Page 70 of Hearts Adrift
I ought to exercise my self-control. After all, aren’t my impulses the very thing that, just a few weeks ago, upended so many people’s lives with one fell fucking swoop?
So instead of making quick work of this man’s fine, plush lips, I take his hand into mine. He appears pleasantly surprised by the act, even if he was likely hoping I’d kiss him, and then the two of us are off, crossing the street like a normal couple.
A normal couple pretending to be other people.
As long as I’m next to this guy, I don’t give a fuck what my role is.
When we round the final corner, the Hopewell house looms like a stage I’m not ready to step on. Indeed, there’s nocrowd or news van lingering, which is especially good news—and convenient—as Finn and I come around the front of his property, up the side steps, and toward the back door of the porch.
That’s precisely when we let go of each other’s hands.
“Probably for the best,” he tells me. “Heather is going to be on fire. No telling what my dad will be like.”
“Better to not poke the fire,” I say, following his logic.
“Orstokethe bear,” he agrees, playing back with me.
Then after a breath, he opens the door.
Inside, it’s surprisingly calm. Unsettlingly calm. From deeper within the house, the soft murmur of conversation is heard. Brooke and her father, with her laptop out on a table by the window in the living room. Heather, standing by the couch behind them, her arms crossed tightly, with a whole untouched bagel pinched between her fingers, forgotten.
Upon us approaching, the three of them turn our way and fall silent—so silent, I swear I can hear our pulses.
I’m fully prepared to bear Heather’s wrath and to face the music of Finn’s father, who likely does not have a very high impression of me either. Even their cats—Arial and Roman—are lined up by the couch with their wary eyes on me, like they too are ready to chew me down to size.
Brooke is the first to stir, bursting from her chair to put her arms around Finn. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”
“Me too,” says Finn, hugging her back. Then he faces the rest of the house. “Dad. Heather. I guess he needs … no introduction … but this is—”
“The person responsible for singlehandedly destroying our family name?” Heather shakes her head and sucks her teeth. “What a pleasure. Forgive me if I’m not hospitable.”
“Heather,” gripes Brooke over her shoulder at her.
“What?” returns Heather with a shrug, then takes a bite ofher bagel and grimaces. “Fucking stale.”
“No shit, you’ve been holding that thing for an hour.”
Heather glares back. “Because I’ve been waiting on ourbrotherto return from imminentdangerthat thismanput him in—and you know how my IBS flares up when I eat anything on a flip-floppin’ stomach!”
“Now, now,” says Finn’s father calmly, sitting on the arm of the couch. He’s dressed in a mishmash of clashing, bright patterns and colors with a green bucket hat slapped atop his head. I see where Finn gets his handsome yet boyish allure from. “Mr. River, welcome to our home.” His face shifts. “Though, as I’ve come to learn, you’ve already been here. Even stayed here for a little bit.” He chuckles. “Bungalow wasn’t quite to your liking, I take it? … Came with an unexpectedcrowdoutside the window, I hear?”
Heather sneers as she tosses her bagel aside. “Really, Dad? You never miss a chance for an ill-timedjoke.”
“No one should take life too seriously, I think.” Finn’s dad appears proud of himself, though I can see the creases of tension in his face, betraying him. He’s pensive and sad in his eyes, a stark contrast to his otherwise cheery outfit. I watch him fight that away as he nods to me. “It’s nice to finally meet you in the flesh.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hopewell,” I respond with a nod.
“Marty,” he insists.
I hate that this is my first—and likely last—impression I get to make on Finn’s father. Loathe it, in fact. Were this another lifetime, I would have greeted him before taking Finn out on our first date. I can be old-school like that. I always imagined it that way, the romantic I can be at heart.
I suppose I’ll have to settle for being the falling star who sucked off his son’s nipples on the front page of every newspaper. “Marty,” I return with a smile.
“Of course,” Heather continues, sharp eyes upon Finn, “who’d we end up counting on to save the day? None other thanTheo, the beautiful young man you claim isn’t worth the gum stuck under your shoe.”
“Literally never said that,” mumbles Finn tiredly.
“And speaking of which, I can’t help but notice whoseshoesandoutfityou’re wearing.” She snorts as she eyes her brother up and down. “Theo’s. No surprise to me, of course. That’s what a true man like Theo does for the ones he loves: gives them the clothes off his back.”
