Chapter 35 Finn
FINN
THE DOOR BETWEEN US
Laser/Rocket, Slang for a fast, high-velocity shot or pass. I’ve learned that doors can be as hurtful as hockey pucks when they hit their mark.
She slammed the door in my face! That sound—the sharp, final click feels like a slap in my damn face. I stand there for a second, breathing hard, trying to pull myself together. I’m the good guy. What did I do wrong? I defended her.
I must be in love because I’m standing here like an idiot, staring at the door, waiting for her to open it again. But she doesn’t, and I know how stubborn she can be, especially when she’s making a point.
And fuck, something about her shutting me out hurts worse than anything Wade could’ve said.
I shove my hands through my hair. The incident has made every muscle in my body tight. My jaw’s clenched so hard it aches. I was protecting her. She’s mine. She’s my wife. But I guess it doesn’t matter.
Doesn’t she have feelings for me? Why wouldn’t she want me to protect her? Doesn’t she care for me? Doesn’t she have feelings for me?
I would have said yes yesterday. But today? I’m not so sure.
We’ve been together for over a month, and I thought she would’ve said, “I love you” by now.
I turn away and head straight for the bar downstairs. I need to distance myself before I do something I can’t take back.
The hotel bar is packed with familiar faces—stagehands and a few of her bandmates. No doubt they are unwinding after the show.
I slide onto a stool near the corner, ignoring the stares, and order something strong. No words, just a look at the bartender, who gets the message fast.
“Rough night?” Her guitarist—Nate, I think—slides into the seat next to me, half-grinning.
I let out a short, humorless laugh and took a long pull from the glass. “You could say that.”
He glances around. “Kate?”
I arch a brow at him. How the hell did he know?
He holds up his hands, like he’s easy to amuse. “Man, you’re not exactly subtle. Half of us heard the shouting from upstairs.”
Fuck. Just what I didn’t want—an audience.
I down the rest of my drink in two swallows, but it doesn’t take the edge off. It’s not even close.
“She’s pissed,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
Nate shrugs, like he’s seen this before. “She’s stubborn. But she’s not cruel.”
I scoff. “You don’t know what she said, it seemed a bit cruel to me.”
“Don’t need to,” he says, sipping his beer. “She’s got a mouth on her, but she doesn’t shut people out unless they matter.”
That makes me pause. What? I matter? Did I jump to the wrong conclusion? She’s always been pushing me away—until she didn’t.
What changed? I need a road map for her because I’m getting whiplash trying to figure out her moods.
Nate dropped a bomb, and before I could ask him to decipher that, he tossed back his beer and left.
She doesn’t shut people out unless they matter. So, I sit there for a minute longer, staring at my empty glass, before I push off the stool and head back upstairs.
My chest is heavier with all the emotions I have bottled up. I don’t want to scrutinize them right now, and my ego’s still fucking bruised—but none of it matters compared to the need I have to make things right with Kate.
I knock softly and wait. No answer. I’m not surprised, so I knock again.
“Kate. Let me in.”
I’m greeted by silence. I’m not surprised. She can be stubborn, so I lean my forehead against the door and lower my voice. “I shouldn’t have done that back there. I crossed a line. I know it.”
Still nothing—but I hear movement inside.
I keep going, “You’re right. I wasn’t protecting you—I was claiming you. And that wasn’t fair.”
The door clicks. Slowly, it opens. Kate stands there, eyes red, arms crossed, her jaw set, her lips pursed—but she lets me in.
I step inside, leaving the door open behind me in case I need to make a fast exit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice low. “I shouldn’t have stepped in like that. You had every right to be pissed.”
She watches me carefully, her arms slowly lowering.
“I’m sorry too,” she says with a hoarse voice. “I shouldn’t have shut you out like that. I just… it scared me. How fast you went there. How fast I let it happen.”
I step closer, slow, careful. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I know,” she whispers.
I stop right in front of her, close enough to feel her breath. Her eyes flicker, and hell, they even soften. I like to think it’s just for me.
And somehow, the anger shifts, and from hurt, it morphs into something else entirely. We’re still mad. Still raw with emotions, but underneath it? There’s that electric chemistry we can’t deny.
I lift my hand, brushing my fingers along her jaw, and when she doesn’t pull away, I know we’ll get past this.
“I’ll fuck up again,” I admit, voice rough. “I don’t always know where the line is with you.”
“I don’t either.”
And then, she leans in. I meet her halfway. And we kiss, it isn’t wild. It’s soft, tentative, almost unsure—but it’s packed with all the feelings I’ve been pushing away.
But mostly, I experience what it’s like to apologize and make up.
It’s both of us admitting we don’t know what we’re doing, but we want to keep trying until we get it right.
And maybe that’s what marriage is. No one’s perfect at it, but we love that person so much that we continue to try until we get it right because loving Kate makes me happy.
When we finally pull back, her forehead rests against mine, both of us are breathing hard, and our hearts are still tangled in the mess we made.
But for the first time all night, I feel like we’re on the same side again.