Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(80)

I loved her too. And I’d been telling myself to stop for years.

“Mommy,” a little voice yelled in the background.

“I’m in here, Brady,” Poppy yelled back. “Finn, I need to go and get dinner started before Cole gets home.”

“Okay,” I croaked.

“Love you. I’ll call you later. And . . . sorry. I’ve been holding that in for a while.”

“Yeah.” I had whiplash. She disconnected the call, but her words were still echoing through my quiet house.

She was right. On all points. I had no right to hold that night against Molly, not when she wasn’t holding so many of my mistakes against me.

So why was it so hard to forgive? To let it go?

I stood from the chair and went to the windows that lined the far wall of the room. Outside, one of my neighbors was teaching his son how to swing a baseball bat. I’d done the same out there with Max. I’d spent hours playing with my kids on the wrong fucking lawn.

Forgive. That’s all I had to do. I had to forgive Molly for the other man.

I closed my eyes, replaying that night in my head. I thought about her standing on the stairs to the loft, listening to Bridget run her down. She must have been devastated to see me sitting there, on the couch with another woman, not saying a thing.

I imagined her slipping down the stairs, silently retreating to her car. I bet she had fought hard not to cry because she’d been all dressed up and had her makeup done. That first shot probably went down too easy. She probably welcomed that numb feeling.

Because I’d broken her. Not just that night, but all the ones before. I’d abandoned her. I’d wrapped myself in a cocoon called work. I’d let her sit alone with a marriage counselor while I stared at the clock, knowing I was supposed to be at her side.

I’d let her down.

Me.

And in that moment, as I opened my eyes and the boy outside swung his bat too hard, missing the ball, I knew I didn’t need to forgive Molly.

I had already, years ago.

I didn’t want her to suffer or feel guilty for her actions. I wanted her life to be full of joy. Of laughter. I wasn’t harboring this load of resentment.

Molly shouldn’t be begging for my forgiveness. It was the other way around.

I needed hers.

This was all on me.

Be the man she needs or walk away.

Poppy, bless her soul, was so right. There’d be no more walking away. It was time to fix the mistakes I’d made all those years ago.

And I knew how to start.

I abandoned the window, walking straight down the hallway for my office. I sat in the chair, rifling through a drawer until I found a half-used legal pad. Then I got out a pen.

The first two words of my letter brought a smile to my face and hope to my heart.

Darling Molly





- LETTER -





Darling Molly,





I would be honored if you’d join me for dinner this Saturday night.





Yours,

Finn





Eighteen





Molly





“You guys are going to make yourselves sick.” I rolled my eyes at Jimmy and Randall.

Poppy stood by my side with her arms crossed over her chest. “I am not cleaning up puke. I love you both, but there are lines I will not cross.”

“I’m not going to puke,” Jimmy mumbled. The words were barely audible since his mouth was bulging with food.

Randall just shot us both a glare as he chewed. His mouth was so full, he couldn’t even close his lips all the way.

“Seriously, you are grown men. Seniors. Have some self-respect.” I handed Randall a napkin so he could wipe up the drool on his chin.

The pair didn’t listen to a thing we said. They hadn’t for the last twenty minutes. They just kept shoveling.

The counter was littered with partially empty jars. Chili. Cornbread. Cinnamon rolls. Macaroni and cheese. Apple pie. Chocolate mousse. Banana bread. Why? Because they were having an eating contest.

“If you stop this right now, I’ll name an item on the menu after both of you,” Poppy said. She’d been trying to bribe them since before this disaster had even begun. First, she’d offered to give them an extra dessert—on the house. Then she’d offered two desserts. Normally, sugar incentives were all it took to get these two in line.

But today, they were on a mission to one-up the other. I wasn’t sure exactly what had sparked this particular battle, but I’d overheard some grumblings and the name Nan more than once. Nan was probably a new resident at The Rainbow who’d snagged Jimmy’s and Randall’s attention, and this contest was some manly show to determine who would get to pursue Nan’s affections.

“And to think when I dropped the kids off at school this morning, I thought how nice it would be to spend my day with adults.”

Jimmy snapped his fingers in the air, pointing to his empty jar of chili.

“That is not how we order food in this restaurant,” Poppy snapped.

He sent her a pleading stare, glancing at Randall’s collection of jars. He was winning by one chili and a triple-berry crisp.

“No.” Poppy crossed her arms over her chest.