Ink and Bone(50)

“So where were you?” he asked.

The warmth inside the house made her realize how cold the air had turned outside. The sky seemed moody and threatening. It was too early for snow, wasn’t it? The trees weren’t even bare. She shivered a little as Rainer shut the door behind him.

“I thought we weren’t going to do this,” she said. There was a simmer of anger that she wasn’t sure was about him.

“I’m not hassling you,” he said, stripping off his leather jacket and exposing those thick arms sleeved in tattoos. “I was just wondering.”

Tracking her, being possessive, grilling her on where she’d been and what she’d been doing. Trying to catch her in lies she hadn’t told. Then being cagey about his own activities. Screwing around with any hot girl that showed up at the tattoo parlor where he’d been interning in Seattle. Just thinking about how things were with him made her throat go tight with anxiety. He brought out the worst in Finley. Maybe they brought out the worst in each other.

When your relationship to a man makes you act like someone you don’t want to be, you had better do some soul searching, Amanda had warned.

“Let me see your back,” he said. He followed her into the kitchen. Finley turned around and leaned on the counter. She held up her tee-shirt, felt him peel away the bandage.

“Did you do Neosporin this morning?” he asked.

And yet he was loving, caring, talented, and good. He was a great listener, always willing to help with anything. Need to move your stuff, a ride to the airport, a place to crash—call Rainer. He was hardworking; when he had his mind on something, no one could stop him. Why were people so complicated?

“Yes,” she said. His hands were strong, but his touch always gentle.

“Looks okay,” he said. He pressed the bandage back and pulled her tee-shirt down. “Does it still ache?”

She took the ground coffee from the fridge and filled the pot with water, wondering about that for a second. Then, “How did you know it was aching?”

He smiled and gave a confused shake of his head.

“You texted me this morning,” he said. “That’s why I went to school. I didn’t see your bike, so I came here.”

He looked at his watch, an old analog Timex that belonged to his dad.

“I have to go soon anyway,” he said when she didn’t answer. “My shift starts in an hour.”

Finley still didn’t say anything, puzzling. She didn’t remember texting him. She wouldn’t have. Would she? He snaked an arm around her waist, careful to avoid the new tattoo. She felt his heat, then his lips on hers just gently, chastely. Then she was hugging him, not wanting to let go. Ever. Then she was pushing him away again. Poor Rainer.

No, she thought. I definitely didn’t text him.

She took the phone from her pocket, scrolled through her texts. There it was.

Tat is aching. Can you come take a look at it? It really hurts.

A pouty, childish text fishing for attention from someone she had been trying to push away. Abigail, she thought.

Rainer took the phone from her hand and put it on the table. Then he put his arms around her again. She tried to push back, but he held on, burying his face in her neck, kissing her there, sending tingles all over her body.

“Rainer,” she said. “Let go.”

He must have heard the anger in her voice because he released her right away and stepped back looking—what? Sad, confused, a little embarrassed. She knew that look; she’d seen it many times.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “After last night, and since you texted this morning, I just thought—I’m sorry. Boundaries, right?”

He blew out a breath, crossed his arms in front of his body.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We shouldn’t have. Last night. It was my fault.”

It was her fault; she went to him. And she knew that Abigail couldn’t make her do anything that she didn’t on some level want herself—even if she didn’t remember doing some of those things. A haunting is a relationship, Eloise had told her. You play your part in it.

Finley left the kitchen, and he followed her into the living room, where she sat on the couch. She stared at a picture resting on the end table of her mom, Alfie, and her taken a million years ago when she and her brother were small. She realized with surprise that she missed them a lot, even her mother, who was not just anxious, controlling, and overbearing. She was also loving and generous and good. Complicated. Everything was so complicated. She wanted things she knew were bad for her. She pushed people away, then pulled them close, then pushed them away again. She wanted to explore her gifts, see what she was capable of, and yet she was afraid to know. What was wrong with her? You’re just a kid, her dad had said. You’re not supposed to have all the answers. You’re allowed to change your mind. But she wasn’t a kid, was she? Time to grow up.

“Seriously, Finley. What’s up?” Rainer said. He stood in the doorway, looking helpless.

“I’m—” she started. “I don’t know.”

“Talk it out,” he said.

She told him about how the day had progressed, Jones Cooper, the events at the lake house. He sat on the couch beside her and just listened, keeping his hands to himself like a good friend. He was the only one outside her family that knew about her—the only one she had ever trusted enough to tell. Rainer himself was what Eloise referred to as an “Empath,” someone sensitive, in tune with the frequencies that Agatha, Eloise, Finley, and others (so many others) received with such clarity. They weren’t exactly gifted. They didn’t do “the work” but tended to be in law enforcement, medicine, psychology—anything where intuition and instinct played a role. And there were lots of them, even in tattoo shops in Seattle that let underage kids get ink.