24. Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
F in stood in front of the wild crash of the Pacific.
They’d sped along the highway all the way to Big Sur, the rush allowing their mind to melt away. Their phone was off, the notifications, the hateful words, the crashing down of their existence temporarily out of sight, even if reality kept sending warning flares.
They’d pulled off at Garrapata State Park, a gorgeous beach where the sun cascaded down in spades. If only any of that light would seep past their skin.
The ocean roared in front of them, heart-achingly blue and violent in a way that fit right now.
Part of them wanted to walk into the sea and never return. No one would miss them anyway—not after this mess.
Exhaustion slammed in harder than the sucker punch from their father yesterday.
This wasn’t the tiredness of a night of lost sleep.
No, this was a lifetime of disappointment and heartache.
This was from having to fight relentlessly, to survive the family they’d grown up in, to weather a country that’d rather they didn’t exist, to never quite knowing when the rug would get pulled out from under them.
They leaned against one of the rocky outcroppings that decorated this shoreline, the solidness keeping them upright.
Fin was a fighter. If they hadn’t been, they might not have lasted until adulthood. They sure as fuck knew how to get out.
What they didn’t know was how to stay.
When the fire grew too hot, they relied on instinct. And their instinct was honed to run.
Fin scrubbed at their face, wishing it stormed today instead of this damn sunshine. The waves crashed loud, and they stared out into all that mesmerizing blue. They’d just gotten on their Ducati and had driven away.
Even though Ollie was resting in their apartment, he guaranteed would wake up to confusion.
Even though Meg had one hell of a mess to clean up with the way Hera had dragged Whipped’s name through the mud.
Even though they were supposed to open the coffee shop today, and they hadn’t even let anyone know they weren’t showing up.
They’d never pulled a no-show before, not in the seven years they’d worked there.
However, they’d also never gone through this many hits—some literal—in a twenty-four-hour span .
The winds whipped around them, errant grains of sand stinging their arms. Their stomach rumbled. Staring at the sea was all well and good, but they needed to at least get coffee in their system.
Fin balled their hands into fists as they faced the ocean one last time. The beach was empty, so they’d take advantage of it.
They howled.
Not a wavering sort of sound. No, this was the sort of howl that grew from deep in the gut expanding out, past the waves, up to the sky, where the clouds danced and the blue horizon beckoned.
This was a howl to spite the world that had wanted them buried from birth.
The sound reverberated through the air, carried by the wind until it dispersed out in the immense blue.
Fin’s throat felt raw, and their shoulders heaved, but damn. Something deep within them dislodged at last. As if they’d cast all they’d carried out into the universe.
They ran their fingers through their hair. Time to get back to their bike.
The trek was fast, and the drive to the nearest pit stop with coffee even faster, which happened to be a gas station.
They filled up their tank and then entered the small convenience store.
The place was the size of a shoebox with the sort of shit coffee that would taste like roasted piss water.
However, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and they were hours out from San Francisco, where they might stand a chance at an actual good espresso.
Fin turned their phone on at last, bracing themself for the barrage of notifications and texts sure to follow.
They were at a crossroads. Either they could keep driving farther out, or they could turn around and head back to the destruction they’d left behind. They stood by the questionably smudged counter with the burnt coffee for self-serve and stared at their phone .
Texts, voice mails, messages, and far too many notifications. The entire crew of Whipped had reached out, but their focus remained on a single text.
Ollie.
A tremble rushed through them. Did they dare open up the message?
It could very well be a “fuck you.” A never fucking return.
And they’d fucking deserve it too. Fin’s finger hovered over the screen of their phone, those nerves threatening to make them upchuck again.
Not like there was anything left in their stomach to heave.
They sucked in a breath and opened the text.
Come home. I’m not going anywhere.
Oh fuck.
Fin’s eyes watered, and they lowered to a crouch. Fuck.
Their chest throbbed violently, a spasm like their heart had stalled and restarted.
Those words. They’d been the exact ones they’d needed to hear.
Their vision glossed over, and a few tears trickled down their cheeks.
They swiped at them, the thump, thump, thump of their heart drowning out the buzz of the refrigerators.
Having a breakdown on a convenience store floor was a new one for them.
The simple text was a revelation.
They’d been falling deeper and deeper for Ollie with every hang, every fuck, every kiss. Yet the message cemented their feelings at last. They were in love with Oliver Hale. Not only had he shown up yesterday, but even after they’d gone through a fit of insanity and bolted, he was holding steady.
They chewed on the inside of their cheek as they read Meg’s text.
If you don’t answer your phone, Finley Williams, I will use every resource in my arsenal to hunt you down, drag you back here, and chain you to the café.
I’m fucking worried.
Their heart thumped hard. Meg wasn’t kicking them out or banning them from Whipped.
She was concerned.
Their eyes watered again, and they swiped their sleeve over their eyes to stop the tears. Fin rose from their crouch. Shit, the person at the register was gawking at them.
“Existential crisis.”
Fuck it. If they were going to have coffee, they were going to have the good shit—at their house.
Fin scrubbed at their face, sucked in a sharp breath, and shook out their arms as if that might rid them from the torrent of emotion rushing through them.
At least the tears weren’t leaking so much that they couldn’t get on the road.
Fin strode toward the door, tossing a hand up at the person behind the cash register. “Sorry about that.” They stepped outside into the Californian sun.
Their stomach rumbled something fierce, and it was a dumbass move to not at least get something to eat, but they sure as fuck wouldn’t be able to tolerate anything with the way their gut simmered. After the roller coaster of a morning, they were wrung out and hung to dry.
Fin hopped onto their Ducati and started the ignition. It rumbled beneath them, but this time, the sound brought them to life.
They were going home.
** *
After a few hours of riding under the intense sun with no coffee and no food, Fin regretted their decision not to grab anything at the gas station. However, their sole focus remained on returning home.
They weren’t even sure of the time because they hadn’t stopped for shit, determined to get back to their apartment.
Praying Ollie was still there.
Their eyes throbbed, their throat was parched, and their body felt like they’d gone ten rounds in a ring.
However, the familiar skyscrapers of San Francisco towered all around them.
The closer they got, the more the zing in their chest increased.
Their heart was a feeble, battered thing, but the weak thump, thump, thump belonged to one person alone.
Because out of everyone, Ollie had known the sole thing they needed to hear.
They gripped their handlebars a little tighter as they zipped down their familiar street to their apartment at the end of the block.
They might be sick, but the stomach-churning was due to…
well, everything. Their phone was blowing up, and they needed to contact a hell of a lot of people, but this was the first stop.
Fin pulled into a parking spot along the street and unsteadily slipped off their bike. Their legs were trembling, and not from the ride or even the lack of food in their system. They walked toward the building, even though part of them wanted to run the other way.
Except they’d tried that.
And even hours away at the ocean, they hadn’t been able to run from their problems, so it was time to face them.
They hiked up the steps, their feet dragging and their whole body braced in tension. They had no idea what they’d find upon return.
Fin reached their apartment door and tested the knob. It was open. They stepped inside, the murmur of voices drifting their way .
They stopped and stared. Ollie was sitting on their couch with Julian. Mortification ripped through them, and they didn’t announce themself yet.
Ollie glanced up and stopped mid-word.
Julian followed his gaze, his eyes widening. “You’re back.” He rose from the seat, and his brows drew together as he scanned them over, pausing on the helluva shiner they’d gotten yesterday. “Fuck, you look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
Fin squeezed their nape. “You could say that.” They looked away from Ollie, shame pouring over them that they’d bolted the way they did. Fuck, they were such an asshole.
“So has this one,” Julian said, swinging over to kiss Ollie on the head. “Be gentle with him, okay?” Fin didn’t miss the stern note in his voice, which rang warning bells in their head. “And keep any kni—”
“I’ll pass along the warning myself, Jules,” Ollie said, his voice a low rasp. “Thanks.”
“Always,” Julian said. “Give me a call later tonight.” With that, Julian briskly strode for the door, leaving the two of them together.