Chapter 9
“Do I hear the dulcet tones of my big brother?”
Finch knew that voice. Looking left, he watched his brother walk into the room.
“Lynx!” Birdie ran to hug him.
“Seriously? You brought him home to help with your intervention?” Finch demanded, glaring at his family. “This has to stop.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, pretty sure they were going to give him a headache soon.
“I’ve just finished touring, bro, and I’m home for a break. Nothing to do with you,” Lynx said over Blue’s shoulder as she hugged him. “And just in time by the look of that hat and outfit, Blue Jay. You’ve turned into a fashion disaster.”
“Hilarious. Another coffee, Jay,” she called to the man at the coffee machine.
“Of course. Your wish is my command,” he returned.
Lynx was in a band, and they’d made it big over the past few years, which meant he toured a lot. The McAllister brothers were close and talked on the phone all the time, but they hadn’t lived near each other in years.
He wasn’t as big as Finch, but no one could mistake them for anything but brothers. Same hair and eyes, and apparently, they shared a smile.
“Do I get a hug?” Lynx came to where Finch stood, worry in his eyes that matched his sisters’. “Good to see you, Finch.” Lynx had been the first person Finch rang after the accident when he regained consciousness. His brother had then called him daily to check in.
“You, too, Lynx.” He gripped the hand his brother held out, pulling him in for a brief hug.
“Tell me you really are here, just taking some time away from being a rock star and not because our sisters lured you back to look after your broken older brother. I’m doing okay,” he added, because he was.
Well, doing as okay as he could be, at least.
“We all need a family intervention occasionally, bud. It tells us we’re loved,” Lynx said.
Finch didn’t respond to that.
“So, it worries me that you aren’t composting,” Meadow said. “It’s nature’s way of recycling organic waste into soil rich in nutrients.” She was now in the kitchen, inspecting the trash can, which she’d pulled out from under the sink.
“Mom, we all compost, so relax,” Blue said, giving her man a hard look, which had him nodding at Meadow and pushing the trash back under the sink, then closing the cupboard door. Jay then stood in front of it.
“Do you know that composting helps combat climate change and reduces greenhouse gas emissions?” his mother added.
Jay pointed at Finch. “I don’t live here. He does.”
“We compost,” Sawyer said in a smug tone from the floor, where the children were now all using him as a jungle gym.
“Okay, glad we have that sorted. Now how about we sit down and have our coffee. Lynx has just arrived home, Mom. We need to catch up on his news,” Birdie said.
“I’m here,” their father said, running into the room in a flowing kaftan in reds and blues. He wore a knitted poncho over it and had completed the ensemble with boots.
Jay choked on air. The McAllisters didn’t blink at the outfit, however. They’d grown up with their colorful parents. Nothing could surprise them anymore.
The family drank coffee and ate cake then, catching up on any news. Their mom may be many things, and not all of them normal, but she baked like a dream and always had.
“You staying here, bro?” Finch said to Lynx when everyone had finally left with last instructions about getting fresh air and exercise, which he’d ignored.
“Yeah, I thought that would be best. I can’t see myself living with Mom and Dad anymore. We’re far too different.”
“Agreed,” Finch said.
After a shower, Lynx joined Finch in front of the woodstove, where he sat thinking about Nina. How was she? He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to lose your mom, but not only that, Shirley had been the only relative Nina had left.
“So, how are you really?” Lynx asked.
“Okay.”
“Come on, bro, spill. You’ve had your career path chosen since you were old enough to know what a career path was. You always wanted to be in the military, and now you’re not. Talk to me. I know you’re not happy, but I want you to be. So how do we achieve that?”
Happy, he thought, and wondered if he ever would be that again. The real happiness that tells you you’re in exactly the place you want to be, with your people.
“It’s hard,” he conceded. Finch didn’t like talking about himself or the hell inside his head. He’d spent hours with an army therapist who had tried to draw things out of him he wasn’t ready to share—didn’t think he’d ever want to share.
“I know you’re the McAllister who hates spilling their innermost thoughts, but you can’t keep this inside you, Finch. It’ll fester and turn poisonous.”
“I’m dealing with it my way,” he said, feeling the knot of anxiety inside him tighten again.
“No, that’s not going to work for your family. You’re not shutting us out. I still remember that phone call and Blue telling me you’d been in that accident. I couldn’t get to you—”
“Lynx—”
“I was terrified, Finch. Not knowing what was going on and if you were going to be okay. Then when I heard about the diagnosis, Post Concussion Syndrome. I did all the research I could, because you wouldn’t talk to me about it.”
Finch was disciplined. He could usually control his emotions and always had. But not since the accident. “I don’t want to discuss this, Lynx.”
The hard note in his voice would have had his men snapping to attention. His brother, however, remained unfazed.
“Too bad.”
Finch got to his feet, fists clenched, and glared at him.
“If you want to fight, I’m here for it,” Lynx said calmly, still seated.
He thought about it—seriously considered planting his fist in his brother’s face, and then he felt the niggle of pain behind his eyes. Stomping into the kitchen, Finch went to the box on the second shelf where he put his meds and got it down.
He shook out some pills and downed a couple. Then he pulled his sunglasses out of the neck of his shirt and slid them on.
“Headache?” Lynx said from behind him.
Finch sighed, the anger leaving as quickly as it had come. “They come on suddenly, along with the vision problems, anxiety, anger, and depression.”
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Finch, but we can’t change it, so we have to work out how you’re going to deal with it, and I want to help you with that, as do the family.”
He looked at the man he’d known his entire life. Lynx had been his best friend growing up and possibly still was. The worry was there, etched in the lines of his face, as it was with his parents and sisters.
“Sit,” Lynx said, waving him to the sofa. “What else can I get you?”
“Nothing. The pills will work eventually.”
“What aftereffects are you still suffering with?”
“The headaches are the worst part, but they’re easing,” Finch conceded. He knew his brother was right. He needed to talk to someone or go crazy. The problem was, he’d always dealt with his issues on his own.
Leaving home at eighteen had made him independent, but that had suddenly been ripped away overnight. He’d had to rely on the doctors and medical staff and then on his family when he came home to live on their property.
“I get some light sensitivity, and my moods can be erratic.”
“So, like Blue Jay, then?” Lynx said, which make Finch snort.
“My vision can go blurry too. Plus I get ringing in my ears. But I’m doing some building for Klaus and coping with that, which is a positive in a sea of negatives.”
“Welcome to my world—I get that after a concert. And we’ll get back to the building, and you calling Mr. Becker ‘Klaus’ later.”
“Yeah, all that loud noise can’t be healthy for you,” Finch said.
“Have the doctors said if these things will be long term?”
And that was his biggest worry. They didn’t know for sure, but the symptoms definitely could be long-lasting.
“Some may,” he conceded.
“Okay, well, let’s hope that’s not the case. Can you exercise?”
“Some, and slowly, but it’s getting easier.”
“That’s gotta be hard on someone like you.”
It was hard, because when life got difficult, he used to exercise. It gave him clarity.
“The military wasn’t just a job for me, Lynx. It was my existence and made up my personality. Rank, unit, my role, and the daily structure—all of it was gone overnight.”
He thought back to what he’d gone through after it happened. The initial disbelief and eventual understanding that his military career was over.
“I keep asking myself, who am I if I’m not a soldier? And the answer is the same as it was then: I don’t know. I never had a Plan B.”
“I wish you could sing. I’d take you on the road. We need a new front man.”
He wasn’t sure why now, but suddenly he was laughing, and hell, it felt good, and that was something else he hadn’t experienced much lately.