Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(59)

I need to figure this out. I will figure this out. I promise. I’ll do better. I’ll do better for you and Kali and Max. I love you. You’re the center of my world. Just hold tight for a little bit longer.



Yours,

Finn





Thirteen





Finn





I hung up the phone and dropped my head into my good hand, rubbing my forehead, hoping the headache building would hold off for another hour. I needed to finish up a design for a client, and if this ache turned into the same blinding throb I’d had for the last few days, it would never get done.

Sitting at the dining room table, I focused on the computer screen, willing the throb to go away. My leg was sore. My hips hurt. My neck had a kink in it from only using one arm and stretching at odd angles all day. And I was sick to death of being in this fucking wheelchair.

What I really wanted was a pain pill and a nap. To pass the day in bed while I waited for the kids to get home with Molly. But I didn’t have time for a nap, and as of this morning, I’d stopped taking pain pills. I had enough problems. The last thing I needed was a drug addiction.

They put me in a haze and I didn’t want to be fuzzy while I was here with all of us living under one roof. This living situation was the only good thing to come from the accident.

The rest of my life was in fucking shambles.

I took a deep breath, blocked out the pain, and focused on the one thing that had gotten me through most of the shit times in my life: work.

Alcott was a mess at the moment. Everyone had done their best to keep projects moving while I’d been in the hospital. Bridget and each of the foremen had stepped up. But it hadn’t been enough. I did the work of three designers. Bridget, though she tried, was out of her league. She’d attempted to chew what was on my plate, but it was no more than little nibbles here and there. What we needed to get caught up were bites. Big, stuff-your-mouth, cheeks-bulging bites.

The only part of the business that wasn’t in complete and total disarray was my books.

All employees had been paid. Deposits had been taken to the bank. Bills had been sent and paid.

Because of Molly.

Somehow in the weeks that I’d been in the hospital, the weeks when she’d run out to “do a few things,” she’d actually been at Alcott, making sure my business was churning. She’d stepped in like she’d been there all along.

More efficiently than I ever could too.

She hadn’t said a thing. She had to have been going there when the kids were with my parents. Or maybe at night. I wasn’t sure. Without a word, without expecting any kind of gratitude or praise, Molly had been my savior.

Thanks to her work, I’d been able to focus on the projects that would wrap up the summer and fall rather than digging myself out from under the office work. This design I needed to finish today was the last. After I cranked it out, every project would be officially kicked off, and then we just had to see them through to the end.

For a right-handed guy, working with a full right-arm cast was extremely frustrating. I’d been gritting my teeth for hours, probably the reason for the headache. Using only my left hand, everything took three times longer than normal. But after two hours, I was nearly done.

Then the front door opened.

“Shit,” I cursed quietly. I was so goddamn sick of visitors I could scream.

My parents stopped by daily to fuss over me. If Bridget wasn’t calling me, she was coming over in a frantic blur, rattling off question after question, barely pausing to listen to my answers. And the crews had clearly been assigned shifts. In the two weeks since coming to Molly’s house, I’d figured out the pattern of who would be stopping by “because they were in the neighborhood.”

What I needed was for everyone to leave me the hell alone so I could work.

“Finn?” Poppy’s voice carried down the hallway from the front door.

I relaxed. My sister was the one person whose visits never got on my nerves. “At the table.”

She came through the kitchen and into the dining room with a smile on her face and a paper bag from the restaurant in her hand. “Hi.”

“Please tell me there are cookies or pies or something with sugar in that bag.”

She scrunched up her nose as she set it on the table. “It’s, uh, some kale salad.”

“Fucking kale,” I muttered.

“You know what the doctors said. Leafy greens will help you recover quickly.”

“Once I get out of this chair, I’m never having kale or romaine or spinach or cabbage or goddamn Swiss chard again.”

Poppy laughed. “Please. It’s not that bad.”

“Really? And what did you have for lunch? Was it this delicious kale salad?”

“Okay.” She held up her hands. “Point made.”

She’d probably had some of her macaroni and cheese. The kind with crispy crumbles on the top and loads of gooey cheese that made me want to eat until I was miserable.

“How are you?” she asked, taking the seat next to me.

“Fine.” I slid my laptop out of the way and reached for the bag.

But Poppy grabbed it before me. “I’ll get it.”

“Thanks.” I let her. Since the accident, I’d given up pretending I could do everything for myself.