something like that last night, too, as if he forgot what words were. It should have been funny, but instead it made something twist inside me as I stood there, rumpled and mostly naked for him to see. No one had ever looked at me like Finn did. Not one person. Not ever.
He blinked, then forced his gaze back down to what he was doing. “I brought your phone down,” he said, gesturing to my phone on the counter. “It keeps buzzing.”
This early? No one ever messaged me this early, which meant it wasn’t anything good. It couldn’t be the Road Kings, because none of my bandmates was ever conscious before ten a.m. unless they were on tour. Mom and Vicki never texted me. I picked up my phone and winced at the series of messages.
Dad: Honey are you up
Dad: Probably not
Dad: It’s just a small thing, call me
Dad: You are asleep, do you have a few hundred you can spare until payday? I don’t ask for much.
I put the phone back down without replying. Finn put Gary’s bowl down, and then he straightened and looked at me, concerned. “What is it?”
I hesitated. I didn’t talk about Dad to anyone. It was ancient history. I just swallowed my feelings and got on with life, like I’d been doing since Dad left when I was a kid. He wasn’t going to change. The only way to deal with Dad was to push the hurt away and move on.
But Finn was standing there, waiting, and last night had been incredible, and I was tired of swallowing my feelings. I was just fucking exhausted. “It’s my dad,” I said. “He’s asking for money.”
Finn looked surprised. “He’s asking you for money at seven in the morning?”
“He likely hasn’t gone to bed yet,” I explained. “Dad likes to party.” Finn had put a hand on the counter and I stared at it, at the line of his forearm. “I haven’t heard from him since before Christmas, I think. He must have heard that I’m working with the Road Kings, which means I’m making some money. That’s why he’s messaging me now. Not because he misses me or because he cares. Because he wants money.”
I waited for the pain to descend, waited for the old feelings of anger and sadness that always accompanied any interaction with my dad. Instead, I felt nothing. Emptiness. It wasn’t even a sad nothing—it was just nothing.
“Don’t do it,” Finn said.
I looked up at him. There was something in his expression, a shadow of his own hurt, that said he knew exactly how I felt. I hadn’t thought that was possible.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t do it.” He gestured to my phone. “Don’t give him money. It won’t get you whatever it is you want. His acceptance, his love, whatever you need. Giving him money won’t get you that.” When the silence stretched out, he added, “My mother left when I was eight. We had radio silence until I got famous. Then, suddenly, she wanted a relationship.” His smile was cynical. “When I wouldn’t give her money, she didn’t want a relationship anymore. Funny how that worked. We haven’t talked in years.”
I nodded. I had known that Finn and Alistair’s mother was long gone, but I had never connected it with my own situation. I dropped my gaze to the counter. “I feel like my life would have been different if I’d had a dad around. Like I would have been a different person.”
“I feel the same.” His voice was soft. “I got into music as a kid because I was lonely and wanted attention.”
“Me too.” I gave him a wry smile. “Except it was a different kind of music.”
“I don’t even know what I would be like if I had never discovered music. Or maybe I would have discovered it anyway, even if she had stayed.” He shook his head. “Dad was a truck mechanic raising two boys by himself. He worked extra shifts to pay for my voice and dance lessons, because I wanted it and because all of my instructors said I had talent. Dad wasn’t some Hollywood parent who knew what he was getting into. When my career took off, it was so fast. We were both in over our heads.”
“He let you pretend to date those models.” I couldn’t help saying it, because it was on my mind. “You were so young.”
Finn ran a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to explain. They made it sound so reasonable, like it wasn’t a big deal, like everyone does it. There was so much money at stake, and if I let everyone down, people would lose their jobs. It was like being behind the wheel of a car that had no brakes.” He dropped his hand. “After it was all over, when Dad was sick and living here with me, we talked about it. We had a lot of long conversations, about everything. He only ever wanted what was best for me. It was just that, for a time, he had no idea what that was, and neither did I.”
Did Mom want what was best for me? Was that why she had fought me for every step of my music career? Did Vicki want what was best for me? I had been so determined to defy both of them, to defy everyone. My reasons seemed now to have more to do with Dad than they ever had with Mom and Vicki.
“Everyone says I’m just like Dad,” I said, my voice trembling more than I intended.
It was Finn’s turn to cross his arms. “That’s because they don’t see you. Not really.”
I swallowed hard, and then I looked up at the ceiling. “Some of that might be my fault. I’m not exactly good at sharing. Only some of it, mind. The rest is all on them.”
Finn smiled. “Take a shower. Then—it pains me to say this—put clothes on. We’re going out.”
“Where?” I asked him.
He held his arms out from his sides in an expansive gesture. “We’re in the wilds of Washington, and I have a dog. We’re going walking.”