Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
FINN
The silence in the room was its own kind of loud.
For a long, drawn-out stretch, nobody moved. I don’t think anyone even breathed.
Elliott didn’t say anything at first.
Then the disbelief in his gaze hardened.
That’s when I knew I was screwed.
When Elliott’s words finally came, they were terrifyingly calm.
“Em,” he said, his eyes never leaving me. “You should go get dressed.”
I expected the protective-older-brother explosion that would have at least been honest. This was worse.
“I’m not the one wearing a towel.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe Finn should go find clothes and you can see yourself out. Maybe even knock next time.”
“I’m going to go get dressed,” I said, as though that had been my plan all along.
Holding the towel against my junk, I scooted to my bedroom.
I couldn’t hear what was happening in the kitchen, but I moved as quick as I could, so Emily wasn’t left to face her pissed-off brother by herself.
I tossed on a pair of shorts and pulled on a T-shirt for good measure. When I got back to the kitchen, Emily was sitting at the table, and Elliott had his forehead in his hand while he rubbed at his temples.
Neither of them was speaking, which was also super weird. His disappointment was a thousand-times worse than anger.
I’d seen Elliott mad before. At the refs, reporters, and even a very specific burrito that one time.
But this wasn’t that.
He stared like I’d just taken something he trusted me with and dropped it on purpose.
I had a tactical decision to make.
Option A: sit next to Emily and let Elliott play the Big Responsible Dad.
Option B: find the nearest chair to stand on, assert my height-based dominance.
I settled on a solid Option C: standing guard by Emily’s chair.
It sent a clear message. One, I wasn’t ceding any alpha-dog status to Elliott. Two, I was on protector duty, too. Yeah, go me. Nailed it.
“Seattle called,” he said, tapping his fingertips against his thigh. “They’re looking at their cap space for next season. Want a veteran receiver who can contribute immediately. They want to know your rehab timeline. I needed to hear your thoughts before I respond.”
I let that land.
“No worries, I get why you didn’t pick up. We’ll circle around tomorrow.” He stood and turned to leave.
The career news should have caused an adrenaline spike.
Seattle. A playoff team interested when I wasn’t even a sure thing.
The kind of call an agent waits his whole career to make. Instead, it sat in my stomach like concrete.
He didn’t turn to say the next part.
“She’s going through something, Finn,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “You know that. Quitting her job, buying that building… She is already turning her life upside down. She doesn’t need your help wrecking shit.”
Every word was a perfectly aimed blow.
He was taking the thing I admired most about her—her courage, her leap of faith—and twisting it into a narrative of self-destruction. A narrative where I was the villain.
And the thing was, he wasn’t just mad at me. I could tell in the way his jaw flexed like he was chewing on every word he didn’t want to say.
He was scared. Scared for her. Scared for me, probably. Maybe.
“She is right here.” Emily pointed to her chest. “And she is a grown-ass woman with a law degree and a business she just opened. So don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room. Or like I’m your property.”
Elliott did turn back around then. Good, maybe he’d yell and we could get that part over with.
“You know, Finn,” he said instead of yelling.
“When Sloan hooked up with Maya, I wasn’t surprised.
I mean, he’s always been the kind of guy who jumps and doesn’t think.
But you? You put on a good show, but you’re the one guy I didn’t think would pull this crap,” he said under his breath.
“You swore to me you thought of Em as a sister. As more valuable than one of your bed warmers. And you chose to do this right now? Right. Now? When she’s at her lowest.”
Emily did not like that at all. “I am not—”
“She doesn’t need you wrapping her up in a fling while she’s trying to figure out whatever it is she’s trying to figure out.” He ignored Emily and stayed locked in on me.
Fling.
The word landed in the center of my chest. It took the beautiful thing that was us and reduced it to a cheap mistake.
He didn’t give me a chance to defend myself. Didn’t want an explanation. He’d already tried and convicted me in the space of thirty seconds.
He just gave me one last look. The kind that carried every game we’d watched, every secret we’d kept, years of showing up for each other compressed into one loaded stare.
“That’s not what this is,” I said. The words were soft, but they felt like shouting into a void.
My own voice was a low rasp. The word fling still stuck between us, an accusation he expected me to swallow. I wouldn’t.
He looked at me, his expression unchanged. A mask of disappointed certainty.
“You’re looking at her and seeing mistakes and wreckage.
” I took a step, not toward him, but closer to her chair.
Reinforcing my position. My alliance. “But you’re wrong.
She’s not falling apart. She was falling apart before, but she did it so well that none of us ever noticed.
Now she’s building something. Something real.
Something stable. Something that’s all hers. ”
“With you?” Elliott laughed. Actually laughed.
“Fucking hell, Elliott,” Emily said, standing. “What is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with me?” He pushed his hands through his hair. “I wanted to check in on my sister after her big day. I wanted to tell my client that another team is interested in him. And instead, I walk in on this.”
He glanced at Emily and then back to me. Pressed his lips together and turned to walk out.
But he paused in the doorway, his shoulders tense, head bowed.
“You’re going to break her, Finn. And she’s going to let you.”
Then he was gone.
Nobody said anything.
“Don’t let him make you feel small,” she whispered.
“Why don’t you head to bed?” I asked. “I’m gonna stay up for a bit.”
“Finn… what he said… it’s not—”
“I just need a minute to think,” I said.
She nodded and then she headed out. I didn’t know if she went back to the guest room, or my room, and I didn’t want to check. Because it would tell more of the story about our future than I was ready for.
My phone was still wedged between the couch cushions where I’d tossed it. I fished it out. Five missed calls from Elliott. One voicemail. A text that just said: Pick up. This is big.
Seattle. A playoff contender wanted me, and I’d missed the call because I was fucking his sister.
No, that wasn’t right. I was falling for her.
I stood there for a long time. The fling ringing in my ears. The you’re going to break her settling in right beside it.
This wasn’t an experiment anymore. We were tangled up in her future.
In her stability.
In the very real possibility that my falling for her and her falling apart could be the exact same thing.