Page 12 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)

Amelia's shoulders slumped. "I guess. I just…

It's like the memories are just out of reach.

It's like everything from that time is locked behind a thick door.

All I feel is an emotional echo—sadness or emptiness.

Maybe that was him, missing from my life.

" She looked at Finn, eyes shimmering with longing.

"I was so young, so maybe my brain just buried it.

Or maybe I forced myself to forget. Now that I realize I had a brother, it's like there's a hole in my chest. It's like there's been something missing all along, and only now do I feel it. "

Finn reached out, resting a gentle hand over hers. “I’m sure those memories will come in time. Maybe these feelings have come first. Like loving someone you can’t remember...”

"It's an ache, Finn," she said. "A real painful feeling inside of me.

I feel like I should have known he existed.

I feel like I should have gone out and looked for him.

Maybe then I could have kept him safe. Now, all I can think about is finding him so I can get to know him.

So I can… Heal a part of me I never knew was broken…

I… I have to find him… I just want to give him a hug. "

“I know… But this is all a lot to process while we’re also chasing Wendell Reed. I worry you’re dealing with too much.”

She stiffened slightly, pulling her hand away. “I know. But this is my brother’s life on the line, and I can’t walk away.” Her tone carried an edge of warning, as if she anticipated an argument.

Finn inhaled, controlling the swirl in his gut. “Look, the last thing I want is to turn against you. I promised I’d be here. But I have to tell you what I see: you’re exhausted, you’re carrying deep emotional baggage, and Wendell’s pushing your buttons. I’m worried.”

A flicker of hurt passed across her face. “You don’t have to worry about me, Finn.”

“I can’t help it,” he replied softly. “And I can’t help thinking… maybe the best course would be to let the taskforce do the searching for Brendan, while you step away for your own safety. Possibly go to the States with me, until Wendell’s caught.”

Her eyes flew wide, shock turning to anger. “What?” She stood up abruptly, the fork clattering on her plate. “You want me to run away? Leave my brother’s fate to others? That’s not an option, and you know it.”

He stood too, hands spread in a calming gesture, though his heart pounded.

"That's not what I'm saying. I just—Wendell is fixated on you.

We could have died at that children's home today.

If we remove you from the equation, his leverage is gone.

The task force could handle the search without you as a target. You'd be safe—"

She cut him off with a sharp scoff. “So your grand plan is to whisk me off to the US while the men in suits find my brother? No. Absolutely not. I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

He felt frustration and fear twist inside him. “I know it’s not ideal, but this is your life we’re talking about. Wendell would kill you if he got the chance. McNeill keeps threatening to pull you from the taskforce. Maybe it’s best to bow out gracefully, get to safety—”

“I can’t believe you’d even suggest that,” she said, voice trembling with emotion. “You, of all people, who usually understands me. Why would you want me to abandon everything? My brother is out there, possibly being tortured. How do you think I could sleep at night if I ran away?”

He took a step closer, swallowing. “I don’t want to see you destroyed by Wendell’s mind games. Or by the heartbreak if—” He hesitated, not wanting to voice the worst possibility. “I just want you alive, Amelia.”

She shook her head, tension radiating through her. “I can’t do this. I’ve lost my appetite.” She shoved her plate aside, the half-finished meal abandoned. Her eyes glistened with tears that didn’t fall. “I thought you’d understand.”

“Amelia, I—”

But she turned, footsteps urgent as she left the small dining area. He heard her storm across the living room, then ascend the creaking stairs. The gentle slam of a bedroom door echoed overhead.

Finn let out a sigh, feeling the electric current of conflict still buzzing in his limbs.

He stared at the empty chair, the half-eaten food, the gentle lamp glow.

This was supposed to be a comforting dinner.

Instead, it ended in a rift. He sank back down, dropping his face into his hands.

The flickering tension in the air told him not to follow her, not yet. She needed space.

He replayed her words: She’s not going to run away. Of course she wasn’t. He felt foolish for even bringing it up so plainly. But how can I watch her tear herself apart while Wendell plays her emotions like a fiddle?

He gazed at the solitary plate of vegetables left on the table.

For a long moment, he sat there, arms folded over his chest, eyes fixed on the flicker of the overhead light.

The faint smell of thyme no longer felt homey—just a reminder of the moment they’d had, warming them for a second before it all fell apart.

Outside, the wind rattled the window. A patrol car’s headlights swept the curtains, then vanished.

He forced himself up, methodically clearing the dishes.

He scraped the leftovers into the bin, rinsed the plates, placing them on the drying rack with a heavy finality.

Each small chore kept his mind from spiraling.

We’ll fix this. He had to believe that. Maybe once they confronted Wendell directly.

Maybe if they found a real lead on Brendan.

But the doubt lingered. McNeill might be right about one thing: this entire chase could break Amelia.