Page 96 of Tipping Point

It isn’t a lot. If you move every week, live out of a suitcase, you end up having less and less to lug around. Somehow I end up crying, angry tears spilling over my face, and when I snatch up Finn’s shirt, I stuff it into a ball and throw it across the room.

Then I make up my mind.

I wash my face, grab the shirt, and head out to the elevator banks. When I knock on his door, he opens it guardedly, hair wet.

His eyes are black, and his mouth is set in a grim line.

His eyes rove my face and I watch him pale. When his eyes lock back onto mine, they are filled with shock.

“You motherfucker.” I stuff the shirt into his chest, and he stumbles backwards. Quick as a flash, he grabs me by the arm, jerking me inside.

“Not here,” he growls.

He knows that I know now. He sees it on my face, that I’ve figured it out.

When he slams the door behind me, I swivel on my feet. Tears are streaming down my face.

“Would you even be here right now if Jack didn’t force you to pit today?”

“I had it under control.” His voice is raw, visceral. He’s at a breaking point. He crosses the room and pours himself a whiskey. He isn’t looking at me anymore.

“Why?” I whisper.

He continues adding ice to his drink, the blocks tinkling as he brings it to his lips.

He’s looking out over the city through the glass wall of the suite, and I can see his reflection, pale, as his black eyes take in the city’s sprawl outside.

“You do not know what I have to live with every day.”

He raises the glass again, takes another sip, continues on with a hollow voice.

“This morning, I was ready. I felt at peace for the first time in years.”

This is his truth. I can’t comprehend how this can be true for him.

He turns to me.

“I am tired.”

“You think this will solve anything?”

“For me, it will solve everything.”

I’m hearing him say the words but they ring hollow to me. I’m struggling to understand living a life where the goal is to die. Where you’d have peace with that decision.

“This isn’t the solution, Finn. This is an escape.”

“Then let me escape.” He swivels to me. He’s begging.

“Why would you want this? What could possibly make you want to die?”

“I’m dead already. I died fifteen years ago when I took someone’s life!”

I watch him shudder as he recalls the memory.

“She isn’t dead!”

“She’s as good as. She’s nothing. She’s an empty shell, and this way I get to make it right.”

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