59. Finn
FINN
The chill of the late fall air bites through the fabric of my coat as I wait on the front porch of Coach’s house for him and Dyl to say their goodbyes. Pulling back from their embrace, she smiles up at him. It’s not the kind of smile I like to see on her. It’s small. Quiet.
Her spark has been dimmed. Not snuffed, not extinguished, but dulled around the edges like a blade that’s seen too many battles.
It guts me.
Because I remember the hellraiser who showed up that first day with fire in her eyes and steel in her spine, ready to take on a locker room full of skeptical assholes. The girl who stared us down like we were prey.
Now, as she turns to meet my stare, that fire is…lessened. Not because she is less fierce but because Kyle and Lucas have chipped away at her, bit by bit, like the fucking cowards they are, until all that remains is a wisp of a flame that would take but a faint breeze to extinguish.
Her breath puffs in the cold air as she moves toward me.
“You look…different,” she says suspiciously .
I lift an eyebrow. “Different?” Surreptitiously, I give myself a once-over. I’m certain I washed all of Lucas’s blood off of me before I left the house to come get her.
She scrutinizes me for a moment, this cute little crease forming between her brows as she tries to figure it out. “I dunno. Calmer. Less…restless.”
She’s not wrong. I feel calmer. Feel less like I’m about to come out of my own skin after putting Lucas in his place. If only we could do the same to Kyle so my girl wouldn’t have to worry, but I’m confident his time will come. Especially with the video we found on Lucas’s phone.
A small gasp falls from her lips, and she reaches out to grab my hand, inspecting the bruised, raw knuckles.
“Finn O’Rourke, who did you get in a fight with?”
Fuck, why does her saying my full name in that angry tone make me hard as nails?
I subtly adjust myself as we make our way down Coach’s driveway to the sidewalk, and when she continues to give me that well, I’m waiting look, I vaguely respond, “Someone who deserved it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Finn?—”
But I cut her off, catching her hand in mine and tugging her close.
Her body melds into mine, and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her infinitely closer.
Her scent of warm bergamot and something sharper wraps around me like a tether, and I breathe deeply.
Violence and her—this night is shaping up to be the best one in a while.
Ignoring her murderous glare, I duck my head to murmur in her ear, “Come skate with me?”
She forgets she was grilling me, that cute little crease back between her eyes. “What?”
“Come skate with me,” I repeat, this time with a grin. “No hockey. No drills. Just some good old-fashioned skating. ”
Her brows lift, and there’s a spark of excitement—faint, but there.
“When was the last time you just went out on the ice for the hell of it?” I question her.
She shakes her head slowly. “I can’t remember.”
“All the more reason to say yes.” I wag my eyebrows. Come on, Hellion, say yes. You know you want to.
She snorts. Actually snorts, the first full, genuine smile I’ve seen in days gracing her gorgeous, kissable lips.
“There she is,” I say, smugly.
“Fine,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes. “But only because I haven’t spent nearly enough time on the ice this week.”
Whatever you need to tell yourself, babe.
We head to the arena, grab some skates, and hit the ice. At first, we skate in circles, darting around each other, testing speed and grace. I try a spin and almost eat ice, making her laugh so hard she doubles over.
“Okay, okay,” I pant, even though my face is split with a grin.
I knew getting her out here would help clear her head.
Just like we needed to earlier with Lucas, she just needed to blow off some steam.
On the ice is her happy place. She just needed to get out here for a bit when there was no one else around, no expectations or orders barked.
Just her and the ice. And I’m the lucky one who gets to witness her transformation. “Show me how it’s done.”
With a dramatic flair, I gesture over the rink.
“Mm.” She taps her lip. “And what do I get if I can pull it off?”
Skating over to her, I grab her hands in mine and spin us in a circle. “What is it you want, Dylan Callahan?”
It’s the first time I’ve said her full actual name aloud. I still can’t believe she’s Patrick Callahan’s daughter. That she has the blood of a freakin’ legend running through her veins.
Hell, she’s a legend in her own right.
She might have inherited some talent from her father, but her skills, her dedication, her dogged determination…that’s all her. She’s the impressive player she is today, not because of her father, but because of the hard work she put in.
Needing to feel her closer, I pull her in against my chest. Her gaze drops to my lips, and I can’t help but smirk. “If a kiss is what you want, Hellion, you don’t need to perform some fancy figure skater move to get one.”
A slight pink hue dusts her cheeks that could be mistaken by the cold air if it wasn’t for the fact that it wasn’t there a second ago. Despite that, she rolls her eyes at me, pushing against my chest. I refuse to let her go, tightening my hold around her waist.
“Is a kiss what you want, baby?”
For the first time in…ever…she seems almost bashful, gnawing on her lower lip before softly saying, “Maybe.” She looks up at me from beneath her eyelashes, her hands sliding up the front of my chest. There might be several layers of clothing between her hands and my skin, but I swear I feel the heat of her against me. “I miss our secret, impulsive kisses.”
My hand moves on instinct to cup her cheek. God, how I’ve missed kissing her too.
“I’ve been trying to make it up to you,” I tell her softly.
“I don’t want you to hold yourself back from me.”
My hands flex around her hips.
She searches my gaze, although for what, I have no idea.
“Yeah, you were an ass about it, but I liked the way you’d drag me into a dark corner because you just had to kiss me. Like you couldn’t stand going another second without doing so.”
“I couldn’t,” I rasp .
I still can’t, I’ve just gotten better at shoving the urge down.
She smiles softly up at me, and goddamn, it’s the most beautiful sight.
“I’m loving this new side of you, but I want that side too. I don’t want you to hold any part of yourself back from me, Finn.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Hellion,” I warn her, my hold on her verging on bruising.
Entirely unaware that she is waving a red flag in front of a bull, she smirks up at me.
“Oh, but I’m pretty sure I do.”
With that, she pushes her way out of my arms, skating toward the center of the ice before spinning on her skates to face me.
“If I stick the landing, I can have anything I want?” she asks.
All I can do is mutely nod.
The grin she flashes me is seductive as hell. Fuck, she has never looked so beautiful. So sure of herself. Of what she wants.
“Good, ’cause what I want is you, Finn. All of you.”
She turns away before I can tell her she already has all of me. She’s owned every part since that first day she knocked on our door.
Doing a loop around the ice, she sets herself up to do the move I so spectacularly failed at. I hold my breath as she goes in, unable to take my eyes off of her.
And then she does it—an effortless, elegant spin, lifting one leg in perfect symmetry. She looks like a ballerina on skates, and it’s a mental snapshot I’ll keep for the remainder of my days.
“What the hell? How did you do that?” I demand as she skates over to me, eyes ablaze with delight and a dazzling smile on her face.
“I took figure skating when I was a kid. My dad wanted me to try it. Pretty sure he was hoping I’d prefer it over hockey and go down that route—less violence and all that—but it wasn’t really my thing.
I did keep at it for a few years, though.
It helped my balance, sharpened my edgework. Made me better on the ice.”
“Tell me about him—your dad.” I pull her forward, maneuvering us around the ice and keeping her appropriately distracted while she opens up to me.
And she does. Little things at first. Trips to the rink at dawn. Him shouting encouragement from the stands. Silly rituals and game-day pancakes. She explains that the collection of mugs in her bedroom are ones he’d bring back from away games.
Her voice trembles once, but she keeps going, and I don’t say anything. I just skate with her, her fingers wrapped around mine, so she knows I’m here with her.
“I miss him,” she says eventually, emitting a heavy sigh, one laden with grief and loss. “So much that it hurts.”
I guide us to a gentle stop and pull her into my arms, wrapping her up in everything I have.
She sinks into me like she’s finally found a safe space to land, and it does weird and wonderful things to me to know I make her feel that way.
Make her feel safe. I don’t fully believe I’ve earned such a privilege, but it’s one I’ll accept regardless.
Tilting her chin up, I lower my lips to hers. It’s soft. Reverent. Nothing like the heat-fueled kisses we’ve shared in dark corners. It’s a whisper of a promise—of comfort, of presence.
“I needed this,” she murmurs, her breath dancing over my lips. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, but she’s glowing.
“I know,” I reply, because I did too. I needed this time with her. One-on-one.
Pushing out of my hold, she grins. That spark is back in her eyes, lighting her up from within. “Bet you can’t catch me,” she teases.
She skates off before I can respond, laughter trailing behind her. My heart swells.
With a barked laugh, I push off, chasing after her.
We race. We dance across the ice, dodging and weaving, playful and breathless. And when I finally catch her, I spin her around, her laughter bursting against my throat.