Page 75 of A Hard Fit

“Merry Christmas!” Jonathan said when he saw them. He came over carrying a small plate of charcuterie. “Great sweater.” He winked at Finn.

Rory hugged him, then Finn shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. Love yours, too.”

“Help yourself to a drink,” Jonathan said, pointing his plate at the bar. “There’s eggnog and mulled cider in the kitchen, too. Make sure you have some. You know how your mother gets if no one drinks the cider.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Rory took Finn’s hand and smiled up at him. “Ready?”

Rory’s smile still made his heart flutter. Finn nodded. He could do this. For Rory.

* * * *

Two hours later, Finn’s head was spinning. He’d had two glasses of eggnog and one cider, four plates of baking and snacks, met at least twenty people and already forgotten half of their names.

“I need to use the washroom,” he told Rory, desperate for a few moments to himself.

Rory could tell. “There’s one way down at the far end, by the laundry room. It’ll be quieter down there.”

Finn left Rory with their Aunt Miriam and a grateful peck on the cheek.

The chatter and bursts of laughter faded behind him as he found his way down the long hall and into the silent reaches of the far wing. Then he heard a low voice from the laundry room. Peeking around the corner, Jackson’s frame came into view.

“I don’t care what Jonathan told you,” Jackson said, hushed but angry. “I’mfucking telling you it’s not good enough. This better be handled by tomorrow or don’t bother coming to work tomorrow.” Jackson hung up his phone with a huff. Finn should have ducked past the door into the washroom before Jackson could see him, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Jackson raised his eyebrows but didn’t seem all that surprised to find Finn watching him. “Secretaries, am I right?” He stuffed his phone in his pocket with a smirk and stepped closer, the smell of beer wafting off him. “So. Finn. I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

Finn blinked. Not what he was expecting. “Oh?”

“Yeah, it was rude of me to talk about money. I know, Amy’s always giving me shit about it.”

“Well, thanks.”

Jackon leaned against the doorway and tilted his head. “Doesn’t change anything, though, does it?”

A stone dropped in Finn’s stomach. “What do you mean?”

A reptilian smile crept over Jackson’s face. “It doesn't change the fact that Rory comes from money, and you don’t.” His gaze flicked to Finn’s sweater, the beautiful gift from Luka. “My dad’s sweater probably cost a grand. But it’s cute that you tried.”

With his heart thudding, Finn’s tongue turned to dust while Jackson watched him with glittering eyes. Suddenly, Finn was seven again, going to school in the snow in old running shoes with holes in the bottom and nothing but crackers in his lunch kit. He turned and made a break for the bathroom, face burning with humiliation. He slammed the door behind him and gripped the sides of the counter, trying to take deep breaths to quell the rising nausea.Did I just…run away from that man? Jesus, Finn.

A quiet knock at the door a minute later interrupted his panic. “Finn? Finn, are you okay? It’s Griffin.”

“I’m fine,” Finn rasped.

“You sure?”

Finn studied his reflection.Get it together, Owens. It’s fucking Christmas in Rory’s house.“One minute.” He splashed water on his face, patted it dry with one of the thick rolled up hand towels and opened the door for Griffin.

“Hey.” Griffin’s face was a picture of concern. He slipped in and closed the door behind him. “Jackson came out of the hall like the old cat that ate the fucking canary. What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.” Finn tossed the towel into the waiting basket.

Griffin threw his hands out. “Fuck Jackson, all right? That guy is a dick.”

Finn huffed a ghost of a laugh. “That’s what I tried to tell Rory, but they disagreed.”

Griffin snorted, leaning against the sink. “Rory is too fucking nice for their own good. Jackson used to put my underwear in the freezer and fart in my face. ‘Dick’ doesn’t even begin to cover it. Come on, what did he say to you?”

Finn shrugged a shoulder. “That I’m not good enough for Rory, basically.” He waved at his shirt. “My sweater is cheap.”

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