Page 51 of Savage Blooms (Unearthly Delights #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Finley

Finley walked ahead of Adam with his hands thrust deep into his pockets and his mouth set into a grim line.

He kept walking, saying nothing at all, until he came to a small stone bridge Eileen’s father had constructed over a babbling brook.

Finley had come here with Eileen countless times as a child to look at the ducks and toss stones into the water, or by himself as a man to brood.

He slumped against the railing, flicking a stray leaf down into the water below.

“Nice day,” Adam ventured, sidling up to Finley.

Finley huffed through his nose. The day was dreary and ugly, just like his heart.

“You can go back to the house, you know,” Finley said. “You don’t need to play counselor; I’m not going to hurl myself into the river. Eileen would probably be grateful to see you.”

“I don’t want to see Eileen right now, I want to see you,” Adam said, leaning over the railing so he could look into Finley’s face.

Finley flickered a glance his way, taking in those earnest blue eyes, that curving, thin mouth.

I want to see you. Finley knew Adam hadn’t meant it this way, but it was impossible not to ruminate on the fact that Eileen was the only one who had ever really seen him, not as the hired help or as someone’s wayward son, but as a person.

People looked past Finley all the time. It was his job as a staff member to be invisible, after all.

But Eileen had always seen him, really seen him, as intelligent and strong, and when he had revealed his dark desires to her, she had responded in kind.

She looked at all that wanting, all that ugliness and selfishness, and saw someone worthy of love.

Maybe that’s why he was addicted to her.

Maybe that’s why he never left.

“Hey,” Adam said, jostling his shoulder against Finley’s. “Are you with me? You seem miles away.”

“I’m with you,” Finley mumbled, picking up a stone and hurling it with all his might into the water.

It broke the surface with a satisfying splash, shattering the pristine scene.

Finley wanted to throw more rocks. He wanted to tear up the grass and knock the supports out of the bridge and fill the brook with debris, just to feel something.

To spite Eileen’s dead father, perhaps, or to spite Eileen herself.

Or perhaps Finley was just hard-wired for destruction, doomed to ruin everything he touched.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper,” he said. “It was stupid of me. Eileen just gets under my skin sometimes.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She was saying I ought to leave her. That I don’t belong here.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Adam ventured in that broad Midwestern accent.

Finley hadn’t grown up around many foreigners, and his childhood impression of Americans had been shaped primarily by television.

He sometimes saw Adam as a cowboy, roughshod and brazen, riding into Craigmar on his horse to kick up dirt and cause a ruckus.

It was easy now to imagine Adam as some small-town sheriff, playing peacemaker in a shining star badge and leather chaps.

“Well, she didn’t exactly say that,” Finley admitted. “But I know what she meant.”

“You two go at it like that often?”

“Sometimes.”

Adam nodded sagely, pursing his lips.

“The way I see it, you might try to be kinder to each other. You’re all the other has, all the way out here.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Finley said, pushing off the bridge to make his way back to the house alone. He didn’t appreciate Adam’s unsolicited advice, or the talent Adam had for rummaging around in his brain.

“Come on,” Adam said, “don’t run off. I’ve got something to say to you.”

“Then you ought to say it,” Finley said, rounding on Adam fast, like a warning. Adam didn’t look the least bit frightened. Instead, he clapped Finley on the shoulder.

“I wanted to thank you,” Adam said. “I know Nicola and I crash-landed in your life, but you’ve been very good to us, better than we deserve. You’ve kept Nicola grounded the whole time. You’ve done the same for me too. You’re a good person, Finley.”

Finley doubted Adam was trying to make him want to throw up from guilt, but that was exactly the effect his words had. Sickly shame settled deep into his stomach, roiling and churning. He shrugged off Adam’s shoulder.

“Listen, Adam, I do like you. Probably more than I ought. So that’s why I’m going to tell you plainly that I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“A good person.”

Finley expected his response to shut the whole conversation down. He expected Adam to turn away and leave him to his own thoughts. But then, Adam did something entirely baffling, which Finley was coming to learn was incredibly characteristic.

He smiled. Not one of Eileen’s taunting smirks, but a real smile, all teeth and goodwill.

“Well, I’ve always been a poor judge of character when it comes to my friends.”

Friends. Finley considered Adam an acquaintance, perhaps a very intimate acquaintance, but he hadn’t allowed himself to place Adam in the friend category in his brain.

Sure, they took their meals together and talked together while walking the grounds and yes, sometimes even had almost-threesomes together, but he refused to let himself think of Adam as a real friend.

That seemed dangerous, especially considering the very active role Finley had played in sealing his fate.

But then again, Adam was right. He really was alone out here, except for Eileen and Nicola. He had been alone out here his entire life.

It might be nice to get on better terms with Adam. It might be nice to have another man he could talk to, about some things at least.

Finley sniffed and stuck out his hand. Adam shook it, and then pulled Finley into a one-armed embrace, probably the one he used to greet his other friends back home.

Finley’s hand drifted up in shock to press between Adam’s shoulder blades, seeking closeness despite his mental refusal to accept what was happening.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the hug was over.

Finley was left reeling by the unexpected display of affection. Heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“You’re cold,” Adam said simply. “You need a coat.”

Maybe it was something about all Americans, or maybe it was something about Adam, but Finley found the way he offered up his goodwill without an ulterior motive uncomfortably sexy.

This was bad, Finley decided. Eileen might permit all sorts of indiscretions in her house, but only when she was the one pulling the strings.

Finley was doing it again, rushing to defend Eileen from her own bad behavior. The woman wasn’t even here; who was he trying to please?

Fuck Eileen’s plans. Hell, fuck Eileen. Finley was allowed to keep things for himself, never to be shared with her, and maybe this spark of interest was something he could nurse in private. It wasn’t likely to go anywhere, anyway. What could it hurt?

“Walk me home?” Finley ventured, allowing himself the indulgence of a slight innuendo threaded through the words.

It was so faint he doubted Adam could have picked up on it, but it still felt electric, thrilling, like Finley was a boy stealing a peek at his Christmas presents before his father caught him.

“Happy to,” Adam said, and fell into step beside him.

They found Eileen and Nicola curled up in the parlor loveseat, peering down at the brightly lit phone screen in Eileen’s hand. Nicola’s brows were furrowed in concentration, her fingertips pressed to her lips.

“What if you move that little cherry cluster over to the left?” she asked. “Would that complete the pattern?”

“No,” Eileen said, glued to her phone. She tapped it a few times, resulting in the sound of popping bubbles and chiming bells. She hadn’t even heard Finley and Adam walk into the house. “We should remove the apples first, there are more of them. But I don’t see how.”

“You could use a power-up?”

“I could, but I consider that cheating.”

“Since when do you have any moral scruples when it comes to winning?”

“It’s not a matter of morality. Winning when there’s more of a challenge is simply more satisfying.”

Finley cleared his throat, standing awkwardly in the doorway with Adam at his side.

It seemed rude to interrupt whatever strange feminine bonding ritual was going on as Eileen and Nicola tried to riddle out the right strategy to beat Eileen’s fruit-matching game.

Eileen tended to prefer analog games, but she always kept two or three games on her phone, dumping a small fortune in microtransactions into them in an effort to beat her own high scores.

“Oh,” Eileen said, shaken from her reverie. She clicked off her phone screen. “You’re back.”

“We’re back,” Finley said.

Eileen glanced up at Finley through mascaraed lashes. Finley knew that look. It was her best approximation at an apology.

“Got all the nonsense out of your system?” Eileen asked.

Nicola elbowed her in the ribs.

“Because I’ve got it out of mine,” Eileen added.

“Looks like we’re both feeling better,” Finley said, impressed by the show of personal responsibility, tiny though it was. What kind of spell had Nicola cast over Eileen to make her so agreeable?

“You know what I think we all need?” Adam asked, clasping Finley on the shoulder. Finley tried not to tense. Apparently, Adam was very physically effusive with his friends. “Brandy.”

“And then,” Finley added, “I think we’re overdue for a level-set. Are we all in a place where we can talk things through like adults?”

“I’m game,” Adam said.

“Me too,” Nicola replied.

“You bring the brandy and I’ll bring my best behavior,” Eileen said.

Finley nodded. It was a start.