Page 49 of The Finish Line

I was desperate enough to associate myself with dangerous allies back then, but I had no idea the true cost. The tradeoff.

Those who have trusted me in the past—who shared my vision—eventually ran out of loyalty for me, and it’s no mystery why. I can’t blame them, any of them, for their flailing allegiance, or Cecelia now for her mistrust. All I can do is try to believe the woman who came back to me, who once believed in me. A woman who, not long ago, fought me, challenged me to be the man I was. But that man was deceptive, destructive, and fucking dangerous to the people he loved. And when he lost them, he gave himself permission to run rampant. Now that I’ve been derailed again by the possibility of a different life, I’m being forced to confront his demons.

I downshift, the Camaro needle slanting past the hundred mark as I try to escape the ache, the burn of my mistakes. The image of Sean, Dom, and Tyler’s firelit faces the night I told them about Roman—about the truth of what happened to our parents—and about my plans to bring him down. As their trusting faces come more into focus, I know no amount of speed will ever erase that memory.

Chapter Thirteen

Cecelia

After another shift, I pull up to see Tobias washing Dom’s Camaro in my driveway. Dazed by the sight of him shirtless, taut, ripped, he raises his head when he hears me approach and gives me the slight lift of his thick lips from where he squats, scrubbing mud off the side of the car. From the looks of it, he’s put all the horses under the hood to work. But the idea of his joyride takes a back seat to any other thought when he stands covered in the afternoon sun. His skin is glistening, beckoning, his jeans riding dangerously low on his hips, showcasing his clear-cut V, just before it disappears into his dark-washed jeans. Exiting the car, I walk over to where he works, intent on his task.

“Hey,” he greets me, his voice chalky as though he’s been shouting for most of the day.

“Hey back,” I reply, looking at the car. “I see you went for a ride.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while since I let loose.”

Something’s wrong. It’s so clear to see in the light creases next to his eyes, the weight on his shoulders.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He tosses his sponge in a bucket before pressing a kiss to my temple. Retrieving the hose from the ground, he pauses his spray and shakes his head in afterthought. “I mean, no, not really okay, not today. But can we table this particular talk for later?”

“Sure,” I offer easily, leaving him to it just before he snatches me by the wrist and pulls me toward him. His eyes bore into mine as he crowds me next to the car. He dips and kisses me, and I allow it, my heart thundering into the moment. My body begs me to relieve it of the ache, but my mind still forbids me from stepping into the free fall I’ve allowed myself one too many times before. It’s not a matter of falling, but a matter of making sure I know how to land at this point. Denying I love him, am still in love with him, is pointless. Denying he’s here and sincerely wants this to work is taking effort on my part. But forgiving him, that’s what’s stifling our progress. It’s still too soon to embrace it—embrace him fully. Yet in those few seconds, he separates my lips with his tongue, tasting me thoroughly, and I can’t help but feed my greed. He kisses me for long minutes, and I drop my purse, my appetite begging me for a minute more before he pulls away and presses his forehead to mine.

“I said I wouldn’t hide anything from you, and I won’t. I have these bad days, sometimes.”

“What’s bad about them?”

He pulls my hand from around his neck and kisses the back of it before pressing my fingers to his temple. “Here.”

“Does it have to do with Dominic?”

“A lot of the time, yeah. Driving his car... I don’t know, I got lost in my head a little.”

“I’m sorry. I just, I thought you might want to drive it instead of my Audi.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Maybe it was good for me.”

“Not by the looks of it.”

All I can feel is the ache seeping from him and my instinctual need to comfort him. “Sometimes I wish—” he exhales. “Sometimes I wish I dreamed the way you do, so I could exorcise my thoughts that way, and maybe I wouldn’t have these days.”

“No, you don’t, Tobias. I promise you that you don’t.” I dart my eyes away. “I should let Beau out. I need a shower.”

He nods and releases me. Shutting the front door behind me, I push out a long breath. Being in the same space with him again, there’s no denying the sheer force of what his presence does to me. I’m still breathless from his kiss, core throbbing from the need thrumming between us, but his pain overshadows all of that. So much of me wants to give in, hear his words, take them to heart and truly let go of all of the grudges so we can start to heal together—in a way that brings us closer.

I have to try. I have to give in, meet him halfway at some point.

It’s clear we’re living the opposite of what we collectively pictured after our reunion in the parking lot, and I can physically feel the disappointment in both of us every time we lock eyes.

I’ve barely let him touch me or given him a chance to explain himself. But I can’t lose myself in him again, at least not completely. Getting physical with Tobias is not simply sex. It’s close to a religious experience. I’m not in denial so much that I don’t realize that I’m the one preventing our progress.

I head to the fridge to grab a water bottle and decide on something stronger. Maybe a drink will help relax me to the point of starting a conversation. Reaching for my whiskey tumbler, I open the freezer for some ice and see that he’s grocery shopped, and not only that, he’s zip-locked red grapes for me and frozen them. Visions of the days where I lounged by the pool at my father’s mansion sucking on them while he swam laps run through my mind. Though our history was brief, we were together twenty-four-seven for weeks, studying each other’s habits, learning each other’s bodies, falling crazy in love. Then, he’d used my brand of toothpaste. And despite my resentment-filled comment, I do know him, his habits, his moods, and it was jealousy from my dream that told me otherwise.

The devil is in the details, and I remember my devil well. It’s gestures like this that bring me back to that time he doted on me endlessly. The dinners he used to cook for me, the baths he drew that we took together, and our long talks during. The long hours playing chess, our time in the clearing drinking Louis Latour while stargazing. Making love for hours and hours, covered in sweat, eyes locked, bodies humming, before we fell into an exhausted sleep just to wake up and do it all over again.

Closing my eyes, I fight the urge to go to him, to bridge the gap. Every night we seem to call a truce, and he wraps around me, dragging me into his body, waiting for me to ask questions, to start a conversation, but I haven’t. I’m still trying to give myself permission to be happy about it, to let my guard down, to embrace him here, permanently.

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