Page 32 of Finley

“And he’s why you’re back, isn’t he?”

To that, he could manage an answer. “Yes.”

Releasing his hand, she moved beside him and rested against the cabinets, just as he was. Her head barely reached his shoulder, and when he looked down at her and she smiled, the weight of the world seemed to lift right off him.

“How long have you known?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I suspected midway through your first year of college.”

That had him rounding on her. “What? No you didn’t.”

“Yes…son, I did.” She patted his arm as he tried to convince his brain that everything was copacetic. “A mother knows these things.”

“Ahh…”

“Okay, let me clarify. I didn’t know it was your professor, but I knew you were seeing someone. I also knew that you were trying very hard to keep it a secret. So I figured I would wait, and eventually, when you were ready, you would tell me. It wasn’t until I saw you with him at a function that I really knew.”

He was trying to keep his mouth shut and not falling open on the floor but, from the wide grin on his mother’s face, he must’ve looked as poleaxed as he felt.

“It was a faculty meeting at the dean’s house about a year in for the top students. I remember the way you two stood next to each other and were so careful not to touch, but you both talked like you had been doing it for years. You finished each other’s sentences like a couple would. And Finn, I won’t lie—it scared me.”

He went to walk away from her, but she took his arm, halting him.

“It scared me because I could see how much you admired him. And even though you were legally of age, I wasn’t sure you knew what you were doing. I knew that if he was the one you had been secretly meeting with, then he really had the power to hurt you.”

He clenched his jaw, refusing to think about the pain he’d locked deep inside himself that his professorhadeventually caused. He didn’t want his mother to see that.

“And he did somehow, didn’t he?”

“Ma…it’s not what you think.”

“Was it because he told you to go to Chicago?”

“Can wenottalk about this? It was a long time ago.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I see it in your eyes, son. You’re angry. Every time his name is mentioned or he’s here, you get…agitated.”

“Well, he deserves it,” he snapped, and then walked away from her. When he was across the room, he looked back.

She was still standing by the cabinets. “Does he? Maybe he was just doing what he thought was best for you.”

That wasexactlywhat Brantley had thought he was doing, but as always, Daniel kept getting stuck on— “It wasn’t his decision to make.” And with that, he went down to his room to get his bag.

It was time to confront this thing head-on.

WHEN BRANTLEY ARRIVED home,he made sure to pick up after himself. The only problem with that was his house was close to immaculate. That was the way he liked it. So, after thirty minutes of straightening things up, he was left to sit and think about what he’d just invited into his life with a block of chocolate and a cup of coffee, and all he kept coming up with was: heartache.

What the hell am I doing to myself?he thought for the umpteenth time several hours later.It isn’t like Daniel hasn’t told me what he’s coming here to do. Yet I’m inviting him to stay anyway. Why?Probably because, somewhere in the back of his brain, he believed he could…What?Change his mind?And even if I do, then what?My life is here, and his is?—

Knock, knock, knock.

He put the final square of chocolate down and glanced at the clock. It was four forty-five. He didn’t think Daniel was the kind of man to show up early, especially this new no-nonsense version of him. So he got to his feet and made his way to the front door. But it was Jordan standing on his wraparound balcony with a bottle of wine in his raised hand.

Brantley shook his head. “Sorry. No can do.”

“What? No gossip over wine? You promised me details.”

“I don’thaveany details to give. He didn’t stay, remember? And I have a five o’clock appointment, so you need to leave.”