Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Finch
I woke up at 1 am, unable to sleep despite my exhaustion. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if when I went downstairs to feed Cranky, I’d find her gone. I’d started checking on her before mixing her feed. I didn’t want to waste the stirring time if she was already gone. It was a morbid thought. One I’d had many times before in my life. But something about this stupid, fucking, little bird . . .
Death was a big part of animal medicine. Whether by old age or illness or some mysterious inability to thrive. Some animals were just never meant for this world. But this little bird, I needed to survive. I needed it so badly. But if she didn’t gain weight again today, if she didn’t have the strength to lift her head, it might be time to let her go. There was a time to fight tooth and nail and a time to not prolong suffering, and I was afraid I’d already tipped the scales too far in one direction.
And then there was Frankie and the way she’d looked at me with those big, excited eyes. It would’ve been a beautiful day together and I’d fucked it all up. I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve picked her. And yet, I wasn’t sure if it all happened again right now, I wouldn’t still make all the same cowardly decisions.
My white-knuckle grip on this job was going to ruin my life and I still couldn’t let go. I would be forever haunted by the way I crushed her spirit. I stomped her back down into that small person she’d once gloriously emerged from. I was no better than Jake. Fuck, I was worse than Jake. At least he had given her something real, however briefly.
And Frankie deserved something real, something magical, something extraordinary. Someone who would light her up and make her smile, not someone who strung her along knowing I could never be what she needed.
The fact she wasn’t here in my bed . . . as if she’d always been there, as if in my arms had always been where she’d belonged. And I threw it all away because I was too afraid that if I took a break, if I stopped, I might never start again.
One of the worst things about having a vast amount of medical knowledge was that I was wildly aware of how bad my lifestyle was for me. I knew what the partying and lack of sleep would do to my body, but I still didn’t stop. It was how I survived. Work and play.
Work hard, play harder.
And right then, I didn’t want to stare at my bedroom ceiling and think about how I’d screwed up the greatest friendship I’d ever had, which hurt even more than the romance simmering between us. Frankie knew me in a way I rarely let people see. She saw right through all of the bluster and bravado and right to the heart of me. When she spoke to me, I knew she spoke to that heart. And I’d told her she meant nothing to me.
“Fuck it,” I muttered to the darkness. I’d go weigh the chick now. I couldn’t stay there waffling between thoughts of Frankie and thoughts of a dead patient.
I stumbled numbly out of bed, stomping into my boots without doing up the laces, and trudged down the stairs, only to find a note taped to the door: Fed at midnight, go back to sleep—Dove.
Great. My sister being thoughtful had foiled my plans to pretend I was awake to do my job, and not because I was thinking about that crushed look on Frankie’s face.
Turned out, I was Sgt. Douchebag after all.
I shoved open the weighted door to the break room and fished through the cabinets for the still unopened bottle of tequila. Grabbing it by the neck, I entered the code to the back door, resetting the alarm behind me, and stormed off in an unknowable direction.
I roved the island, necking the bottle until everything began to blur, the sharp edges to the world blended, and I thought maybe it would ease this weighted pain in my chest.
“Dr. Lachlan!” I heard someone call from above.
I craned my neck up to see the lighthouse—the converted staff dormitory where many of the gift shop workers lived. Two girls in their early twenties leaned over the balcony that ringed the top floor, their limbs loosened with drinks.
I squinted up at them, trying to focus my tired vision. “What?” I barked, which was apparently hilarious, judging by the way the two of them tittered with laughter.
“We’re having a flashlight party,” the other one goaded. “Come drink with us.”
I took a step toward the lighthouse door out of muscle memory alone. This had been my world, but suddenly, it didn’t fill me with any excitement. I wanted to be in sweatpants cuddled up next to Frankie, trying to convince her to let us watch one more episode before bed. I still wanted these parties sometimes too, but not every fucking night and not without Frankie by my side. Everything was better when she was around. I suddenly realized I needed to tell her that—immediately.
I frowned down at the bottle of tequila in my hands. “Can’t,” I called, and they let out moping sounds in unison. “But I’ve brought a bottle of tequila for you.” I set the bottle on the rickety table out the front door and waved to the girls. “Have fun.”
I headed away from the raucous sounds of the party and down the street toward the Salty Dog that sat on the corner overlooking the docks. One of the benefits of living on an island was that everything was in walking distance. I started crunching across the gravel of the parking lot—a few stray cars still left behind from drunk people who needed a lift home.
The lights were still on upstairs and I scoured them, searching for which room was Frankie’s. Was she still awake? I nearly stumbled, bending over to pick up a stone, but before I could throw it, the front door to the bar opened.
“If you throw a rock at my window, you’re going to need all that fancy medical training to put yourself back together once I’m done with you,” Kirby growled.
I dropped the stone. “You’re going to kick my ass, Kirby? Really?”
“Worse.” Kirby turned the porch lights on and walked out to stand across the threshold like she was a bouncer. Arms folded, a scowl crossed her face. “I’m going to tell you that you fucked up.”
“I don’t want to hear this from you.” I groaned, waving a hand and letting the momentum nearly topple me over. There was no way I was that drunk, but the sleeplessness blurred with the alcohol made the world spin.
“Go home, Finch.”
“I need to see her,” I said, half demand, half plea.
“Not right now you don’t,” Kirby scoffed.
“I need to apologize.”
“You need to leave her alone until you know what you want from her,” Kirby said, and in my gut, I knew she was right. “This isn’t like you, Finch. You know this isn’t the way to do this.”
“I need to tell her I’m sorry for today,” I begged. “I just really need to see her.”
“Can’t you see all this hot and cold is hurting her? I thought you were better than that.” Oof. I wished she’d just punched me in the chest. It wouldn’t have hurt half as bad as saying that to me. Kirby didn’t move from the threshold. Her eyes narrowed at me. “Do you even know what you want from her?”
I hated that question. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were, but I was terrified of what it would mean to turn this fake thing into something real. Look how I’d already messed it up! I wasn’t the sort of person who could handle relationships. I wasn’t good enough for Frankie. I couldn’t give her all of me in the way that she deserved. I didn’t want to hurt her again, but I wanted us to be together too.
Why couldn’t we just keep pretending? But I knew that was cruel and selfish in a way that scared me to think I was even capable of.
So what did I want? And was I brave enough to admit it?
“No,” I finally relented, feeling Kirby’s knowing eyes on me. “I don’t know what I want.”
Kirby walked down the steps and crossed the last distance to me. She grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me in to a tight hug. I wanted to fall apart in her grip, wanted to sob because I knew she was sending me away because she loved me and she loved Frankie and it was the right thing to do. I felt so small in that moment, stripped of that faux confidence. I thought about the million ways I would’ve fallen apart if not for these people, these mentors and guides, this family who kept me from imploding. When my arms finally loosened, Kirby released me.
She held me by the shoulders and said, “Go home, Finch. And think really long and hard about what it is you want your life to be before coming back here.”