CHAPTER 34
Finn
“Da fuq, bro?” Special K’s body fills the doorframe. He glares at me.
I turn away and collapse on the couch, then drop my elbows to my knees and my face to my hands.
He sits down next to me, silent.
Honestly, if I had to choose just one brother to listen to me pour my heart out, it would be Kevin. The rest of them would want to strategize, then tell me what to do to fix it, and then list all the required steps, in order. Special K isn’t usually like that.
“Want me to bounce?”
I press the heels of my palms into my eyeballs but shake my head to the negative.
The other good thing about Kevin is that he doesn’t require chit-chat. He’ll just sit there like a boulder and let the world spin around him until he decides he’s had enough. And when he gets to that point, he walks out, usually without a goodbye.
It takes a minute, but eventually I inhale a lungful of air and raise my head. Then I collapse against the back of the sofa and slouch.
“You fire your housekeeper?”
I snap my head around to him. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”
He crooks his thumb toward the door. “’Cause she ran away, about to cry. I figured you’d either fired her or were making out with her. I started with the least horrible option.”
“Fuck me.”
“Making out, then. Cool.”
“Or not.” I jump up again, needing to pace, needing to pound my forehead against the paneling until I knock some sense into myself. Special K watches me march back and forth, his head on a swivel like he’s at a tennis match.
“You’re giving me whiplash.”
I stop. I stand in the middle of the tack room with my fingers laced behind my head. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, how I got so completely blindsided by Emma Clark.
I don’t usually think with my dick. But with Emma, my dick is always thinking, making travel plans, singing and dancing like it’s rehearsing for a one-man show.
Special K clears his throat. “It’s been eight years since Amy died, Finlay.”
Hate lasers shoot out of my eyeballs and strike him in the face.
“Hey,” he says, holding up his hands. “Just an observation, man.”
“Never once, K! Never once have I even been tempted by someone else. You know I’ve dated women.”
He nods.
“I’m not a fucking Trappist monk.”
He nods some more.
“But this woman… what the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t even know the first thing about her. All I see is what a good heart she has, and how she’s overcome shit so harsh that she doesn’t even want to talk about it. She’s beautiful, obviously. And she’s really great with Jasmine.”
He nods slower this time.
“And she sleeps right down the fucking hall and I’m going fucking insane.”
Special K is no longer nodding. He’s wincing.
“What?”
“Nuthin’.”
“Oh, come on! What is it? If you have something to say, just say it.”
“Fine. You’ve known her for three days.”
“I know! You think I don’t know how fucking ridiculous I sound? I’m the best dad on the planet, K! I have never, ever, wanted a woman to hang around Jasmine. Amy is her mother! I want Amy to live on in her memory without any confusion or competition!”
“Yeah, but—”
“What?”
“Jasmine doesn’t have any memory of Amy. Those are your memories, and you’re the one who is trying not to mix the present with the past. Maybe you worry that if you’re happy in the present, it will somehow make the past less important.”
My mouth falls open, and it hangs open until I remind myself to snap it shut. “So you’re Sigmund Fucking Freud now?”
“You asked. I answered.” He stands up. “Later.”
I watch my brother exit the tack room and disappear around the corner.
What a mess I’ve made with Emma. Sweet, pretty Emma.
I nearly scared her off with my irritable, overprotective asshole routine, but she was bighearted enough to accept my apology.
And then she allowed herself to warm up to me again.
Until just moments ago, when we both caught fire and she was brave enough to jump into my arms.
And I threw her away.
I’m a conflicted bastard. Maybe Special K is right. This isn’t about Jasmine’s relationship with a mother she never knew. It isn’t about Amy herself, or even Emma.
It’s about me. In my own head and heart, I must be clear. About what I want. What is all right for me to have. What I am capable of giving.
That kiss with Emma was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. She melted into me. I felt the relief flood through her. The joy. The surprise. I recognized all of that in her because I was having the exact same reaction.
Emma feels exactly right to me. The brush of her lips on mine, the noises of pleasure she makes, the way she tastes and smells.
And more than anything else, I love the honesty of her response to me. I got lost in it. I wanted to drown in it. I was ready to strip her down and take her right here, in the tack room. I was wild with the need to fuck her.
Then two thoughts wormed their way into my brain and twisted together to form a chain- link fence I couldn’t bust through.
First, I realized I hadn’t felt this wild since I started dating Amy. And that’s all it took for Amy’s face to flash in my brain. I seized up. The knife of guilt twisted.
Second, I reminded myself that Emma was not a one and done sort of thing. That she lives in my house. Jasmine is already attached to her. And Emma herself made it clear—she’s a woman who wants to stay in one place forever.
No wonder I broke off the kiss.
I was just about to betray Amy and fail Emma with a single act. Two regrets for the price of one!
No wonder I don’t know what end is up.
So where do I go from here? How do I apologize to Emma—yet again—and try to pick up the pieces?
I’m not sure that option is available to me anymore.
She made it quite clear. She needs the job more than she needs me.
And I want Emma to have what she needs.