Page 165 of Haze

Keeping the beer in my hand, I press the bottle to my lips. The hoppy taste isn’t my favorite, but it’s the principle.

He sits in the other chair and prays over his food. I sit quietly while he finishes. Once he’s done, I pick up my fork, playing with the top of what looks like a pancake with beef broth.

“Boxty. Potato pancake. I make them savory,” he explains.

I take a bite, and now I understand what Thalia meant when she said Cade was sexier when she found out he could cook. Okay. So maybe I already knew he could cook. I mean, the food he made for me during my heat was some of the best things to ever go in my mouth. But it’s a well-known fact that everything hits differently during your heat. Things taste better, they sound better. It’s rose-colored glasses on all accounts to mask the pain of the cramps.

Sitting here though, I savor every bite. Finn can cook. Like really cook. His caring for me has remained consistent. He’s never given in or even made it seem like I’ve asked for too much. He might not have always cooked for me but I’ve always been fed. Everything he’s done has been consistent. Even after he found out my flaw, he’s been nothing—

“I’m sorry, Kathleen,” Finn says solemnly. “I should have told you before I put in the challenge.”

Yeah. That’s why I’m mad.

An apology wasn’t what I expected. It’s disarming, and I lean back in my chair watching him. When I look at Finn, he’s hanging his head and pushing a fork full of food around his plate. It’s actual shame, and it decommissions my anger.

“I knew you would be mad, and that wasn’t an excuse to leave you in the dark about something that affects you.” Finn raises his eyes to meet mine. “I will do better.”

Finn’s gaze is an intense sadness that seeps into my bones. No one has ever taken responsibility like this. Cade keeps me in the dark all the time. Deacon is the dark, a black hole of lost information. Neither of them has ever really tried.

My wolf squirms. He’s trying to do the right thing. Now would be a good time to listen.

I let my wolf yield to him as emotions swirl in my chest.

Nodding, I close my eyes and look away. If I don’t look at him, maybe it’ll stop me from feeling all the things.

It takes a moment before I can say the words he deserves to hear. “I accept your apology.”

“Can you please explain why me being Second is so detrimental?” Finn’s voice is softer. “I want to understand.”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

“It does matter. You. Matter,” Finn says firmly.

Do I though? I don’t voice the self-loathing remark.

Finn extends his hand across the table, offering to hold mine. “Give me ten seconds of honesty. I’m asking for a chance, Kathleen. It’s all I want.”

Disregarding that he wants to hold my hand, I draw another swig from the beer bottle.

My wolf is begging me to do anything he requests while my pride, self-preservation, or self-reliance wants to tell Finn to fuck off. It’s like being torn down the middle between impossible choices. How much more of my life do I keep sharing with Finn?

All of it, my wolf answers with frustration, pointing out the obvious.

“Ten seconds. It’s three sentences. If you talk slower, it’s less.” Finn tries to sell the request.

“Fine.” I exaggerate a big sigh, putting my fork down.

“Ready?” He makes a show of looking at his watch.

I nod, and he takes a beat. “Go.”

“It’s the last place I had left that was mine. You were friends with Cade. But I had a seat at a table that you didn’t. It was the last part of my life you hadn’t found a way to permeate.” I pause, letting the clock run out.

“Two, one.” He reaches his hand across the table and touches mine. “Thank you.”

Waiting for more of an interrogation, I’m pleasantly surprised when Finn pulls his hand back and eats a bit more. I go back to eating my boxty.

Just like Ansel, he doesn’t push or pry. He accepts what I have to say and how I say it without being reactive or getting upset. It’s logical and rational. He lets me have feelings and doesn’t try to overpower them. Why does he have to be so good at this? Fuck.

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