Chapter 26
Advanced Techniques in Delayed Gratification
Alex
The FBI team worked upstairs while Agent Riggs conducted interviews in the smaller conference room on the main floor. Casey did his interview before returning to help where needed. I had to call Jason to come in and be interviewed.
I curled up on the chaise in my office and tried to nap, feeling exhausted in my bones as the adrenaline bled out of my body. Lennon was allowed to order lunch for the team and Tabitha brought me a salad and bottle of water before sitting down on the sofa.
Dom texted me just after two: just got in. finn’s pretty wiped from last night and the trip. we put him down in your room since we’re in the guest.
My chest warmed at the update, but tears pricked at my eyes over still having to be at the office and missing their arrival.
Me: thank you for driving him down. FBI is finishing interviews here.
Me: I have to give mine and then I can come home.
Dom: FBI? shit that’s some serious stuff alex.
Me: you have no idea.
Dom: does finn know?
I felt a pang of guilt. I’d only given Finn a light version of what was going on at my company, not wanting to talk about it or worry him with it.
Me: only a little bit. he doesn’t know about the FBI.
Dom: you 2 need to stop keeping secrets from each other.
I locked my screen and dropped my phone on the cushion before setting my elbows on my knees and resting my throbbing head in my hands.
Dom was right. The rational part of my brain knew I’d been unfair accusing Finn of pulling away when I hadn’t shared everything with him.
Maybe if I had, Lennon wouldn’t have had to order us a new printer.
“You okay, boss?” Tabitha looked up from where she was sitting, reading a book. We’d been asked to not use our computers for the rest of the day.
“No,” I sat up, rubbing the back of my neck. “Finn just got back and I thought I’d be home by now.”
“I’ll go see if Agent Riggs can hurry things up or interview you another day.”
“It’s okay.”
She stood up. “You should be home with your man, not stuck here.” She left and I closed my eyes again still exhausted, my mind whirring around seeing Finn again.
What did he want to talk about? It didn’t seem like a break-up, but I had so little to go on, only his reaction at the recital almost a week ago.
I yawned and checked my watch. Two-thirty.
Maybe it was better this way. Finn could rest.
I wasn’t sure how long it had been when Tabitha came back. I must have fallen asleep after all. “Riggs says you can go,” she picked up my bag and handed it to me. “You just need to leave your laptop and password here.”
“What time is it?” I pulled out my computer and left it on my desk.
“Just after four,” she glanced at her watch. I’d slept for ninety minutes. It might as well have been a hundred years with how much better I already felt.
“I don’t need to give a statement or anything?”
“He said your reports were so thorough, he doubted you’d need to give much of a statement at all,” she chuckled. “Your penchant for over documentation saves you again.”
“Thank goodness. I’ll see you Monday.”
“Tuesday. Monday is Memorial Day.”
“Tuesday,” I gave her a small salute and headed out the front, wishing Lennon a good afternoon.
I texted Dom and Enzo:
Me: on my way home finally. sorry it took longer than I expected.
Enzo: Don’t you worry your drop dead gorgeous self. We’ll clear out for a couple of hours and pick up dinner. What sounds good??
Me: pizza. definitely pizza.
Enzo responded with a thumbs up emoji.
I drove home without music and kicked my shoes off as soon as I entered the door.
The house felt different; remnants of my three favorite people having spent the afternoon there echoed in the space.
Coffee mug in the sink that wasn’t mine, extra shoes…
men’s shoes… by the door, and the faint scent of bergamot and cloves that meant Finn specifically was here, in my house, filling it without making it feel crowded.
I padded down the hall to my bedroom where he was stretched out on my bed, fully clothed except said shoes. His hair had escaped whatever method he’d used to tame it, falling across his forehead. My fingers itched to touch it, desperate to weave between the strands.
The late afternoon sun filtering through the sheer curtains cast golden light over his face, highlighting the faint scarring across the left side and the way his mouth had gone soft in sleep. The tightness in my rib cage finally loosened and I felt like I could take a full breath at last.
I moved to the bed, sitting carefully so I wouldn’t wake him.
This close I could still see the trace evidence of exhaustion etched around his eyes.
The drive from Wyoming had probably been brutal, especially if he’d had as much sleep as I did and had been drunk when we spoke, which I’d suspected from the slight slur in his words.
I set my phone on the nightstand and settled back against the headboard, the mattress dipping slightly. Finn stirred, golden-brown eyes blinking open slowly.
“Hey,” I whispered softly, reaching out to brush the hair off his forehead. “How are you feeling?”
He blinked again, consciousness returning in stages. I watched him catalog where he was, who I was, what time it might be. Training that would be a part of him forever.
“Better now,” his voice was rough with sleep. He reached for my hand, fingers intertwining automatically. “You cut your hair.”
“I cut my hair,” I lifted a shoulder.
“I like it. A lot. How did everything go today?”
The weight of what had happened this morning hit me like a wrecking ball. My expression crumpled before I could stop it. I wasn’t supposed to breakdown like this, not this fast when we were just carefully starting to talk.
“The FBI is at the office, digging through files and cataloging everything. They took my computer,” I hiccupped a deep, shuddering breath and forced myself to not cry. “Jordan almost took everything from us.”
Finn sat up immediately, pulling me tight against his chest. The pressure instantly calmed me and I wrapped my arms around his waist. “Shit, Alex. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay…” I said into his shoulder, his scent slowing the buzzing in my brain.
“No, it’s not,” his arms tightened around me, one hand moving to stroke my hair.
“No, it’s not. But we survived,” I pulled back to look at him, noting the way his jaw had tightened, muscles flexing as he clenched his teeth. I smoothed my fingers over his brow and down the side of his face. “But I don’t want to talk about that right now. I just want to be here with you.”
Worry flickered across his features as his eyes slid to the side. It wasn’t like him to avoid looking at me. “Alex, I need to tell you some things,” he sat up against the headboard, pulling away, putting space between us.
The shift in his tone surprised me; he was unsure, nervous, guarded. I took a deep breath, turned and sat cross-legged on the bed facing him, taking his hand in mine. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“The medical test results,” he started, voice turning matter-of-fact in a way I recognized as him compartmentalizing. “They were from an endocrinology workup I had back in early May. Testing hormone levels, fertility function, that sort of thing.”
He swallowed and I felt a cold weight settle in my stomach. Not because of what he was telling me, but because of how carefully he was telling it.
“And?” I prompted, squeezing his hand.
“Primary hypogonadism,” he responded as if he were reading from the report itself. “Hormonal failure. Testosterone levels are below normal range—maybe fifty percent chance that hormone replacement therapy helps long-term.”
I watched him deliver the news like a mission brief, clinical and emotionally distant, and my heart broke a little for how hard this must have hit him.
“Okay,” I searched his face, eager for him to see how much I cared that he was hurting. “That must have been a lot for you to process.”
“There’s more,” his fingers tensed under mine. “It affects fertility, and—” He paused, and I could see him weighing how much he wanted to say. “Sexual function.”
The words landed between us and his eyes lifted to mine, watching for a reaction. As if he was waiting for me to flinch or tell him it was too much. Instead, my heart expanded, pressing at the walls of my chest as I regarded this brave, honorable man.
I squeezed his hand gently. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Alex,” his voice was rough. “You need to understand what this means.”
“I understand perfectly,” I replied, fierce protectiveness rising up inside me. “It means you’re dealing with medical complications from trauma you sustained serving your country. It means your body is working through some stuff. It doesn’t mean anything else.”
“It means I can’t promise—”
“Stop,” I moved onto my knees and leaned closer, framing his face with my hands. “Just stop right there, flyboy.”
The endearment slipped out before I could catch it, and I watched his expression shift toward hope.
“You think this changes anything about how I feel about you?”
“Doesn’t it?” His question came out barely above a whisper.
“Not even a little bit,” I leaned in to kiss him gently.
“Alex, I…” He curled his fingers around my wrists, resting his forehead against mine as he took a deep breath.
“When you said our relationship was fake anyway… I…” He pulled back and looked up at me.
“I don’t want it to be. I can’t pretend I don’t have feelings about you anymore.
And I know this is a huge bombshell to drop after also confessing that I may never be able to have children, but—”
“Stop,” I laughed, feeling lighter than air at his confession. “You beautiful, silly, perfect man. It’s my job to spiral.” I brushed my thumb across his cheek as he huffed out a laugh.