31. Lucie
*Tap*
*Tap*
Her heart jumped in her chest. She froze, listening, gripping onto the strap of her duffel, white-knuckled.
What was that?
She had only just hit the button, hadn’t she? She stared at the window, shaking her head. What if . . . no. There was no way . . . It must be my imagination—just the wind or a non-existent branch that was close to her window brushing against the glass.
But then—another tap.
Lucie’s breath caught in her throat. She stayed still, her hand still on the communicator, waiting for Finn to pick up. That is when she heard it beeping from a communicator. But not hers. One several feet in front of her. Muffled by a slab of glass.
The soft beeping came again. More insistent this time. Tapping on her communicator, she ended her call to make sure it wasn’t hers.
The communicator turned red, lit up.
Finn was calling her back.
He didn’t break his promise to her! She could have sobbed again at the thought, but every tear had been squeezed out of her.
Ever so slightly, she pressed the button to answer, and Finn’s rich, warm voice filled her dark life and room once again.
“Lucie?” he said. “That you? Please tell me it’s you and not a butt dial. I think I would lose my mind if you weren’t at the end of this.”
“Oh my gosh, Finn!”
“Hi, sweetheart,” he replied.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she cried out, looking toward her window.
Finn laughed, the sound rich and warm. The sound was coming from the bracelet and from behind the glass.
“Feels like too small a word, but I missed you too, Lu. Are you okay?”
“I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m leaving,” she whispered the last part in fear that if he heard her, he would laugh.
The tapping came again.
“Open the door, sweetheart,” he commanded gently through the door.
A strange mix of disbelief and hope surged through her. Her fingers shook as she stood, pinching herself to make sure she was awake.
Yep. Blissfully and happily awake.
For the first time, she started to feel like herself again, like frost melting off the first spring blossom.
Her hand reached for the latch, hesitating for a moment, then went to her face. No. She couldn’t bear to see his expression.
“I just want to talk here,” she said, taking a step back.
“That’s fine. It’s just good to hear your voice,” Finn breathed. His silhouette moved closer to her. Her chest tightened. “Where are you goin’?”
“Far away,” she said, looking back at her packed bags.
“Any chance you need a tall, tattooed man to ride shotgun with you?” he asked, pressing his forehead against the glass.
Throwing her head up, she bit back a sob.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She hated how her voice wobbled and cracked at the end.
“Is everything okay?” he wondered, the silhouette straightening.
A tear fell down her cheek.
You are stronger than you know, her mother’s note had said. Now she just needed to believe it.
“No,” she broke. Her chin quivered.
“Sweetheart, can you let me in?” he begged. “If you want me to leave after that, I will, but I need to hold you. I can’t bear to hear you cry and not do something about it.”
She tried to cover the scar on her face with her loose hair.
Throwing away her last shred of dignity, she unlocked and pulled open the door.
Finn stood there, framed by the moonlight, his expression tender as his amber eyes searched her face. He looked like the fallen angel Alexandre Cabanel captured on canvas brought to life.
Stepping forward, he reached for her, his voice thick with emotion. “What happened, baby?”
The simple question broke her. All the fear, the pain, and the isolation of the past month came rushing to the surface, and all she wanted was to be held and comforted.
As if not being able to restrain himself from touching her, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. His warmth and strength wrapped around her like a shield.
Tears she thought had dried spilled down her cheeks, one after the other.
“I’m here,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m here, Luzita.”
She sobbed against his firm chest, her hands clutching his shirt as if he might disappear if she let go.
“Do you want me to kill him?” His voice was steady, leaving no room for questions about whether he undoubtedly meant it. If she said the word, her father would draw his last breath. It gave her some comfort.
She shook her head, unable to speak. The words were there—trapped. She pushed her face down further into his dark hoodie. Not wanting him to look at her.
Then more tears came, and she crumpled into his chest. The sobs racked her body as she cried into him.
He held her until she was able to form coherent words again.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again.
But Finn just shook his head, pulling her closer, molding her into him. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should have come sooner.”
Gently, he lifted her chin until she finally looked at him. Was it possible he had gotten more handsome since she had last seen him? His hair was a little longer on the sides, his scruff thicker, darker.
She turned into the palm of his hand to hide, tears forming again.
Finn’s eyes softened as he brushed the hair away from her face, finally revealing the full extent of the scar. His expression flashed from confusion to anger, then back to concern, and what she swore could have been love, but it must have just been how the moonlight was hitting his eyes.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Instead, he gently wiped the tears away with his thumb.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the warmth of his palm.
Finn gently pulled back but made sure every part of him was still close to her. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing against her scar with the softest touch.
“How could you think that?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I never stopped wanting you.” He kissed her right cheek. “Not for a second.” Then he left the faintest kiss over the top of her scar. So soft she thought she might have imagined it.
He let her close the distance between their lips, still letting her decide if she wanted him.
Lucie captured her lips with his, wanting to get carried away in his presence.
He was here. He didn’t forget about her. Maybe there was still a small piece of him that loved her.
The kiss was tender and soft as if Finn was trying to memorize her lips and the curve of her cheek.
She swallowed hard, the smallest bit of hope glimmering through the darkness, and she hoped she wasn’t stupid enough to believe in it again. “I’m scared, Finn.”
He pulled her back into his arms, his lips pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “I know. But you’re not alone anymore. Never again.”
Between sobs, Lucie told Finn everything. The letters from her mom. How her dad hit her after the night she stitched him up and what happened with the box-cutter afterward.
Finn was quiet the whole time, his jaw clenching and flexing while she told him the story. All while he held onto her, rubbing her back in soft circles.
There was more, but it could be saved for later when she had time, because they would have more time together if she had anything to say about it.
“Lucie,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Were you serious about leaving?” She nodded her head. “Then ask. Ask, and I’ll give you anything you want. Everything,” he said, mirroring what he’d said on the beach.
She blinked up at him. Cards on the table. Here it was.
Her heart was racing, but this time it wasn’t from fear. She knew what she wanted. The life her mom wanted for her. One filled with light and soft, all-consuming love.
Her voice was steady as she met his gaze.
“I want—” She took a deep breath. “I want a life with you, Finn. I don’t even know if you want me, much less want to look at me.
But I want to go to that place you talked about.
I want to help. Maybe you need a doctor there.
Even if I have to be a janitor. I don’t care. Anything but this. If you’ll have me.”
Then, before she could say anything else that might embarrass her, his lips were on hers. Soft but full of an intensity that left her breathless. Every promise he made to her was sealed in those frantic kisses. She made an embarrassing noise and melted into his strong arms.
“I never want you out of my sight again,” he whispered, then kissed her again.
Finn opened his mouth as if to say something else, resting his forehead against hers. “Can I help you pack? I brought two of my friends. They came with me to make sure you were okay.”
Lucie blinked, feeling a mixture of gratitude and relief.
“Your friends?” She couldn’t remember the last time she had friends.
“Yeah,” Finn said, glancing toward the window.
“But don’t worry—they don’t need to come up.
Take all the time you need. I didn’t want them to freak you out or invade your space.
You’ve met them before, actually. Well .
. . sort of.” The tips of his cheeks turned red.
“They’re that annoying blond couple you saw at the shop a couple of weeks ago. Sabrina and Charlie.”
The memory of the day flooded back—the disguised couple she’d mistaken for movie stars. With their playful banter and how they agonized Finn, of course, they knew each other well.
“They’re not here to make you uncomfortable,” Finn stammered. “They’re here to help if you need it, but only if you want.”
Lucie nodded, feeling a strange comfort in knowing it wasn’t just Finn who cared. There was a whole group of people who had her back, people Finn trusted. It made the idea of leaving feel less terrifying. More exciting. Like an adventure. Something she was supposed to do. Born for even.
“I’m already packed,” she said, motioning to her three bags on top of her stripped-down bed.
Now and then, her hand would brush her cheek. What would his friends think of her scar? What did he think? Would she hide this for the rest of her life?
Finn brought his new communicator up to his lips, speaking into it directly, “Sabrina, Charlie, we’re gonna pass some stuff down. Be ready.”
Finn moved around behind her like a faithful shadow, carefully helping her place a few last items into a bag. Each item was a step closer to freedom.
With Finn’s help, he passed her belongings down to Sabrina and Charlie below.
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,” the man, Charlie, called out, cupping his hands around his mouth, “let down your duffle bag.”
“Please, don’t embarrass me,” Finn groaned, gently tossing down the first bag. But his eyes crinkled around the edges, dancing with mirth. The man down below caught her bag with ease.
The woman, Sabrina, stepped forward, glowing with happiness.
“Hiya Lucie! It’s good to officially meet you.” Sabrina waved. “I still can’t believe you actually fell for this old curmudgeon,” Sabrina teased.
“Shut up!” Finn quipped, but there was no heat in it. Red tinged his cheeks. Lucie cocked her head and smiled.
Finn tossed down the last two bags. Charlie caught them with ease. Finn leaned against the railing beside her, close enough that their shoulders were touching. A contented sigh left her lips.
“Warning. They get worse,” he warned softly.
The pair down below each gave her a happy wave.
She returned it.
“I like them,” Lucie admitted, biting her bottom lip.
From beside her, Finn froze. His shoulders lost all their tension, like whatever he was bracing for never came, almost as if he had been afraid she wouldn’t like his friends.
“You ready to go?” Finn asked, holding out his hand to help her get down.
“Yeah, give me a second,” she said, taking a step back.
Going back into her empty room, she looked into her makeshift vanity. The only things she left behind were her makeup and heavy sweaters she’d used to cover up. She was never covering up again, at least not like that.
“Goodbye,” she whispered to the room. It was over. Finished.
But her scar?—
The scar was a mark she’d never be rid of. The thought of Finn and his friends seeing it fully in the light made her heart race.
Noticing her hesitation, Finn came up behind her. Without a word, he gently turned her around to face him.
“Hey,” he said softly, reaching up to brush her hair aside, revealing the scar she was so nervous about. His thumb grazed the edge of it with a gentleness that made her heartache. “You don’t need to hide this from me. Or them.”
Lucie lowered her eyes, the weight of her emotions making it hard to speak. “I . . . I don’t know how to explain it to people,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know if it’ll ever truly go away.”
Finn smiled softly, his hands never leaving her.
“You have always been beautiful. But now you are divine.” She blushed. “Maybe right now you don’t believe that, so for tonight, I have something for that,” he said.
He slipped off his jacket, revealing the hoodie he’d been wearing underneath. It was well-worn, soft from years of use, and he took off the hoodie, holding it out to her.
“Here,” he said, gently tugging it over her head, his hands lingering for a moment to make sure she was comfortable.
The fabric enveloped her, oversized and warm, and it smelled like him—like something safe, like home. Her shoulders dropped. The smell of him, familiar and comforting, wrapped around her like a blanket, and suddenly, the scar on her face didn’t feel overwhelming. She felt . . . protected.
“Woah. We shouldn’t have packed your clothes. You look—you’re only allowed to wear mine from here on out,” Finn added with a playful smirk, but his eyes darkened.
“Tempting,” she whispered. “Maybe if your wardrobe had more pink.”
Finn chuckled and shook his head, the dark waves she loved so much spilling over his forehead.
“I can make that happen,” he compromised.
Her gaze fell to the floor beneath her dresser, where a scrap of her watercolor portrait, ripped up by her father, lay.
On impulse, she bent down, grabbed it, and wrote a simple note on the back. Then left the simple goodbye on her bed.
Lucie took Finn’s tattooed hand, leading him toward her bedroom door.
She wasn’t sneaking out this time.
This time, she was leaving with her head held high.
Down the steps. Through the shop. Through the front door.
The bell above the shop’s front door jingled softly as if saying goodbye for the last time.
The first steps she took outside in weeks were like stepping out of a black-and-white portrait and into color.
For the first time in her life, she didn’t look back.