Chapter 20 Finn
FINN
WHAT HAPPINESS LOOKS LIKE
The “Buzzer-Beater Goal” —Scoring a goal just before the period ends—players laughing, high-fiving, and riding that rush of excitement.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice soft. I don’t hesitate to pull her into my arms, pressing my lips to her hair. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” If I know Kate, she made her point. She’s still shaken but fighting like hell not to let it show.
I don’t know what went down in the bathroom, and perhaps I don’t want to know. I wish I were there to defend her. I wish I could make it all okay with a blink of an eye, but this is Kate. And Kate fights her own battles.
She nods against my chest. She doesn’t ask where we’re going, and perhaps she doesn’t care as long as it’s away from here.
We don’t say a word on the way out. There are a few confused looks and whispers as we leave, but no one stops us.
The Bentley’s still waiting. The driver looks startled when I give him an address. But it’s something simple, and somewhere I know she’ll feel at home.
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into the parking lot of a fast-food burger joint that’s lit up like a Christmas tree and smells like grease, salt, and salvation.
I help her out of the car, and we walk in—her in that silken gown, wearing sapphires, with bare feet, and me still in my tux. We enter, and the whole place goes dead silent.
A guy in Crocs holding a tray of fries actually drops his milkshake.
Kate bites her lip, then starts laughing. Heads turn. Someone whispers, “Are they filming something?”
But I’m watching her and she’s all smiles. She’s in her element. Surrounded by people in old T-shirts, ragged jeans, a woman who’s holding a crying kid, and some old song playing through a busted speaker, she’s never looked happier.
We ordered two burgers, fries, and shakes, and carried them to a booth in the back. Kate slides in across from me, pulling her knees up onto the vinyl seat.
“This is ridiculous,” she says, eyes shining. “We look like we crashed a fast-food prom.”
I grin. “Yeah, but we’re the best-dressed ones here.”
“I like it,” she says, almost to herself.
“What?”
“Being somewhere we’re both equals makes it less lonely.”
I nod slowly, chewing on that. “I get that.”
We eat with our fingers, lick ketchup off each other’s hands, and let the world fade out for a little while. And for the first time tonight, she looks completely at ease.
I don’t care what anyone in that ballroom thinks.
This?
This is what real looks like. This is my woman. And I’m going to make sure she’s happy.