Page 53 of Lost Lyrebird

He opens a drawer, removes a comb, and fixes his hair back in place.When finished, he leans against the counter and stares at himself in the mirror.The toll this pain has taken on him is at a level he can’t mask, and that alone is telling.

I don’t know what drives me forward, maybe the gravitational pull of his pain, but resisting it feels as if it takes more effort than giving in.I take cautious steps forward and stoop at the bathroom doorway.

His gaze moves to me, and I experience a moment ofdéjà vu.We once stood like this, only our roles were reversed.I was the one hurting, weighed down by the hell I’d endured with Veno.Being trafficked by a man who saw me as nothing more than a payday and a punching bag.Finn pulled me out.He’d been my anchor, constantly letting me know that he’d watch over me, be a listening ear if I ever wanted to talk about what had happened.He’d been the one person in the world who cared if I came out the other side of the darkness in my head and heart.

His hair was mostly black then.Cut into a military crew cut.No goatee, which I’m partial to now.His body had been a thing of beauty, hardened and war-ready, but almost too perfect, you know?It was intimidating its flawlessness.

Because mine was anything but perfect.

Now his body tells a similar story to mine, scars and all.There’s a certain beauty to be found in the story it tells, mysteries waiting to be discovered.

We stare at each other.The quiet settles in around us.It’s not uncomfortable, but profound.

I remember how it was always like this.His presence calmed and centered me, making me feel safe for the first time in a long time.When I was close to him–inside his small bubble—I felt like he could shield me from anything.He had this quiet control about him, like he somehow mastered the space he occupied.My body recognized this, and still, it reacts, orbits around it, like Saturn’s rings around its center mass, me aroundhim.

I roll the bottle in my hands and reread the label, memorizing the name so I can research it later.I place the pills on the counter beside his hand.His eyes stay fixed on me, intense.I’m tempted to back away.I never thought those eyes could be anything but honest.Anything but kind.Anything but true.

I turn to walk back into his office, heart sick at what we’ve become, but Finn catches my hand and stops me.He pulls me closer.

“What was that look?”

I shake my head, an emotionless mask over my face now.“Nothing.Look, I should be going.”I try to pull away.Finn holds tight.

“You were thinking something just now.Tell me.”He pulls my arm up and runs his fingers over my inner forearm, inspecting it.

I yank it away, knowing what he’s looking for.“Nothing important.”

“Will you tell me anyway?”I meet his gaze head-on and lie.“No, it was nothing worth mentioning.”

CHAPTER 15

Our deepest fears have the power to expose us in ways our words do not.

I motion to the bathroom, or more accurately, to the pill bottle he left on the counter in the bathroom.“You’re not going to take one, are you?Even if I ask you to?”

His silence is his answer as he strides to the couch and grabs his cut.He slides his colors on smoothly like it’s second nature.And I hate to admit it, but the vest looks sinfully delicious on him.It adds to that bad boy factor, hitting buttons I never thought he could tap into, the ones that bring dirty daydreams to mind and make me want to spend the night inhaling him like a four-course meal.

This new Finn is harmful to my poor heart, though.

“Will it help?”My mask slips, just for a second.I don’t know his whole story or why he’s refusing the pills.Even if I deny it to myself, try and fail to remain angry, I do care.The truth is, I don’t want to see him suffer.

“For a while.”

“Then why not take them?”

He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a set of keys.His gaze draws up to meet mine.It’s intense and earnest, but his jaw muscle pops as if my questions agitate him.

He sighs and grabs the back of his neck, massaging the base as if trying to relieve some tension.“Because I don’t know what they’ll fuck with.My head, my sleep, my mood, my blood pressure, my heart.”He pauses, considering me, and his arm drops.“And there’s the fact that my body figures out pretty quickly now that there’s this easy magic trick to switch off the pain, so my brain shouts for another pill and another, because what the fuck if it’s just one more little pill, right?It’s a slippery slope, one I’ve battled my way up a few times too many.”

Lord.This man.

This is the brutal honesty I remember.The vulnerability Finn never shied from, as if he’d written the chapters himself into the meaning of an “open book”—always delivering raw, honest truths when pried for personal details.He’s a guy who never saw the point in white lies or omissions.

“Have you had them long?The migraines?”

He nods.“Too long.And believe me, no one wants them gone more than I do.But a little pill isn’t the answer.”

“Then what is?”