Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(65)

He reaches for the glass of water I’d filled for him and takes a sip. “Yeah, we’ll stay another night.”

No. We won’t. I inch off the bed to the opposite side, searching for my discarded clothes.

“Thank you, sir,” the woman on the other line says.

Finn disconnects. “She’s entirely too peppy to be from Jersey,” he mutters. He downs his water and reaches for the pitcher as I wiggle into my panties and put on my bra.

He finishes another glass while I tug on my jeans. “Hey . . . Where are you going?”

I don’t have to turn around to know he’s frowning. But I don’t answer, pulling my shirt over my head as I struggle to gather my thoughts. This is goodbye. I know it is, and hurts so bad, I can’t even look at him. The mattress scrunches slightly as he crawls along the bed to my side.

He presses his hand against my back, trying to get me to face him when I sit on the edge to pull on my socks.

“Sol, what are you doing?” he asks.

I don’t answer.

“Look, I know I f*cked up, and that you’re probably pissed at me,” he adds.

I shove my foot into one of my boots. “I’m a lot of things right now, Finn,” I tell him truthfully, hating how my impending tears start to find their way into my voice.

He throws his legs over the side of the bed, stroking my cheek to draw my attention. I avert my face in the opposite direction and step into my last boot. I can’t find the words I need to say, my thoughts so jumbled I can’t think straight. I only know I have to leave. All I need is my coat, my purse, and I’m gone.

Yet when I charge forward, he rushes past me, blocking my way. “Don’t go,” he says, his voice hard. He steps in front of me when I try edging around him, his hands clutching mine and keeping me in place. And still I can’t bear to look at him.

He squeezes my hands, like he always does when he wants to reassure me, or comfort me, or just show me he’s missed me. This time, I don’t squeeze back. Instead my hands lie limp in his.

“I wasn’t going to f*ck those girls, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, his voice deepening.

I lift my chin and meet his face. “You could have fooled me.”

He releases his hold, frowning as if he’s hurt, insulted, and maybe even angry. But whatever he’s feeling can’t compare to the misery I feel. “Did you know that was me last night?” I ask. He squares his jaw, clenching it tight. “Or did you figure it out when you woke up on top of me this morning?” I cross my arms and shake my head. “I could have been either one of those girls, Finn, or both―”

“That’s not true,” he snaps, this time yelling. “I was drunk, not f*cking insane. Don’t you get it? I would never do that to you.”

“How do you know?” I ask, my voice growing louder. “You were completely drunk.”

Every angle in his face sharpens, but he doesn’t deny it. “I still knew I shouldn’t leave with them. Just like I knew it was you I was touching―” I drop my arms as he edges closer, his chest pressing against mine as he hovers over me and closes the small space between us. “―Touching you like I’ve wanted to this whole time we’ve been apart.”

I want to believe him, but now isn’t the time. Nor is it the time to hold him like I want to, despite how his body begs for my hands.

Finn’s short nails graze along my upper arms. “You’ve been pushing us apart, Sol,” he tells me, his voice quieting. “You. That hasn’t stopped me from wanting you or staying committed.”

My stare trails from his chest to his eyes. “Can I ask you something?” I don’t wait for his response. “Why did you get drunk last night?”

His hands drop away, the abrupt disconnect from our bodies almost painful. “I . . . haven’t been feeling right lately,” he answers.

“Because of what happened with my mother?” Again, I don’t wait for him to answer. I already know the truth by the way he turns his head. “You wanted to forget, didn’t you? You wanted to stop feeling what you have since you found her.”

He whips his head back, his features flashing with surprise. “Come on, Finn. Don’t you think I know what finding my mother did to you, what it must have felt like watching her smile like she couldn’t wait to die? I know it messed you up. I know it was traumatic. Just like I know it was the last thing you needed to see.”

I don’t care about my spilling tears, but Finn does. He lifts his hands to cup my cheeks. “Baby,” he says.

“I know what that did to you,” I repeat. “I know how it sent you tumbling backwards from all your progress in therapy. I know because of how I found you, and how much you must have drank to forget.”

My voice is raised, my words and the hurt behind them slicing at my vocal chords. “You’re angry because you think I don’t trust you. But even though I think you might have left with those women, I couldn’t blame you if you had.”

“What?”

I pull away from him, digging my fingers through my hair. “I did this to you, Finn. You said it yourself, I’ve been pushing you away.”

“You didn’t push me into being with them, if that’s what you were thinking. I was at the bar, when I shouldn’t have been. I didn’t have to drink. That was on me, my decision, my mistake―”