Page 52 of Kill Your Darlings

“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.”

“Sincewhen?”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 knowwhatyou 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.”