Page 21

I started out of my uncomfortable doze at the softness of a towel, cool ice beneath the plush folds, pressed gently to the back of my neck.

Finn said quietly, “Just me. Rest.”

I didn’t have the energy for anything else. I closed my eyes, drifted, but I was still aware of the pain. Still aware of Finn, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his makeshift ice pack to the back of my neck.

After several years, my stomach settled a little, which was a huge improvement, despite the unrelenting pain in my head.

I said, “I’m sorry about this morning. I really did mean that to be an apology.”

For a second or two he didn’t answer. Then he said, “I know. I’m sorry about this morning, too. That wasn’t the way…”

He didn’t finish it and I said nothing. I’d started it, but it was a conversation I didn’t want to have.

“It’s been thirty minutes. You want to try the first dose of rizatriptan?”

I opened my eyes, surprised to find, despite the pain, I’d actually dozed off. “Yeah.” I sat up cautiously and took the pill from him. I popped it into my mouth. Took the water glass, swallowed a small mouthful, and washed the pill down.

I handed back the glass and lay back down. I couldn’t help the shudder that followed, but I said firmly, “You really should get back. I’ll be fine in thirty minutes.” That was wishful thinking bordering on delusional, but the pain would almost certainly be down to a manageable level.

“Thanks.” His tone was acerbic. “I’ve had all the schmoozing with Vaughn and Lila I can take in one day.”

I wondered about that, but said nothing.

Finn shifted beside me, one hand settling lightly on my temple. “Is it the right side?” His fingertips lightly threaded through my hair, brushing across my scalp.

Tiny chills of pleasure rippled over my skin. I assented. He’d massaged my head the other time this had happened. It was the sweetest thing any guy had ever done for me.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That vein pops out right over that little scar above your eyebrow.”

“My father hit me with his flashlight when I was ten.”

I hadn’t meant to say it aloud. I felt the stillness wash through him.

My heart began to pound—he could probably feel that vein pulsing in response—but to my relief he didn’t reply, didn’t say anything, simply continued to massage my head with that delicate, instinctive touch, and some of the tension drained from my neck and shoulders.

“Have you always had headaches?”

“Off and on. They were so bad in my early thirties, I was sure I had a brain tumor.” I could even smile about it now. “I had a million tests. MRIs, CT scans. So really, a chronic migraine diagnosis was good news.”

His touch was very gentle. “I bet.”

“I almost never get these breakthrough migraines anymore.”

“You’re stressed and tired.” It wasn’t a question. Actually, it was an understatement.

Finn’s fingers drifted down, circling just above my cheekbone, then gliding up into my hair.

He worked in slow, deliberate motions—along the temple, down behind the ear, and finally to the base of my skull.

There, he found that knot of tension and used the pads of his thumbs to ease it loose with steady, deliberate pressure.

I breathed slowly, consciously, and for the first time in hours, the pain felt survivable. The incredible relief made me emotional all over again.

I tipped my head back, trying to sound calm and reasonable, “Finn. I don’t understand what’s happening. I appreciate your help. You did your good deed for the day. You don’t have to stay. I’m okay. It’s just a headache. I’ve been through it a million times. You can go with a…a clean conscience.”

He stroked my hair back. “I’m not worried about my conscience.”

“No, you’re worried about mine, apparently.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” The carefulness, the kindness was terrifying.

“Now?”

“When you’re feeling better.”

“Since when ?” I put my hands over my face, pulled them down and sat up, facing him. “I don’t understand you at all. You ended it. Today. Just a few hours ago. But now you want to talk? Now? You think I’m…I don’t know what you think I am. A love rat? A serial killer? A love rat serial killer?”

“Keiran.” He didn’t move back. In fact, he tried to cover my hands with his own.

“It doesn’t matter.” My throat closed and I had to squeeze out the words. “You were right. It’s easier if it’s over.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But it’s not. Every single time I see you, I want—”

Yes. Me, too. Desperately. But he was the one who’d outlined why it wasn’t possible. And he’d been perfectly right.

Finn was still stumbling through whatever this was—maybe just a mistimed apology for the way he’d ended things? Because a heads up would have been nice. I’d been entitled to a heads up.

“I know what I said, but I can’t reconcile the you I know with…”

A ‘Dateline’ special? His entire fucking literary oeuvre?

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” One of my favorite quotes by Mark Twain.

“It doesn’t seem to matter what I tell myself. Or what I tell you. I watched you this evening. I could see you getting quiet, getting paler and paler. I know that little move, where you rest your fingers on your temple.”

He spent years in law enforcement, so yes, he was observant.

He was a writer, so yes, he was observant.

I wanted to say, Is there a point to this ?

But sadly, I wanted to hear it. I wanted to think he really did care on some level.

I wanted to think he regretted ending things at least half as much as I regretted his ending things.

He said quietly, “I can’t take the idea that you’re hurt or in pain.”

I moved my head in negation. Not that I disbelieved him. Of course he didn’t enjoy watching someone, even someone he was angry with, in pain. He wasn’t a psychopath. But I didn’t want him to pretend that it was more than kindness. It meant too much to me.

Finn was still explaining in that painstaking way, “And I realized that, as much as I don’t want the silence, the secrets—I even more don’t want it to be over. Eight years we’ve—I’ve— We got so close and now… It’s tearing me apart.”

Dismay gave me the energy to get off the bed, to move away.

“No. I can’t take the back and forth. You didn’t have any doubts this morning.

You can’t tell me you think something’s wrong with me and then turn around and say you still care.

And then tomorrow—what? It’s back to me being America’s Most Wanted ? ”

“Keir—”

“It’s not right. I accepted your decision. This is… I’ve never done anything to you. It’s fucking cruel .”

“Keiran.” He got off the bed too, and tried to put his arms around me. I pushed at him, but then had to sit down on the mattress. I put my head in my hands. I wasn’t crying, though I probably should have been.

Finn knelt at my feet, rested his warm hands on my bare knees. “Keir, listen. Just listen for a minute. I shouldn’t have brought this up now. I know you’re not in any state to cope with it. I’m sorry. If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I’d like to stay at least until you’re feeling better.”

I wanted to say, “Go.” One little syllable. One little word. But it stuck in my throat.

I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to stay, wanted to rest in his arms one last time,

Finn waited and when I didn’t, couldn’t speak, said, “You’ll be more comfortable in bed.”

It was an assertion rather than a question, and there was no point arguing the obvious.

I didn’t answer, didn’t resist either as Finn rose, pulled back the bedclothes, guiding me as I crawled between the sheets and tried to lie very still.

He stood for a beat at the edge of the bed.

“ Do you want me to go?” His voice was gruff.

This was probably it. The last night we would ever spend together in any way, shape, or form. And I just couldn’t…

“No,” I said wearily, without opening my eyes. “Not yet.”

There was a pause. Then the soft rustle of Finn removing his shoes, then his jacket. The bed dipped as he sat, then stretched out on top of the covers beside me, close enough to touch, but not intruding.

“I’ll stay as long as you need,” he whispered.

I shook my head wearily, but it was at myself, not him. When I didn’t answer, he edged closer, and I let myself lean against him. Just a little. When, after a time, his hand found mine, his long fingers closing around mine with familiar careful strength, I didn’t pull away. No. I held on. Tight.

In the hush of the darkened room, the pound of the surf below us echoing my heartbeat, and Finn breathing softly beside me, I finally let go.

Around midnight, I had the second dose of rizatriptan.

Finn, who’d been sleeping, woke up and started rubbing my head once more.

“Did you ever kill anyone? When you were a cop?” I asked.

I’d been having some weird and unsettling fever dreams or I’d never have asked.

Finn was silent. Then he said, “No. I was involved in two shootings. No one died. Thank God.”

“Yes,” I agreed. It would be terrible. Terrible for someone who cared about the doing the right thing as much as Finn.

“Why?” he asked.

I moved my head, not answering. He didn’t push it, and after a little while I dozed off again beneath that comforting touch.

Usually, I didn’t sleep well sharing a bed, but over the years, I’d gotten used to Finn.

Used to the sound of his breathing, his tendency to sprawl out and take up three-quarters of the mattress, even used to his inclination to hold and snuggle.

I was not a snuggler. I did not like to be touched when I was sleeping, let alone held, but somehow, I’d come to accept it from Finn. It was okay with Finn.

It was okay that night. More than okay. I was grateful for his strength and closeness. I felt…safe.

I slept lightly, but I did sleep, though I was vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets over my shoulders a couple of times, vaguely aware of him lightly resting his fingers beneath my jaw once. When the alarm on my cell went off at five, I felt him reach over me and quickly mute my phone.

He said softly, firmly, “Go back to sleep,” and I did.

Light filtered dimly around the edges of the curtains—muted coastal gray, with the faint cry of gulls somewhere beyond the glass.

I stirred, blinking against the residual throb in my skull. The pain had receded to mostly memory, though my limbs felt leaden, my stomach empty and hollow.

I had the bed to myself, but I knew I was not alone. I raised my head. I could make out the blur of Finn, sitting in the chair across from the bed, scrolling through his phone.

I reached for my glasses, slid them on.

“Did you win?” My voice sounded gravelly. “The Edgar.”

Finn glanced up; his mouth curved ruefully. “Nope. Kyle won Best Paperback Original. I knew he would. The book’s terrific. T. McGregor got Best Novel. And Hayes got Best First Novel by an American Author.

I groaned in anguish and Finn laughed.

“Hayes is okay. Just young. Trying to figure out where he fits in.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I closed my eyes. “Do you think he’ll really refuse the award?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Finn made a sound of amusement. “How are you feeling?”

I said, without opening my eyes, “A swim, a hot shower, it’ll be all systems go.”

“Here’s an idea. What if you skip the swim and sleep a little longer?” I opened my eyes a fraction, watching warily as he rose from the chair. The mattress dipped as he sat down next to my feet. Finn said, “It’s going to be a long day. You had a rough night.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

“Typical migraine.”

His expression was serious. “Yeah? Because that was a lot worse than the other time. You scared me.”

I grimaced at the idea he had been afraid for me. “I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, I can’t afford to show weakness. It’ll be interpreted as…”

“Weakness?” Finn suggested.

“Yes.”

He said thoughtfully, “Is it possible the buyout has you feeling just a little paranoid?”

“Of course it has! With good reason.” Abruptly, I remembered. “Why did you tell Lila you wouldn’t accept a new editor?”

He raised his brows like it was a silly question. “I’ve already got their best editor. Why would I change things just to change things? I’m not going to jeopardize my winning streak.”

There were many things I could have said to that, including pointing out that he’d just lost the Edgar.

Watching my face, Finn said quietly, “You know why. I made the decision on impulse. It was a bad decision based on incomplete information.”

“Was it, though?”

“Yes.”

I sat up carefully, settled my back against the stack of pillows. Truthfully, I would have loved nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. For a year. Forever.

“Did you want to call your pet sitter?”

I blinked. “Why?”

“To check on the cats.”

I was momentarily baffled, then I remembered a bizarre dreamlike sequence of events from the previous night that seemed to have concluded with me sobbing in Finn’s arms. My entire body flushed with embarrassment.

I said shortly, “If I didn’t trust Angelique, I’d never have left my boys in her care.”

Finn’s mouth twitched, though his expression remained grave.

“What?”

“That’s undoubtedly the gayest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

I scowled. “Well, guess what?”

He continued to study me, a humorous glint in his eyes.

I sighed.

He asked kindly, “Would you like some coffee?”

I flinched, swallowed hard. “Not…yet. Thanks.”

“Do you feel up to talking?”

I met his eyes steadily.

“Okay,” Finn said. “I’ll talk.”