Page 53 of A Hard Fit

Rory shivered. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

“What did you get up to?” Their eyes drifted closed.

“Not much. I painted, worked out, made a salad. And my mom called again.”

Rory’s eyes snapped open. “She did? How did that go?”

“I didn’t answer it.”

“You didn’t? Finn.”

“What?”

Rory sat up. “I know this family stuff is hard and super complicated, but…your mom and sister are clearly trying to patch things up.”

Finn stiffened. “‘Patch things up’? ‘Clearly’? I basically had to raise myself and now they do fuck all but ask me for things. That’s all they’ve ever done. I’m only useful to them when I’m…useful. You have no idea what it was like growing up with them.”

Rory paused. “You’re right, I don’t know.”

Finn slung an arm around Rory and pulled them up against his side. They settled back against the couch, feet on the coffee table.

“You could tell me, though, if you want,” Rory said, sliding a big toe along Finn’s ankle.

Finn puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath. “Oh yeah? Let’s see… You want to hear how I mowed lawns all summer when I was thirteen so I could buy a bike, and my mom stole my cash so she could take a trip with some shitty boyfriend? Not that she ever took me on any trips. Or how about when I was in college, she kept asking for one of my paintings, and I thought for a few fucking seconds she liked my work—she was maybe even fucking proud of me—but then she tried to sell it online the very next day?”

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Rory rubbed Finn’s arm. “Did she, though?”

“Did she what?”

“Sell it?”

“No. I went onto her computer and deleted the listing. Never gave her a painting again. And she didn’t even feel bad about it.”

“Hmm.” Rory was silent, continuing to slide a hand up and down Finn’s arm. “She thought it was good enough to sell, at least.”

“No, she didn’t. She said people would pay lots of money for, and I’m quoting, ‘bullshit art.’”

“Oh, Finn.”

Finn snorted. “She was wrong anyway.”

“What do you mean? I’d pay for your art. Lots of people would.”

“I told you, I tried. It didn’t work out. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Aw, come on,” Rory said, teasingly. “That’s what Thanksgiving is for, isn’t it? Reliving family trauma?”

“Trauma? Like spilled cranberry sauce and elderly relatives who say inappropriate things?”

Rory’s hand stilled. “No, I—That’s not what I meant.”

Finn regretted his words before he even finished speaking then. “I know… I didn’t mean to make light of—”

“It’s okay.” Rory curled up against Finn. “How aboutGodstrike?”

“Let’s just go to bed,” Finn said, taking a deep breath of Rory’s scent and willing the tightness in his chest to loosen. “I’m tired.”

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