Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Finn
There are a lot of things I didn’t expect to become on a Saturday morning.
A farmer’s market escort is definitely high on that list.
It took Aurora ten minutes to convince me to leave the bar.
I know she needs this… light, noise, normal things that don’t smell like blood and concrete. I can tell she wants to think about anything other than what happened. But the second she said “market,” my brain went straight to crowds big enough to hide someone who shouldn’t be there.
Which is new. I used to like crowds, now I count them.
“Relax,” Aurora says beside me, as if I’m the one making this weird. As if she’s not on edge as well. “You’re acting like I dragged you here against your will. All I said was I needed a break, and some time to see my friends…”
I glance around at the aggressively wholesome insanity of Coyote Glen’s weekly market. Fresh flowers. Handmade candles. A man selling honey as a personality trait.
“I just think,” I say carefully, trying to make this more lighthearted than it is, “that if anyone from my past could see me right now, buying organic jam and discussing sourdough starters, they’d assume I’ve been replaced by a more emotionally stable clone.”
She smiles, that soft, almost distracted curve of her mouth that’s been happening more lately. Part of her is here, and part of her is still… catching up to everything.
“I like this version of you,” she says.
“Yeah?” I shrug, aiming for casual. “He’s got range. Very versatile. Can punch a guy and pick out artisan cheese in the same hour.”
“Multitalented,” she agrees.
I nudge her shoulder lightly with mine as we walk, just enough to remind myself she’s here. She’s okay.
That’s been a thing lately.
Checking.
Counting.
Still here?
Still breathing?
Cool. Great. Carry on.
She glances over her shoulder once, quick and subtle, but I see it. Then she squares her shoulders like she’s decided something and keeps walking anyway.
The market’s busy, full of the kind of noise that’s supposed to feel safe. Kids running around with sticky hands. Couples arguing about tomatoes. Someone playing acoustic guitar as if we’re all in a low-budget indie film.
Aurora spots them before I do. “Hey!”
She hesitates for half a second first, just long enough to glance over her shoulder, like she’s checking something she doesn’t want to name, then she moves.
I watch her cross the space toward Ivy and the rest of them, her whole energy changing. Lighter. Brighter.
It’s not gone, though, the awareness. It’s just… quieter.
This version of her, the one who laughs without checking exits first, is still in there.
I hang back a little.
Ivy clocks me immediately.
She squints as if I’m a puzzle she intends to solve with violence if necessary. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m supervising,” I correct.
“Same thing.”
Olivia smiles at me as she rubs her swollen belly. “You came.”
“I was summoned,” I say. “Apparently, my presence was required for emotional support and snack carrying.”
Aurora bumps her hip into mine. “You volunteered.”
“Let’s not rewrite history.”
Delaney laughs. Sloane gives me that soft, knowing look that says she sees entirely too much for a Saturday morning. Bless her, she’s basically at the waddling stage of pregnancy now. Must be hard,
Lani hands Aurora something wrapped in paper. “Eat. You look like you’re running on caffeine and stubbornness.”
Aurora takes it without argument, which is honestly growth.
I settle in at the edge of the group, close enough to reach her if I need to. Far enough that she doesn’t feel glued to my side.
It’s a balance. I’m working on it.
They fall into conversation easily. Founders Day planning. Decorations. Logistics. Cakes. The kind of normal, grounded stuff that makes this place become something you can actually build a life inside.
Aurora gets pulled into it without hesitation.
I watch her talk, hands moving, eyes bright, already solving problems that haven’t even been fully explained yet. There’s something about seeing her in this way that settles in my chest.
She fits here. That’s the problem, because I don’t know if she’s ready to make this town her own…
She laughs at something Ivy says, and for a second, it’s easy to forget everything.
Then someone brushes past her a little too close, and I see it… the flicker. The quick recalculation.
“…I will not have that happen in my town…”
The voice is a snake creeping down my spine.
That fucking voice…
I flip around to see him.
Benjamin Wren stands near one of the vendor stalls, dressed as a man in a brochure about responsible civic leadership. Blazer. Clean lines. Polished smile.
As if he didn’t stand in that council meeting and try to choke the life out of The Hollow with paperwork. And he’s not part of the reason Aurora had blood on her hands two days ago.
My jaw locks, hard.
I don’t think. That’s the issue. Thinking is a luxury, and this… this is instinct.
I move before I’ve fully decided to, and when Aurora says my name behind me, it’s already too late.
Wren turns just as I step into his space, and he glares at me as if I were an inconvenience.
That doesn’t help.
“Benjamin Wren,” I snap. “Fancy seeing you out in the wild.”
He straightens slightly, smoothing his jacket, acting as if this is a normal conversation between normal people.
“Mr. Reilly,” he replies. “Enjoying the market?”
I let out a short laugh that has no humor in it. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face here.”
His expression doesn’t change. “I’m a member of this community.”
“Yeah?” I step closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re trying to dismantle it piece by piece.”
A couple of people nearby start paying attention.
Good. Let them.
Wren tilts his head slightly. “What I’m proposing is regulation. Safety measures. Accountability. This is an issue for the town meeting anyway…”
“Don’t,” I snap, the word sharper than I intended. “Don’t dress it up like that.”
His eyes flick past me briefly, taking in the crowd, the attention, the optics.
Of course he is.
This is a performance to him.
Everything is.
“You’re emotional,” he says. “Which is understandable, given your… background.”
Oh, that was a mistake.
I snap tight.
“You don’t get to talk about my background like you know a damn thing about it.”
“I know enough,” he replies smoothly. “Enough to understand why certain… establishments might require closer oversight.”
I step closer—too close now. We both know it, and the air shifts into something ugly.
“You come near that place again—”
“Finn.”
Aurora’s voice.
I ignore it.
Which is also a mistake.
“You think you can push us out?” I continue, low and dangerous. “You think we’re just going to sit back and let you—”
“Finn.”
Her hand closes around my arm.
And suddenly I’m aware of everything.
The crowd.
The tension.
The way this could go very, very wrong.
Wren’s watching me, thinking he’s already won.
I hate that.
I really hate that.
Aurora steps in front of me, which I don’t love. But also… yeah, I guess I needed that.
“Stop,” she says quietly.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” she cuts in, her eyes locked on mine. “And this isn’t the way.”
My chest is tight. My hands are fists. Every part of me is still leaning toward Wren because this conversation isn’t finished.
Not even close.
“He’s—”
“I know,” she says softly. “I know.”
That’s the problem. She does know, and she’s still standing here, choosing calm. Choosing control. Choosing something better than whatever the hell I was about to do.
Her grip tightens slightly on my arm.
“Come on,” she murmurs. “Please.”
I exhale hard, dragging a hand down my face, forcing myself to step back.
Wren adjusts his cuff, acting as if this was mildly unpleasant but ultimately beneath him.
I look at him one more time. “Stay away from us.”
He smirks. “I’m simply doing my job.”
Yeah.
I bet you are.
Aurora doesn’t let go of my arm until we’ve put a solid amount of space between him and us.
Only then does she turn to me fully.
“That wasn’t going to end well.”
“No,” I agree. “Probably not.”
She studies me, searching my face, trying to figure out how far gone I was. “You can’t go at him like that.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” she says gently. “You were angry.”
“I am angry.”
“Me too.”
That shuts me up faster than anything else could.
“But that’s exactly why you can’t do that,” she continues. “That’s what he wants. A reaction. Something he can use.”
I hate that she’s right.
I hate it so much.
I look away, jaw tight. “He doesn’t get to just walk around like nothing’s happening.”
“No,” she agrees. “But you don’t get to become something you’re not because of him.”
I let out a rough breath. “That line’s getting a little blurry these days.”
“You didn’t cross it,” she says quietly. “You stepped back.”
Because of you.
I don’t say that.
I probably should.
Instead, I shake my head slightly. “You keep doing that.”
“What?”
“Pulling me back from really bad decisions.”
She smiles, small but real. “You’re welcome.”
I huff a laugh.
“Come on,” she says, nudging me lightly. “I was promised jam and community bonding. Don’t ruin it.”
“No promises,” I mutter, but I let her pull me back toward the others.
And this time, I stay.