24. Finn
FINN
I tug my hoodie over my head as I step out of the lecture hall, shooting a grin at a couple of classmates lingering by the door. “Later, guys.”
A few call back goodbyes, but I don’t slow, adjusting the strap of my bag as I head for the parking lot. This is one of my later classes, and with early morning practices six days a week, while everyone else is making plans to go out for drinks afterward, I’m always heading straight home.
The night air is cool against my skin, waking me up a little as I head for the parking lot. I’m already thinking about whatever leftovers Ethan has left in the fridge that I can scarf down before grabbing a shower and jumping into bed when movement catches my eye.
I lift my head toward the parking lot, noticing the outline of three guys against the overhead streetlights. Hoods are pulled low over their faces as they kick at something on the ground.
No, not something. Someone .
My stomach tightens. “Hey!” I call, my voice sharp as I pick up my pace.
The guys freeze, turning my way, but I still can’t make out their faces.
I’m too focused on the unmoving figure on the ground.
Was this a mugging? I’m outright running now.
Nudging each other, the three men take off, disappearing between the parked cars.
I don’t bother to chase them. My heartbeat pounds in my ears as I sprint the last few steps toward the crumpled figure on the ground.
It’s only once I’m standing over the still form that I register who it is.
“Dylan—” Her name rips from my throat as I drop to my knees. Fuck .
Her face is half shadowed, blood drying at her temple, her arms curled around her ribs. My hands hover over her body, wanting to help but unsure where to touch her. Terrified I’ll only hurt her further. Before I can figure out my next move, she shifts slightly, a groan slipping past her lips.
“You’re okay.” It’s a poor attempt to reassure her since my voice is frantic even to my own ears. What do I do? Call an ambulance? I lift my head, scanning the vicinity for…something. Where the fuck is everyone?
“Finn.” The thick rasp of her voice has me snapping my focus back to her.
“Dylan. Shit. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.” My hand clutches hers as relief surges through me, but it’s short-lived when she doesn’t respond, simply groaning as her eyelids flutter.
“Jesus, okay, okay.” I suck in a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, to think. “I’m calling for help,” I tell her as I dig my phone out of my pocket. “Just hold on?—”
Heavy footsteps pound against the pavement. I drop the phone, jumping to my feet and preparing to fight—to protect her—if those assholes have returned.
“Get the hell away from her!” I’m shoved aside, nearly losing my footing as Griffin falls to his knees beside her. By the time I recover, he’s crouched over her still form, his body practically curled around her as he brushes strands of hair off her face.
Her eyelids flutter but don’t open.
“Who did this?” Griffin’s voice is lethal, his eyes burning as he lifts his head to glare at me.
I scrub a hand over my face, my pulse still racing. “I dunno, man. I was heading to my car when I saw these guys jumping someone. I didn’t realize it was Dyl until I got here.” I notice him scan our surroundings. “They ran off when they saw me coming.”
His jaw clenches at my words, fingers flexing around Dylan’s wrist like he can anchor her to him. Forcing an exhale through his nose, he then leans forward so he can press his forehead against hers, his shoulders rising and falling like he’s barely holding himself together.
Fuck, I’m barely holding myself together.
“We need to get her to a hospital,” I say, already reaching for my phone again.
“No,” Dylan croaks, her voice hoarse but firm. Those eyelids flutter again, and I hold my breath, hoping to catch a glimpse of those entrancing eyes of hers, before she gives up and keeps them closed. “No hospital.”
“Dylan,” I argue. Griffin growls low in his throat, clearly in agreement with me that she needs to get checked out by a medical professional.
What if she’s hurt? She could have broken a bone or sprained something.
What if she hit her head? God only knows what those assholes did to her before I showed up.
“No.” This time she does manage to wrench her eyes open, but her stare isn’t the typical sparking one I’m used to seeing directed my way.
Her eyes are dull and unfocused. I fucking hate it.
“No hospitals.” The crazy woman tries to push herself upright, even though it’s clear the simple movement causes her pain .
“Stop that,” Griffin snaps at her. “You’ve probably got broken ribs.”
“Not broken,” she croaks, pain lacing every word as she sags back against the ground. “Just bruised, I think.”
“Oh well, that’s okay then,” I snark, running a stressed-out hand through my hair as I pace back and forth.
Dylan has the wherewithal to roll her eyes at me. “Like you don’t play with bruised ribs all the time,” she gripes. She tries again to push herself upright.
“Fucking hell, Hurricane.” Realizing he’s not going to keep her down, Griffin helps lift Dylan to her feet, keeping one arm securely wrapped around her waist. Her face is scrunched in pain, her breathing labored.
“Are we walking or not?” Despite her snark, her face is as white as a ghost, her voice barely audible even though I’m standing right in front of her.
“Fuck no.” I point toward my car. “Get in.” Fetching my keys out of my pocket, I bend down to grab the duffel bag she must have been carrying when she was attacked. Jogging ahead, I open the door while Griffin helps Dylan into the back seat, before getting in with her. I guess he’s coming with us.
Hastily throwing her bag in the trunk, I move around to the driver’s side and climb in behind the wheel, adjusting the rearview mirror so I can keep an eye on her.
Reversing out of the space, my attention drops to where her head has fallen back against the headrest, her eyes closed once more.
I swallow roughly, hating her pale coloring and the blood staining her skin, before wrenching my gaze away and focusing on the road in front of me as I throw the car into drive.
I keep my speed slow, careful not to jostle her more than necessary, glancing back at her every few seconds as I follow the road back to the house. Each time I do, something in my chest winds tighter, until it feels like I’m going to explode .
Griffin murmurs to her, his words too low for me to hear, but I frown anyway.
Since when did they become all buddy-buddy?
Griffin’s a lone wolf. He talks the talk, getting on with everyone on the team, but doesn’t go out of his way to make friends.
Frankly, beyond hockey, I don’t know a damn thing about him, and I’ve been playing alongside him since freshman year.
My hands tighten around the steering wheel, damn near choking it to death with each little bit of insight I pick up on every time I look at them. How close his face is to hers. His dark expression. The possessiveness in the way he touches her.
A far uglier emotion bubbles to the surface. One that I can’t initially place because I’ve never felt it before, but it boils in my gut, building in my veins. I want to hit the brakes, climb back there, and drag Griffin away from her.
I want to be the one touching her like that.
The one reassuring her. Making her feel better.
I want her full attention.
And that’s not okay.
I’ve been fighting the same desire since the minute she showed up on my front porch, all wide eyes and long legs, and hair I could picture myself pulling on while I sucked on her skin.
Fuck, man, get it under control!
I sigh in relief when I pull into the driveway, practically diving out of the car in my haste to escape my complicated feelings and convoluted thoughts.
Wrenching the back door open, I carefully help Dylan out of the car. Don’t think about how good she feels pressed against you , I chastise myself when a flare of awareness immediately heats my skin at her proximity. She’s hurting, you twisted fuck!
Battling my body’s reaction to her, I help shuffle her toward the house, Griffin on her other side. The second we step inside, voices explode around us. Both Ethan and Jax jump to their feet, video game controllers dropped on the coffee table as they approach.
“What the fuck happened?” Ethan storms forward, his eyes wild.
Jax is right on his tail, his eyes wide as they rake over Dylan’s slumped form. “Menace,” he murmurs, before shifting aside. “Get her on the couch. I’ll grab the first aid kit.”
He hurries off to the kitchen, and Griffin and I gently lower Dylan onto the sofa. She groans, wincing as she shifts to get herself comfortable—or as comfortable as one can be when their entire body is a giant bruise.
Griffin claims the spot beside her, not leaving an inch of space between them. There’s no way I can sit still right now, so I end up pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table.
Jax returns a moment later, kneeling on the floor in front of her as he opens the first aid kit on the table. His lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying to her, and that’s when I realize there’s a whooshing in my ears. My heart races as adrenaline thunders through my body.
I swipe my hand through my hair, pulling on the ends. I feel like I can’t breathe as I pace back and forth, unable to take my eyes off her for more than a second.
Ethan steps in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, stopping my pacing. It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me. Shaking my head, I force myself to take a deep breath before blowing it out. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“I want to know who did this to her,” he growls, irritation evident in his voice. My gaze flicks back over to Dylan. Jax is inspecting the wound at her temple, dabbing at it with a cotton pad and antiseptic cream.