Chapter 40 Finn
FINN
HOW TO RUIN EVERYTHING WITH POOR JUDGMENT
Game Misconduct: You’re out of the game entirely. Irreversible. Final. I may have just lost her for good. I’m such an ass.
I’ve been staring at the same wall for two hours—maybe more. The clock ticks like it’s mocking me—loud, steady, and annoying.
The phone is on the counter, flipped face down, but it doesn’t matter. The image is already seared into my brain. Overexposed. Cropped just right. Me, laughing too close to Tess. Her hand on my arm. My smile caught mid-sentence like a goddamn dagger.
I know what it looks like – me being unfaithful to Kate.
But that’s the thing about moments—they never tell the whole story. A split-second captured, and now the whole world thinks it knows who I am. Worse—she does.
Oh, God.
I keep thinking back to that night, rewinding every breath, every look. I was stupid. Na?ve. I thought I could handle Tess being there. Thought I could be polite, cordial. Professional.
But she leaned in. Smiled that too-familiar smile. Touched me like she still had permission.
And I—I didn’t move away fast enough.
That’s all it took.
One picture. One moment of hesitation. And everything I had with Kate? Burned to the ground in seconds. I drag my hands down my face, the guilt sitting like concrete in my chest.
I didn’t touch Tess like that. I didn’t want her. But I also didn’t stop her. I wasn’t fast enough to matter anyway. And that hesitation cost me everything.
I see Kate’s face when she laughed with her head thrown back with Lord Stanley. I hear the way she said my name, as if it meant something real, when we made love.
I remember how she trusted me with the softest parts of her—the ones she never let anyone else see. And now I’ve shattered them, even if I didn’t mean to.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? Intent doesn’t matter when the damage is done.
She thinks I chose Tess, and I’m not sure I can convince her otherwise.
I press the heels of my palms to my eyes, trying to hold in the scream clawing up my throat. No one’s here to hear it anyway. Just me and my guilt. And this sick, sinking feeling in my gut that I might’ve just lost the love of my life because I didn’t act fast enough.
And maybe that’s what makes this hell—that I didn’t do it. Maybe I deserve to lose her.
Mikael calls.
“What is going on? You’ve been MIA. Why is the press lying about you?”
Hum.
“Maybe because I stupidly met with Tess. She texted, said some she wanted to meet and clear the air. She was one of the women who bullied Kate at the charity event. You know, the first one, right after Vegas.”
“And…”
“Well, I thought I could reason with her and get her to back off. I thought maybe if I gave her a few minutes, she would suddenly leave us alone.”
“And how’d that work for you?”
I know it’s a rhetorical question, but I answer her myself.
“Not good. It was a setup. I can’t believe I fell for it. I mean, it’s a rookie mistake...” My voice trails off. I’m in love with my wife, and it kills me that she’s not here. I was so stupid. “Why did I ever think Tess would do the right thing?”
“Because you’re a nice guy and you want to believe the best in everyone.”
“Tell that to Kate. Nothing happened. And Kate’s not speaking to me.”
“Get off your ass then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Where is she?”
“Supposedly, she’s in Nashville, probably at her apartment.”
“Then why are you in Maine?”
Good question. I’ve been wallowing for days. I need to take control of the situation, but I’m afraid she’ll never understand.”
“What are my odds?” I ask my best friend.
“Dude, if I knew that I’d be a billionaire. You just need to tell her the truth. She’s reasonable. We all make mistakes.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know Kate, she’s been through a lot.”
“You have to try, right?”
“Sure, but what if she doesn’t see my side?”
“It’s better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all,” he says. “Now get your ass on that plane.”
I knocked, eager to see if someone would come to the door.
I psyched myself up the entire flight here.
I shoved the door open; my heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe.
Then I see my wife—Kate. Standing in the middle of her living room, as if she’d been holding herself up just long enough to tell me to go to hell.
She didn’t say anything at first. She just stared, arms folded, like she was bracing for impact.
"Kate—please." My voice cracked. Hell, I hadn’t even gotten past one word, and I already sounded like a man on his knees. “Please, let me explain."
She doesn’t move, but her silence speaks volumes.
I take a step closer. “It’s not what it looked like.”
She laughs, but there is no humor in it. “You’re actually going to say that? Seriously?”
“Tess set me up,” I blurt.
Another laugh, sharper this time. “Wow. That’s original.”
“She did, Kate.” I run a hand through my hair, tugging hard at the roots because I need to punish myself. “She texted, said she just wanted to talk. I shouldn’t have gone, I know that. I was stupid. But I swear—I swear—I didn’t kiss her.”
“She kissed you.”
“Yes.” I take a step closer, but then I stop when she pulls back. “She leaned in, and I was pushing her away, but someone was there with a camera. She planned the whole thing.”
Kate looks away, but before she does, I see the pain I’ve caused, the trust I’ve broken, and I hate myself for it.
“I love you,” I say, the words tumbling out raw. “Only you. I didn’t meet with Tess because I wanted anything from her—I just didn’t want unfinished shit hanging over us. She’s targeting you to get back at me. I thought if I tied up the loose ends, we could move forward. But I was wrong.”
I drop to my knees. Literally.
Her eyes widen. “What are you doing?”
“I’m begging you.” My palms press to the floor. “Begging you not to walk away from us because I was too stupid to see Tess still had an agenda. I should’ve known. You were right to be mad. You’re always right.”
She blinks. Once. Twice. But she doesn’t speak.
“I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t want her. I want you, Kate. You’re it for me. The beginning, the middle, the end. And if I lose you over this, I’ll never forgive myself. I’ll spend every day wishing I’d done this better—been better.”
Silence. And then, she says, “Get up.”
I do. Slowly.
Her eyes lock on mine. “If you ever fall for something so stupid again—”
“I won’t. I swear to God.”
“—or put yourself in a position like that, where someone else gets to decide what I see? We’re done.”
“I know.” I nod. “It won’t happen again.”
She studies me for a long, brutal second.
Then she steps forward and touches my face, barely there, like she doesn’t quite trust herself yet.
“Next time,” she whispers, “you tell me before you meet with a ghost from your past.”
“I will. But there won’t be a next time.”
And when she finally lets me hold her, relief washes over me like a tsunami.