The Hot Shot(50)

For the love of …

Finn makes a helpless gesture to me, his gaze pinning me to the spot.  His desperation is palpable. But it's Britt who has my sympathy. I  should be annoyed that she's thrown herself on my man. But she's so  distraught, I just can't be.

Giving Finn a look that says, comfort her and I'll be right back, I  hustle into my bedroom to grab some leggings. It doesn't take but a few  seconds, yet I still find them standing in the hall, Finn awkwardly  petting Britt's head while she sobs.

"Here." Gently, I take hold of Britt's trembling arm. "Let's sit down."                       
       
           


///
       

I lead her to the couch and, when she plops onto it in a miserable  sprawl, I sit next to her and stoke her back. "Could you get us some  water and tissues?" I ask Finn.

"Sure." Finn all but leaps into action, clearly happy to be doing  something other than dealing with a crying woman. Can't blame him; he's  had to deal with me crying earlier. Two women in a row is probably a  nightmare for a guy.

"I'm so sorry," Britt says through her tears. "I did'nt mean to cry like this. I don't usually …  God, this is embarrassing."

"It's all right," I say. "Everyone loses it at some point, and it's  usually in the worst place possible. Murphy's Law and all that."

She pushes her hair back from her face and gives me a considering look.  "You're being very kind. I don't know if I would as understanding in the  same position."

"And what position is that?"

Britt grimaces. "Another woman throwing herself on your boyfriend."

Finn takes that moment to come back into the room. His steps stutter as  if he's aware he's walked into a potential bomb, but can't quite make  himself turn tail and run. Silently, he hands Britt a box of tissues and  a glass of ice water.

Finn and I exchange a glance. He comes to stand by me, putting his hand  on my shoulder as if I'm the one who needs soothing. Or maybe he's  worried I'll be pissed. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze and then  focus on Britt.

Delicately, she blows her nose and then takes a drink. "I really am sorry, Finn. I didn't think. I … " She starts weeping again.

"Talk to me," he says in a quiet voice.

"I don't know what to say," she wails, wringing her tissue in her hands.  "I can't think straight. I can't sleep. I cry all the time. I thought  coming to see you would bring me comfort." She snorts out a sad laugh.  "Obviously a grave mistake."

"It's not a mistake," he says. "I want to help you."

Britt rolls her eyes as she blows her nose, louder this time. "Don't patronize me."

He winces and glances my way again. And I blink back at him, a little  shocked. He hadn't been lying when he said he was crap with women.  Because he is terrible at this. At least with Britt. And yet he's always  been wonderful with me, effortlessly perfect.

Perfectly imperfect.

Britt speaks again. "I miss her, Finn." She starts to sob, quietly now,  her shoulders shaking. "I didn't even want her in the beginning. Can you  believe that?"

Finn rubs his hand over his face, and he suddenly looks exhausted. "Yes."

Britt looks up at him with eyes that sparkle with pain and something  deeper. "She would have been so beautiful, don't you think?"

He swallows hard. "Of course she would have."

This is too personal. I'm an intruder here. I move to go when Finn grabs  my hand and holds it tight. His fleeting look is clear: he expects me  to stay. I settle back with some reluctance, and he threads his fingers  through mine as he sits on the arm of the couch. His warmth presses into  my shoulder, as if he needs me to brace him. "We will never forget her.  But, Britt, we have to find a way to move on."

She looks appalled and disgusted in him, and Finn blanches as if struck.  My heart hurts for him, because he's right. It isn't callous to want  that.

"I can't," she grits out.

My thumb strokes the back of Finn's hand. "Look," I say to Britt. "We  don't know each other, and I understand that this isn't the greatest way  to meet. But have you thought about going to talk to someone?"

Britt jerks her chin, her gaze darting away. "I don't need that. I'm not completely broken."

"It's not a sign of weakness to seek help," I say. "I did once."

Finn twitches with surprise, but he doesn't say a word. His hand, however, holds my mine a little tighter.

"I had to deal with some things a few years ago," I tell her, ignoring  the jitters that start up in my belly. They always do when I talk about  that time, so it isn't a surprise. "And I had a hard time coping for a  while. I know it isn't the same as your loss-yes, Finn told me. But I  know how depression can consume you."

Britt stares at me, her eyes wide and a bit glazed. I know that look  too. I used to see it in the mirror. There are days I still do. She  licks her reddened lips, as if nervous. "And it worked?"

"It helped a lot. I went to a counselor. It was a safe space where I could talk, get things off my chest."                       
       
           


///
       

She bites her bottom lip, her fingers clenching, and I put my free hand on hers.

"If you don't like it, you don't have to continue."

With a sigh, she stands. "I should go."

"You don't have to," Finn assures. And I'll give him credit, even though  he'd been a mess when she arrived, he sounds sincere now.

But Britt shakes her head, her gaze darting to Finn. "I was obviously interrupting something."

It's only then I truly notice that Finn's wearing a pair of low-slung  pajama bottoms and nothing else. Which must be a testament to my  distraction because he looks delicious.

Finn looks down at himself, and skin colors a little, going a rosy-deep gold hue. "Right."

He puts his hands low on his hips, then seems to realize that only  highlights his muscles, because his hands drop to his sides. He shifts  his weight as if not knowing what the hell to do.

I stand as well. "If you'd like, I can get you the contact info for the person I saw."

"Thanks. But I'll find someone." Britt gives me a tight smile, but it's  clear she wants to bolt. I don't blame her, and I'm not going to stand  in her way. Sometimes, you have to lick your wounds in private.

I back away, letting her pass.

"Give me a second," Finn says to me, and leads Britt to the door.

They stop in the hallway, heads bent toward each other, talking in low  voices. From an artistic standpoint, they look beautiful together, her  light to his dark. I swear, their combined fame has a glow to it.  Something about them makes you keep looking, even if you don't want to.

I never expected to be with someone like Finn. He will never fully be  mine. I will always have to share him with the public. I'm okay with  that. I'm proud of Finn. But seeing him standing with Britt pulls my  thoughts down darker, less secure roads that I'm definitely not proud  of.

It's bothered me before, but now those old insecurities are suddenly on  display in all their ugly glory. I don't want to see them anymore than I  want to view Britt and Finn as a pretty pair. But I can't look away.

I want to be back in bed, wrapped up in sex and Finn, where the real  world is a distant murmur and the present is nothing but pleasure and  warmth. I want it so badly that if feels like desperation. And that  scares me.





Chapter Nineteen





Finn



* * *



"When are you going to move your stuff into our room?" I ask Chess as she stands in the guest bathroom doing her makeup.

Chess pauses, eyeliner in hand, and looks at me through the reflection  of the mirror. "What does it matter where my stuff is? We sleep in the  same bed."

Technically, I suppose she's right. But it's been a week since we've  returned from California. And call me an impatient man, but every time  she veers off into this room to get dressed, I find myself worrying. The  whole scene with Britt arriving on my doorstep hasn't helped matters.  I'd been afraid Chess would freak. But she'd treated Britt with  compassion and a kindness that humbled me.

Even so, Chess has been withdrawn at times. I don't know if it's because  of James leaving or it's something more. And not knowing worries me  too.

"It feels significant," I tell her.

"Significant?" She runs the liner over her lid, a sweep of deep green done with a precision that fascinates me.

I love watching her do personal things no one else gets to see. And I  know it's the same for her. Every time I shave, Chess appears in the  bathroom and sits on the counter as if settling in for a show.

"Yeah, significant," I repeat. "As in you're keeping this room as some sort of safe zone."