29. Finn
FINN
I tossed back and forth across my king bed, eyes closed, chasing sleep but never catching it. Not when every inhale reminded me that the sheets smelled like Sierra—that goddamn intoxicating concoction of peach blossoms and strawberries.
It was fucking brutal.
And it wasn’t even real. It couldn’t be, considering I’d had the housekeeper change the sheets twice since our fight at the screening last week.
Since coming home to find her things packed up and Lord Meowington pacing moodily across her bed in the guest room.
He’d been sleeping in there for days, looking at me with nothing but disdain every time I tried to shoo him out.
When I tried to give him his weekly bath, he actually bit me. And he managed to shred one of those little sweaters that Grace had insisted he needed. He loved those. Jesus, even my own cat was pissed at me for her leaving.
I flopped over and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, hoping that would somehow stop the onslaught of images that raced through my mind. It was all Sierra, Sierra, Sierra on repeat. Whenever I had no more work distractions to keep me occupied, she was all I could think about.
“Fuck,” I growled into the darkness. Was this what Mom did during her depression spirals—sit around and get upset about all the things that had gone wrong? Maybe, like me, she stayed up all night, counting all the red flags she’d missed like counting sheep, hoping to drift off to sleep.
I grumbled, flopping onto my other side, reaching for my phone on the nightstand.
If I wasn’t going to get any sleep, I might as well get some work in.
Clearing out emails was mindless enough that I could manage it running on barely any sleep, and at least it would make me feel productive.
And it would remind me what really mattered—which was not my relationship with Sierra.
She and I…we had never been more than a PR plan. There was always a termination date in place. So what if it happened a little earlier than either of us expected? It was nothing to lose sleep over.
Even if that was exactly what I was doing.
I opened my inbox, scanning my emails. I started responding to inquiries from Brenna and meeting requests and even arranged some work lunches with a couple of investors to discuss Hart of Gold’s next big production.
But when I came across an email from Jillian sent only five hours ago, I hesitated. I could never be sure what terrible things might await me in an email from her. That’s where this whole fake relationship nonsense had started, after all.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the email to find a link to several articles.
More reviews from the rough cut screening had rolled in late last night, and like most of the reviews that had come before, these all managed to slip in some pointed references to my breakup with Sierra, the authors using it as clickbait to get their own articles trending.
I hadn’t realized at the time, but quite a few people had overheard snippets of our fight at the screening, and speculation was rampant.
Clicks on Every Day articles were through the roof now that Sierra and I were officially declared over.
And coming off the back of Trey’s interview with Milli, it really looked like Sierra had been caught in a cheating scandal.
Sympathy poured in for me online and in the tabloids, which Jillian said was the best thing that could have happened leading up to the premiere and the theatrical release in mid-December.
Logically, I knew she was right. I wanted the clicks. I wanted the publicity. I wanted everyone talking about Every Day Is Sunday . But was I wrong to wish that my private life could just be… private ? For once?
The pearly sheen of sunrise lit up my window. I’d somehow scrolled away the last few hours. I gave up on the idea of sleep, got up, and showered in a bathroom that was still filled with Sierra’s things.
There were shampoos and moisturizers and makeup sponges in every cupboard. I made a mental note to have the housekeeper dispose of it all. I took my time getting dressed, doing my best to ignore Sierra’s socks that had gotten mixed up in my drawer.
Like some sort of divine distraction, my phone rang, and I surged toward it on the bed, surprised to see Liam’s name pop up. I was supposed to see my brothers later this afternoon. Maybe he was calling because he had to cancel?
“Hey,” I answered. “Everything okay?”
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, sounding on the verge of panic .
“You didn’t. What’s wrong?” Was it Connor? Had something happened to Grace?
“You haven’t talked to Mom recently, have you?” he said. “Like in the last twenty-four hours?”
“What?” I frowned at his question. Why the hell would I have talked to Mom?
We hadn’t spoken for a few weeks now, and he damn well knew that.
I’d told him and Connor about how Mom had ruined a major scene in the movie.
I almost hadn’t been able to get the words out.
“No, I haven’t spoken to her at all.” And I didn’t intend to right now. “What’s the problem?”
“She’s been a little down for the past couple of weeks or so,” he said. “Low mood, lack of energy. But she didn’t squirrel herself away in her room completely, so I figured she was handling everything as well as could be expected.”
Why was he telling me this?
“But then this morning she didn’t come down for breakfast. She’s always the first one up, so Mia went to check on her?—”
“And she’s just gone!” Mia’s voice rang out. Liam was clearly on speakerphone. “I’ve checked the whole house. Twice!”
“Well, you’ve got a lot of rooms,” I said. “You’re sure you actually looked everywhere, and she’s not chilling on your pool deck with her?—”
“ Finn ,” Liam said, cutting me off. “I swear to God, she’s not here.”
I knew my brother, knew the cadence of his voice. To anyone else, he might sound steady, but I could hear the slight waver. This was the most worried I’d heard him in a long time.
I rubbed my eyes, not in the mood to play detective. “Have you tried calling her? Maybe she went out for breakfast. ”
“Of course I have,” he snapped. “There’s been no answer. And she didn’t leave a note or anything, but all of her things have disappeared, and her car is gone.”
So she ran away? Was that why he was calling? Mom was an adult. If she wanted to go somewhere, how exactly were we meant to stop her?
“I already called Connor,” Liam continued, “but he hasn’t heard anything about Mom coming back to San Fran, either.”
“Okay, well, I’m sure she’s fine,” I muttered. “I’ll shoot her a text, but if she hasn’t replied to you or Connor, I doubt she’ll reply to me. But I’ll let you know if I get a reply.”
Liam hesitated on the other end of the phone.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing, it’s just…A text? That’s it?” He sounded surprised. “I sort of figured you’d have more of a plan.”
“Well, you’re Mister Swoop-in-and-Fix-It,” I said.
“Yeah, but you’re the guy who usually has contingencies for everything. You know how we’re going to react before we even do.”
I was too exhausted for contingencies. “Let me know if Mom surfaces,” I said, cutting him off. “I’ll talk to you later.”
I hung up on Liam and turned the ringer off, not in the mood to stage a rescue mission. What the hell did Mom have to be rescued from anyway? She was an adult capable of making her own decisions.
I set off for the office, but despite getting an earlier start to the day, I struggled to focus. Around mid-morning, Connor texted to say he still hadn’t heard anything and then repeatedly tried to call me. I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from him either, so I let it go to voicemail .
But when the phone rang through with a different number. An unknown number. I couldn’t deny my curiosity, and I answered it.
Two-and-a-half hours later, I pulled up outside of Kern Medical Center in Bakersfield and headed straight inside to the emergency department.
“Finn Lockhart,” I said to the nurse behind the glass. “I’m looking for my mother—Cathleen Lockhart.”
She inclined her head in the direction of a door. “I’ll buzz you in. A nurse will meet you and take you back.”
Once I’d passed through the doors, I was met by a middle-aged nurse carrying a chart and a small medicine cup. “You’re Cathleen Lockhart’s son?”
I nodded.
“Good. Follow me.”
She escorted me back to a simple room. Inside, lying on a hospital bed, her hand freshly bandaged and looking slightly put out, sat my mother.
“What happened?” I demanded, checking her over. The nurse answered first.
“She was in a car accident.”
“A car accident?” I practically hissed.
“It’s just bumps and bruises,” Mom said, her voice flat with exhaustion. “Car’s not in great shape, but the airbag protected me. The doctor said I was cleared to leave, if someone would come to get me. ”
“I’ll get the discharge paperwork for you,” the nurse said before leaving.
I realized abruptly that this was the first time I’d been alone with Mom since blowing up at her that day in post-production. To mask my discomfort, I slumped down in the chair next to her bed and asked her the question I’d been mulling over since I got the call. “Why did you call me ?”
Not only that, she’d specifically asked me not to tell the others. I’d argued that they were bound to find out eventually, but she’d said she wasn’t ready to deal with them yet, and I’d given in…for now.
Mom ran her bandaged hand through her hair.
It was in desperate need of a comb. Her fingers catching in the knots was probably driving her up a wall.
My thoughts flashed back decades, to ten-year-old Connor standing behind Mom at her vanity, brushing a comb through her hair when she was too depressed to do it herself.
“We both know I wouldn’t usually have been your first choice,” I said. No use in pretending.
She turned to me, giving me a thin-lipped smile.
“I knew if I called either of your brothers, they’d definitely come to get me, but then this would be a conversation , and I didn’t want that.
I don’t want this to be a big deal. It happened, I’m fine.
I just want to go home and forget about today, and I knew you’d make that happen.
You’ve always been so good at just making the hard parts disappear. That’s why I called you.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ll take you home,” I finally said. “But not until you tell me what happened.”
Mom huffed. “I thought you’d be the one who wouldn’t care to know all the details. ”
“Yeah, well, I can’t very well dump you at home with a concussion without having something to tell Connor and Liam.”
Mom rubbed her hands together in her lap. She used to do that when I was a kid, too. I think it brought her a modicum of comfort. “X ended things with me,” Mom said. “After what happened with that take that was ruined.”
My stomach sank. I’d seen what one heartbreak had done to Mom. I’d never wish another one on her.
“Anyway,” Mom said, her voice still so tired, like she didn’t even have the energy to be sad. “I wallowed a bit, then I realized what I really needed was to get out of the city. So I packed up and left.”
“And where does the car accident come in?” I asked.
“A deer darted across the road,” she admitted. “I swerved to avoid it, and the next thing I knew, I was in the ditch.” She lifted a shoulder. “And now here I am.”
Relief bled through me at the realization that the accident was a fluke and not Mom being too unstable to drive safely.
Mom’s shoulders slumped as she looked at me. “You’re really never going to stop bracing for me to fall apart, are you?”
I ran my hand over the back of my neck. “Can you blame me? You’ve been falling apart most of my life.”
“I know that,” Mom said, her gaze falling as she picked at the thin sheet on the bed.
“And I wish things were different. But I can’t change the past. All I can do is decide the kind of life I want to lead now.
After really committing to therapy and getting on a good medication regimen, I started to see myself in a new light.
I realized I was someone who didn’t have to be defined by the hurt that led me here.
I could write a new story, make time for family, take myself back to school, even fall in love again. ”
Love. Was that really what she’d found with X? I swallowed hard. If it was, then she was certainly handling the end of it better than she had when my father walked out.
“I hoped coming on board as the historical consultant would give me a chance to rewrite my story with you, too,” she said, her words surprising me. “That we could finally start building a new relationship.”
“I, uh…” What the hell did I say to that? “I don’t know if I can, Mom.” I’d been burned by her so many times before. I didn’t know if I had the capacity to start again.
“I know life with me hasn’t always been easy,” Mom said softly. “But if nothing else, I hope for your sake that you can find a way to stop living constantly prepped for the worst possible scenario.”
Her words reminded me of Sierra’s, transporting me back to the night of the screening.
You can’t script everything in life!
Mom reached out for my hand, and I let her take it. “I don’t see how anyone could be happy that way,” she said. “You’re so focused on bracing for impact that it keeps you from ever just relaxing and enjoying life.”
She eyed me pointedly, in a way that had only ever happened a few times over the course of my life. This was Cathleen Lockhart, in full mom mode. I didn’t know how to feel about that.
“What other way is there to live?” I said, arguing against her point. If some part of me hadn’t been braced for this breakup—hadn’t planned for it—my life would be in shambles right now.
You had to brace for the bad things because they always came. Always. That was just how life worked, especially when it came to love. “You took a chance on love, and look where that landed you. Dumped by X. Alone. In the hospital with a concussion.”
“So what?” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking.
“You really think your way is better? I heard what happened between you and Sierra. You decided not to take a chance on love again. And it left you in the same place. Dumped. Alone. In the hospital with your mother who has a concussion. At least I had some fun first.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. I really didn’t want to think about the fun she’d had with X.
“I think,” Mom said, “after everything I’ve been through, I’d rather take a chance on love and get it wrong than realize I’d spent so much time planning for the worst-case scenario that I’d never even bothered to try.”