Chapter 8 #2
“I forgot to grab my phone when the fire started.” I laugh again, but it doesn’t feel good.
“I don’t know a single fucking number. Isn’t that pathetic?
Couldn’t even remember James’s number, and I’ve known him for ten years.
Not that it would matter, since he’s in New York right now.
” I bite my lip to keep from babbling any further.
A sympathetic smile tilts Finn’s mouth. “I’d be fucked without my phone.”
I snort, fighting the burn behind my lids. “Well, I’m certainly fucked.”
He grimaces, ducking his head. “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m crap at this.”
Personally, I think he’s pretty perfect right now. “It’s okay. I know what you meant. I’m just wallowing.”
“No, honey,” he says with force. “You feel whatever the hell you want to feel.” He looks like he wants to say more, but simply
rests his massive hand on my shoulder, engulfing it with warmth. “You all clear to go?”
I nod toward the clipboard on the rolling table. “I have to fill out some forms first.”
He glances at my hand, half-encased in the cast, and then picks up the clipboard. He rests his butt against the bed, pen at
the ready. “Give me the answers.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I swallow with difficulty, tasting ash. Slowly, I answer the questions, and he diligently writes
them down.
The next thirty minutes swirl like a fog around me: Finn going off to talk to the nurse and give her my forms; Finn collecting
my broken laptop, his hand at my lower back, guiding me out; the slap of fresh air when we leave the ER; Finn opening the
door of his SUV and helping me climb in.
It isn’t until we’re driving, my bruised body softly embraced by luxury leather seats, that I find it in me to talk. “Where
are we going?”
“Home.” His grip tightens on the wheel. “My home.”
I nod, not knowing what to say. I’d planned to go to a hotel. A small voice inside me cries that it wants to go home. I’ve
never been homeless before. It feels like I’ve lost a huge piece of my identity. I take a deep breath and focus on the road
before me. If I don’t, I’ll think about all my things now burnt or waterlogged, and I will lose it.
At the edge of the French Quarter, Finn pulls up before a converted factory building that overlooks the Mississippi. A doorman
hurries over, and Finn hands him the car keys.
By the time we get to his condo, my wrist feels like it’s being crushed in a vise. I hold it against my chest and follow him
in. Finn’s apartment reminds me of mine with exposed brick, wide and worn floorboards, and high ceilings. But where mine is—fuck,
was—a loft, his has been divided up into rooms.
With a hand on my lower back, he guides me down a wide foyer into a living area. It’s a man cave, but refined: reclaimed wood
coffee table, big leather club chairs, a gray couch you could swim in, and a massive TV with what looks like three separate
gaming systems. Arched windows frame the river, glinting with moonlight.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, pausing.
“No, just tired.”
He nods, as if he suspected as much, and leads me down another hall. The first door opens into a bedroom. At first glance,
I think it’s his because it’s so large and it is fully decorated. But there’s a slightly feminine touch in the lacy white
duvet and multiple throw pillows on the pretty carved mahogany canopy bed that I just can’t see Finn choosing for his bedroom.
Nor can I imagine him sitting on one of the delicate little linen-covered armchairs set up before the fireplace.
He sets my busted laptop down on a sideboard. “My mom uses this room when she visits. There’s a bathroom here.” He opens a
door, and I get a peek at a claw-foot tub and more exposed brick walls. I’m suddenly aching for a hot bath.
Finn clearly notices the direction of my gaze. “Want me to start a bath? It’ll take a bit to fill.”
“Okay.”
While he fiddles with the taps, I stand in the middle of the room. I want to sit, but everything is so pretty and clean, and
I stink of soot and smoke.
Finn bustles back in, full of nervous energy that makes me want to hug him. “Right, so there’s a coffeemaker.” He opens the
doors of the sideboard and pulls out an automated espresso maker on a tray. “And a fridge as well.”
The small fridge is stocked with cream and juice and bottled waters, just like a luxury hotel. I blink several times and nod,
as he looks over his shoulder at me to see if I’m getting everything.
“It’s perfect,” I assure him, my voice thick.
He stands and shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. He seems larger in this room, his masculinity somehow highlighted against
all the frilly touches. An elegantly dressed bruiser with a sensitive heart. “Towels and a robe are in the bathroom . . .
And, right . . .” He moves to the tall dresser by the closet. “Clothes.”
“Clothes?” I croak. On stiff legs, I go to him, as he pulls open a drawer.
Shirts of various colors, jeans—blue and black—sweaters . . . They’re all neatly folded, tags still on them. I blink again,
more rapidly, my throat swelling.
“You got me clothes?”
His eyes meet mine. “You needed them.”
I can’t speak.
“It’s just to get you started,” he goes on as if I’m not about to lose it right here in his cozy guest room. I find bras,
panties, socks, and nighties, in a rainbow of colors, resting nicely in another drawer.
“Bra size was a little harder to guess. I mean, I was pretty sure about cup size but 34? 36? I have no idea what that’s all
about . . .” He meets my gaze, the tips of his ears pink. “Ah . . . yeah . . . so anyway . . .”
A smile pulls at my lips. “I could always go without.”
“Please don’t,” he teases. “I’m trying hard enough as it is to not ogle your tits.”
My chest is so tight it hurts to laugh. I suck in a shaky breath at the end of it.
“When did you do this?”
He couldn’t possibly have had the time.
“As much as I’d like to take credit,” he says, sliding a drawer closed. “My assistant, Charlie, did it. You’ll meet him soon
enough.” Finn goes to turn off the water. “He works for a bunch of us guys, and when I heard about the fire, I called him
in to help.”
“Finn . . .” I don’t know what to even say. Slowly, I walk toward him. “All of this . . .” Shit, I’m going to sob.
He shrugs again as if it’s no big deal. “I wanted to give you what I could.”
The bathroom is warm and humid, the air fragrant with the vanilla-lemon bubble bath he added to the water when I wasn’t looking.
Finn gazes down at me, his expression so tender, I might break. I can’t. If I cry now, I don’t know if I can stop.
“Look, you don’t have to stay more than the night,” he says in the quiet. “But I wish you would. I’ve got some away games
coming up and will be traveling for a couple of weeks, so you’ll have the place to yourself.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
The stiff way he holds his shoulders eases, and he lets out a breath. “Good. Go on and have your bath. I’ll get the meds the
doc prescribed.”
“You’ll get my meds?” God, all I’m doing is parroting him now, but my mind has scrambled.
Finn rests his hand on my shoulder. “Chess, honey, I’ll get you anything you need.”
He becomes a blur as my eyes fill. I blink back tears that cannot fall. But my resistance crumbles. With a shuddering breath, I step into his space and wrap my good arm around his waist. “Finn,” I croak.
Immediately, he gathers me up, holding me close, his lip pressed to the top of my head. I lean on him and wallow in the feel
of his body, strong and firm and warm. It’s so comforting, part of me wants to pull away, afraid that I’ll come to need this
too much.
But I can’t move.
“I think I love you right now,” I tell him, my voice muffled on his crisp shirt. Those massive arms of his tighten a fraction,
even as his chest shakes on a laugh.
“Only right now, eh?”
“I’m sure you’ll eventually say something to remind me why that’s a bad idea.” I don’t bother lifting my nose from his chest.
The silk of his tie presses against my cheek, the scent of fine wool and clean man surrounding me. Finn in a suit is devastating,
but I miss his T-shirt and jeans.
“Probably,” he agrees then sighs. “I’m glad you’re okay, honey.”
A fine tremor goes through his body. And I realize, he isn’t nervous, he’s upset. I snuggle closer. “Thank you for coming
to get me.”
“Always, Chess.”
He says it with such fierce sincerity that my knees go weak. I think about the loss of my house, my work. Jesus, my Nikon
D5 DSLR. I took out a loan to get that baby. Not to mention my lenses. My beautiful lenses. Gone. Melted.
Panic claws up my throat. If I let it in, I’ll ask him to take me to bed, make me forget for a few hours why I’m so scared.
I can almost hear myself begging, almost feel my hands moving down to cup the fat bulge in his pants.
He’d be willing. I know this well. Finn has never hidden his attraction to me.
It would be so good, I know this without a doubt.
But morning would come, and I’d still be a woman without a home, facing the only friend I have close right now with all the awkwardness and regret that comes with a one-night stand.
I force myself to loosen my hold on him, to step back and find some distance.
Finn’s arms fall to his sides as he watches me back up. The loss of him makes me cold and off-balance. I clutch my arm to
my chest.
“I should take my bath now.”
“Sure.” He leaves me to bathe, closing the bathroom door behind him.
At some point while I soak, I hear him return and leave my pain meds in the bedroom. By the time I crawl into his soft guest
bed, the sheets smelling faintly of laundry detergent but stiff with disuse, I’m shaking.
I cry with my face buried deep into a pillow so he won’t hear.