Page 35

Chapter thirty-two

Foxx

I stare down at the duffel bag on my coffee table. Sunscreen. Towels. Toothbrush. Change of clothes. But somehow, it feels like I’m going to pack something that will fuck this up. Regret floods my senses like ice-cold water.

“What if he’s spent all night thinking of a way to walk this back?

What if I made him feel cornered?” But one particular thought, that I don’t voice, really makes me second guess everything…

What if this makes him call it quits on this thing we have?

I grip the handles of the bag a little tighter than I need to, letting the material bite at my skin as I look over at Eugene and Poppy sitting on my couch. “What if this is a huge mistake?”

That thought settles like a rock in my chest. It makes everything seem fragile.

Like I’ve crossed a boundary I didn’t see until it was too late.

Like I let myself want too much, too soon.

Somewhere along the way, he became important.

More than just a good time or a warm bed, and I don’t know how I’d feel if things ended now because of this.

“What if it isn’t?” he counters, but it doesn’t soothe the anxiety.

“I pushed him about coming to the beach,” I say. “It might’ve been your idea, but the second I brought it up again, I knew… He didn’t shut down, but he tensed. I have no idea if this is the most reckless thing I could do with him, or the best thing.”

I hesitate, then say it out loud because it’s not just the trip eating me alive.

“And I still don’t know if I should even be doing this at all with him. I should know better, and even if I wasn’t his professor, I’m the adult in the room.”

Eugene doesn’t flinch. “He’s very much an adult too, Foxx.”

“But are the lines so blurred that I’ve talked myself into something with someone I shouldn’t be with? He’s got his whole life ahead of him.”

“So you do. Listen, you’re allowed to care about that,” he starts. “Means your compass still works. But don’t confuse your guilt with clarity. You’re not old, Foxx, trust me.” He snorts an unimpressed sound. “If you’re asking me, this doesn’t look like sabotage, it looks like hope.”

I blink at that. “Hope?”

“I think you’re terrified,” he says, as though it’s the same thing. “But I also think it’s been a long damn time since someone mattered enough for you to be.”

I drop my head into my hands and sink onto the seat next to him.

“Foxx.” Eugene puts his hand on my shoulder. “He makes you look up again. That’s gotta mean something.”

With my mind swirling, I scrub a hand over my jaw.

Is he right? I feel alive around Finn. I feel cared for, and maybe the last time I felt that…

“Sometimes I think I’m waiting for the moment it all implodes.

Someone catches us and reports us. He finds something better and moves on.

He realizes he can’t be with someone older than him.

Maybe I don’t get to have something like this. ”

“Bullshit.” Eugene laughs. “I’m sorry, but bull …shit my friend.”

My head snaps to him, a hundred questions on my tongue dissolving the longer I stay silent because his laugh has thrown me.

“Why can’t you just let yourself enjoy what you have when you have it?” he asks, and I immediately know he’s right. “I’m going to say this once, whether you’re ready for it or not.” He stands to tower over me. “Teach him what it’s like when someone stays. It looks like you both need it.”

He holds my gaze, steady as ever. Then he nods once and starts toward the door. Poppy jumps down from the couch and trots after him with a flick of her tail.

Eugene pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t let your fear talk you out of something good. Especially when it’s already yours, kid.”

As the door clicks shut behind them, the apartment feels too quiet all of a sudden. I exhale and zip the bag closed, letting his words wash over me. Teach him what it’s like when someone stays.

So, once I’ve taken a breath, I finish packing, grab my keys, and head out to pick him up.

Finn made his way to Daphne and Hudson’s place this morning to wait for me, so when I arrive around twenty minutes later, he’s outside, wearing baggy cargo pants, an oversized grey sweater, and most importantly, a smile that I feel all the way down to my toes.

As I pull up to the curb and roll the window down, he leans in, resting his arms on the edge of the door with that familiar tilt to his mouth.

“Hey,” he says. “You always drive around picking up stray surfers?”

I smile, the memory of me saying something similar to him still vivid in my mind. “Only the cute ones,” I say as I wink at him.

He laughs, the sound filtering into the car with him, wrapping around me like a hug. I love hearing him laugh. There’s something unguarded about it, and it fills an empty part of me that I’ve been nursing for years.

“You ready?” I ask as he gets into the car, feeling more at ease now that he’s here.

He nods, then reaches for the seatbelt, clicking it into place with ease. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice is tinged with hesitation. “I think so.”

I reach over and place my palm on his thigh, squeezing. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

A warmth spreads over his cheeks as he nods, smiling. “Okay, let’s go.”

The drive is around four hours. He’s made our playlist long enough to cope, and to my surprise, it’s not all Bruno Mars.

He also put some Harry Styles on there, which makes me cackle.

But when Riley Green and Ella Langley start crooning about looking like they love each other, I go quiet.

Suddenly, I’m too aware of everything as I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.

Trying not to read too much into a song we didn’t choose together.

We stop to grab gas and snacks. When Finn climbs back into the car with his bag of goodies and a smug grin, I can’t help but mirror him.

“That’s a lot of snacks.”

“It is,” he says happily.

“Is there anything remotely healthy in that bag?”

He bites the corner of his mouth. “Popcorn’s healthy, right?”

I bark a laugh. “Only when it’s popped at home and not covered in sugar and toffee.”

“Well, there are peanuts inside the M that’s gotta count for something?” He opens the bag and starts rummaging through, then pulls out a bag of Cheetos, and I groan.

“Now those are my weakness. Will stain your insides orange, but they’re the best kind of snack. My mom used to let me have them on Saturdays after I played baseball.”

He chokes on something as I pull out onto the road again. “You played baseball?”

“It didn’t stick,” I say. “My parents tried to get me to play all kinds of sports, but I loved reading and solving problems instead. My head was forever in a book.”

“You don’t talk about them. Are they nearby?” he asks, genuine curiosity coating his words.

I shake my head, keeping my grip on the wheel.

“No, they’re in my hometown in Northern California.

” I pause, because that little bit of me that feels the loss of them pings inside my chest, but it’s not anything I’m not used to.

“They never came to terms with my sexuality, and when I met Ryan, we married young, and that was that. I haven’t seen them in years. ”

Finn’s chest deflates, and I see it out of the corner of my eye. “I’m sorry, that’s really tough.” He’s quiet for a second, then adds, “I don’t know how I would’ve felt if my parents weren’t okay with me being bi.”

I nod once, acknowledging that our coming-out experiences are different, and that’s okay too.

“It hurts when someone can’t see you for who you are,” I admit.

“I never really thought about it at the time, since I had Ryan. We were in love. Moving to go to college together felt like the start of something. And it was. I mean, it wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

Following my heart never felt like the wrong decision. ”

I briefly glance over at him to see him watching me. He doesn’t tear his gaze away, even when I look back to the road. Just like in class, I can feel the weight of him—focused, a quiet intensity I don’t know if he realizes he possesses.

“When did you realize you were bi?” I ask.

He bites his lip as he thinks. “Probably when I had my first kisses at twelve.”

I think I mishear him at first. “Kisses?”

“Yeah,” he says with a chuckle. “I kissed Mary-Beth Porter during first break and liked it, then later, during second break, I had that same feeling for Garrett Daniels, so I kissed him too and liked that as well. I went home and told my mom, and she explained a lot about different sexualities.

“Her older sister, my Aunt Carrie, is bisexual, so I talked to her at some point. She had a lot more insight, and she was great at helping me through my teenage years, because I had a lot of questions. Eventually, when I was around fifteen, I decided that being bisexual felt right for me. I was lucky. I know I was fortunate to have support the whole way through, and I don’t take that for granted. ”

He’s right—he is lucky. And I don’t think that just because my experience was different from his or that I’m envious in any way.

I think it because it matters, to be accepted exactly as you are.

To know you never have to change yourself to make other people comfortable.

That being who you are isn’t the exception; it should be the norm.

That belief is what kept me going all these years.

The knowledge, and hope, that not everyone will turn their backs on you because of who you love. Love shouldn’t come with conditions.

I’ve been shown more respect by people who had no obligation to offer it than I ever got from my own parents.

And that taught me that I didn’t have to let their absence or opinions define my future.

I didn’t have to live by their rules, or shrink myself to fit inside their version of who they wanted me to be.

“Do you regret anything?” he asks tentatively.

“I don’t. I’ve learned a lot along the way. About love. About myself. About what I can survive and what I deserve.”

I see him smile out of the corner of my eye.

“You’re such a grown-up,” he muses. “I mean that as a compliment. You talk about all your past, the pain, the love with this kind of clarity that… I don’t know.

It makes me feel like maybe things really can hurt like hell and still shape you into someone stronger. ”

I blink, feeling a warmth spreading over my limbs.

“I don’t always feel strong,” I admit, my mind flicking back to earlier with Eugene.

“Some days, it still hits me in weird ways. The quiet, especially. But I’m learning that being strong doesn’t mean you don’t shake.

It just means you don’t fall apart when you do. ”

He nods slowly, like he’s tucking that away for later.

“Plus, with you around, there’s a lot less quiet,” I say.

Then he tears open the bag of Cheetos, popping one into his mouth before offering one to me.

“For the baseball kid,” he says with a smirk.

I take one, snapping at his fingers with my teeth to reach it. “He would’ve dropped every game for these.”

***

The sky’s just turning to dusk when we pull into the gravel driveway of a small white house with green shutters and a wraparound porch. The sign out front is hand-painted, a little crooked: The Driftwood Inn – Cozy Stays by the Coast.

Finn leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield. “This it?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

His eyes flick to me, cautious. “This isn’t a murder cabin, right? I’m way too pretty to be in a true crime podcast.”

I huff a laugh. “You’ll survive. Promise.”

I park, kill the engine, and step out. He follows, arms stretching overhead, revealing a sliver of skin on his abdomen as he takes in the place. “It’s actually cute.”

We walk inside, both carrying our backpacks, and the scent of lavender engulfs us as we step over the threshold. “Jeez, that’ll knock someone out cold if they’re feeling sleepy,” he says, wafting his hand in front of his face.

The woman at the desk checks us in and hands us a key, like a real old-fashioned key that’s weighted; it’s a novelty to have that and not a card to swipe. “Feels like something out of an old movie,” I say, turning it over in my hand.

“Right?” Finn says, smiling. “I kind of love it. Who even uses keys these days? It’s all codes and fobs.”

“I love it too,” I say, still looking at the intricate design.

“Watching you fall in love with a key wasn’t something I thought would happen tonight, but—”

I shove his shoulder playfully. “Get out of here, I’m not falling for an inanimate object.”

“I dunno. Apparently, it’s a real thing.”

I roll my eyes, opening the door to reveal a king-size bed and floral wallpaper, but he’s not done.

“Should I leave you alone with the key? Light a candle? Write some poetry about its rustic charm?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

“I live for driving you crazy,” he says as he kisses my lips with a fever that heats me all over. Smiling against his mouth, I kiss him back.

We part slowly, and he stays close, his forehead resting gently against mine.

I can feel the shift in his mood. “I think I’d like to try going to the beach tonight,” he says casually, but I can tell he doesn’t feel the same way he sounds.

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on my waist, like he’s anchoring himself.

And in that pause, I feel it: the nerves, the weight, the courage it takes to say it out loud.

“Of course,” I reply. “We can go any time you want.”

He hums and drops his backpack to the floor as I remove my shoes and spin him toward me again.

Those blue eyes turn to me, shining some kind of light that makes me feel seen and wanted more than ever.

His hair curls in front of his eyebrows today, the unruly ends flicking around.

I love it. I love the fact that he’s here with me, trusting me right now.

“If…” he starts, then pauses to swallow, uncertainty coloring his pupils. “If I happen to panic, Dr. Hale always tells me to name five types of something; trees, birds, states, it can be anything to bring my mind back down to rational thinking again. It helps.”

“Okay,” I say, moving my fingers up and down his covered arm. “I’ll remember that.”

“It’s just that I need you to know there’s a high chance I might panic and, well…”

“Finn,” I say and wait for his shadowed eyes to lock onto mine. “It’s okay. I’m here for whatever happens. There’s no world where I walk away from you tonight.”

Or ever , my lovesick brain finishes for me.