Page 28 of Songbird
After a short debate about whether playing cards with a client could be consideredprofessional, Finn sat down and picked up his hand, and we played in silence for an hour. We played for another hour the next night. When I had a show, we played as soon as we got back to my hotel room. When I didn’t, he was always waiting when I tiptoed out of bed in the dark. He put up a fight every time, and persuading him to play became a game I loved to win.
Finn played every night for as long as I needed until the night my stalker found a way to sneak into my hotel. Made it past security to my room. Knocked on my door. Screamed and lunged and swung his knife when he couldn’t pass Finn to get to me.
After that night, Finn was gone.
I blink to stop my tears from falling and flex my feet under the sheets, focusing on my calf muscles tightening and releasing. I can’t close my eyes because it’ll make the memories bigger, so I stare at the ceiling and count my breaths. In for four. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Over and over, waiting for my heart rate to ease, my throat to open, and the panic to recede. Only tonight, it doesn’t.
I curl into my pillow, letting the tears fall silently at first. There’s something cathartic about the feel of them on my cheeks, trailing along my nose, dripping onto the sheets, andsoon I can’t help the small sobs that catch in my throat or the trembling in my body. It’s been years since I’ve cried like this, and now I’ve done it twice in three days. I was never comfortable being vulnerable around Chip. I knew on some level I was safest when I was small and silent, not falling apart and practically begging for someone to help put me back together. He got off on my fragility, and that scared me.
“Hey,” Finn says, his voice soft and careful in the darkness. “Are you all right?”
I didn’t even hear him climb the ladder over my weeping, which means I must have been louder than I realized. I sit up, sniffling into the baggy sleeve of Finn’s flannel shirt. I borrowed another one from his closet even though there are pajamas among the things Violet brought me. It’s soft and big and smells like him, and he hasn’t asked me not to wear it, so I have to believe he’s okay with it.
TheI’m fineis on the tip of my tongue, but then I lift my head and see his formidable frame at the end of the bed, moonlight limning his beautiful body in a silver glow and my grandmother’s deck of cards almost hidden in his hand. All I want is for him to take me in his arms the way he did my first day here. I want to be held while I cry and not worry that the person comforting me will hold my weakness against me someday.
I shake my head as a fresh wave of tears breaks over me. “No,” I blubber. “I’m not.”
He hesitates, his body weight shifting toward me almost imperceptibly, and I move the pillows to make it clear there’s a space for him beside me. Still, he hesitates, brow creasing as his hand coasts through his hair.
“Just hold me for a few minutes,” I say between disjointed inhales. “The way you did before. Please?”
Finn’s shoulders rise and fall with a deep, defeated breath before he crawls onto the mattress beside me and pulls me downagainst his chest. The warmth of his skin and the protection of his arms are everything, and I come apart against him, crying until I’ve got no tears left to cry.
Soon my wails fade into whimpers, and then silence. I don’t remember how we got here, but Finn is stroking my hair away from my hot, damp face, and I’ve wriggled so close that the covers are twisted between us. My legs are looped around his, and every inch of my body is pressed hard against him. My hands are tucked under my chin, Finn rests his head atop mine, and I focus on the steady rhythm of his heart beneath my cheek to restore my own breathing to something more regular. Gram’s cards are on the nightstand.
Neither of us moves, even when I’m no longer crying, and I don’t want this to end.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“Talk?” he echoes.
One of us has to point out it’s hardly professional for the two of us to be in bed together, but it’s not going to be me. I prepare for him to say no, but to my relief, Finn relaxes beneath me and then sticks his other hand behind his head. His pose is effortlessly sexy, displaying the hard lines of his upper arms and chest and abdomen, body art flexing with his every breath. I glance down to where his legs are crossed at the ankle, his body a shaded figure of sexy ridges and valleys and ink. I try not to stare at the bulge in his underwear, but my eyes return to it over and over.
“Yeah,” I say, breathless for reasons other than my recent breakdown. “Talk.”
“Sure.”
He waits for me to go on, but it takes me a moment to find the right place to start. Finally, I settle on a question that’s always interested me. “Did you always want to join the military?”
His fingers grow still in my hair before he begins stroking again. “No.”
It’s not what I’m expecting, and the little glimpse into his head makes me want more. “So what did you want to be when you grew up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Really?” I ask. “You don’t know?”
I shift my feet to try and cover them with the tangled covers, and Finn sits up a little to rearrange them over the lower half of our bodies before he returns to his position, scooping me close to him again.
“I…” Finn’s tone drops, like he’s thinking about the answer. “I didn’t know at the time.”
“What were you like as a kid? What were your favorite subjects at school?”
I glance up in time to see Finn’s amused smile, small and subtle to match the guarded warmth in his eyes. “Rosie. I don’t want to talk about me.”
“Why not?”
“Because my life isn’t very interesting.”
