Page 84 of Win You Over
“I’m sorry about your knife. I don’t know what happened to it.” My head is on Holden’s stomach, his hand carding through my hair as we lie on my bed, my room lit only by the soft glow of my lamp.
“I’m not worried about it,” he replies. I try to make out the expression in his voice. If he’s telling me the truth or if the loss is upsetting him.
“You’re sure?”
He puts two fingers under my chin and tips my face until I’m looking up at him.
“I’m sure. I don’t need a comfort knife when I have a comfort Remington.” His smile is bright, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“A comfort Remington? There’s a ring to that. Careful, baby. Everyone is going to want one.”
Holden laughs, throwing his head back.
“Never change, Remington Langford.”
I kiss his stomach, fluttering my tongue over his belly button, and he wriggles under the action. His ticklish spots are my favourite. Skating a hand over his chest and to his side, I dig my fingers into his ribs, making him shriek and squirm, his fingers tightening in my hair as he tries to pull me off of him.
“Baby, when will you learn? That is not a deterrent.” I shuffle up the bed and kiss along his jaw, up to his ear, and then rest my head on the pillow next to him.
We face each other, both of us quiet until Holden speaks. His words make my shoulders tense, the urge to tell him to drop it on the tip of my tongue.
“I think you should forgive him.”
I pull back and he makes a grab for my shoulder.
“Hear me out,” Holden continues. “You’ve known him for sixteen years. That’s a shit long time to let it end like this.” I open my mouth to protest and he shuts me up by placing his palm over my lips.
“I’m not saying you have to invite him back into your life. Just talk to him. Get his side of the story.”
Holden removes his hand.
“Why would you want me to forgive him, after what he did to you? To us? Why do you think he deserves that?”
He shakes his head against the pillow.
“Forgiveness is not for him. It’s for you.”
I mull over his words, contemplating how freeing it would be to let go of this hurt and betrayal I’m drowning in. And I know he’s right. This grudge I’m holding against Finn isn’t good for me. It’s heavy and crushing and I want it gone. Forgiving himdoesn’t mean he’s my friend, it’s a chance for us to both move on in our separate directions.
“You’re too kind for your own good.”
I press up onto my elbow and lean over him, finding a marker pen next to the bed.
“Your tattoos have faded,” I say around the pen lid, using my teeth to pull it off.
Then I press the marker to his skin and leave my marks all over him, pausing only to suck purple lovebites into the flesh on his hips.
Finn’s house stands in the centre of a cul-de-sac, bracketed on either side by a wide lawn and then two equally enormous mansions. Lifting my hand, I knock on the imposing black door. The key, which I’ve had since we were twelve, sits heavily in my palm.
Stepping back, I wait. Not long after, there’s movement behind the glass panel that runs the length of the door. When Finn swings it open, my breath catches in my throat.
He looks bad. His left eye is swollen shut, and there’s a gash down his arm that’s raised and red, with a dark mottled purple around the edges.
“Rem,” he says, his eyes not meeting mine. “What are you doing here?”
I swallow thickly, my hands itching to reach out for him. I’ve seen this before. I’ve comforted him through this so many times in the past. But I can’t do that anymore.
Steeling myself, I say, “I need answers, Finnegan.”
