Chapter Twelve

Finn

Now

It had been ages since he’d slept in a real house, in a real bed. And even though the sheets were now rumpled and carried the faint smell of sweat and sickness, it beat his moldy old sleeping bag any day of the week. Shit, compared to sleeping on a freezing cold cargo train between God-knows-where and the end-of-the-earth, this felt like the fucking Hilton. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt somewhat clean and rested. Since he’d felt safe. Of course, there’d been places over the years where he’d stayed just a little while longer than he’d initially intended. Especially in those remote places where people usually didn’t ask too many questions, afraid that you would perhaps ask some back in return. Where the stone faces and the wary eyes told their own story of loss, neglect, or worse. Much worse.

Like that time in Alaska. He’d spent a few months in a dismal town called Hooper’s Bay. A large portion of the town had been wiped out during a major fire in 2006 and the air was still heavy with a collective sense of resignation. Maybe that’s why Finn had felt compelled to stay just a little longer. He’d gotten a job helping on a boat by just showing up one day when another crew member hadn’t. It took more than one nameless face being replaced by another overnight to get a rise out of anyone. That was the name of the game, apparently. He knew fuck all about fishing, but no one seemed to care. No one asked about fancy papers like ID or past references. The less you shared about yourself, the better. To the rest of the crew, he was just another ghost passing through, blowing into town one day, gone the next, leaving only a boot imprint behind in the snow until a new blizzard blasted through town, erasing everything.

Sure, there was that summer in Montana where he’d worked on a farm. That elderly couple had been nice, almost treating him like one of their own. In small glimpses that summer, he’d felt like a real person again. Like someone’s son or brother. Because he had been that at one point, hadn’t he? Someone’s son and someone’s brother. And no matter how many years he kept running from that feeling—that feeling of belonging somewhere—it seemed to be imprinted on his very soul because it wouldn’t go away. So, he kept running. As long as he remembered, he kept on running and didn’t allow himself to rest. At least not for long. When people started asking about the stuff he’d spent years trying to bury deep inside, it was Finn’s cue to move on.

He’d almost succeeded that one time. In forgetting. That one night under the stars in the Sonoran Desert. The place had been so fucking vast and deserted that it had felt like a different planet entirely. After emptying a bottle of the most horrid moonshine known to man and one hour of screaming Jeff Buckley songs out into the darkness, he’d collapsed under the stars. It was the first—and last time—he’d allowed himself to cry. From a small, wounded whimper at first, he’d ended up howling at the sky, the odd coyote accompanying him in his requiem over his messed-up waste of a life. It had been his thirtieth birthday, and he was completely alone. It had occurred to him that if he died right now, this very minute, no one would ever know what had happened to him. To Finn Kennedy, son of Ellis and Anna Kennedy and brother of Cara Kennedy. ER nurse at the PeaceHealth Sacred Heart and never without a hot date come Saturday night. Maybe someday, some tourist would find his sun-bleached bones in disarray and call the state trooper and they would pull his dental records. Maybe not.

He still remembered, though. Maybe because it had felt so fucking real. Being part of a family. Being loved. So real. So real. So real, like Jeff reminisced. He still remembered the mouthwatering smell of his mom’s pancakes on a Sunday morning and his dad’s deep humming along to Old Love behind his Sunday paper. He still remembered fighting Cara over that last pancake, her mischievous blue eyes beaming back at him. So confident, his sister, so fucking confident that Finn would always—at the last minute—pretend that she was faster. No way was she faster than him. But she was Cara, his sister, the beloved one, and in no version of the universe would he ever not let her have the last pancake. Because the smile that she rewarded him with could outshine the sun even on the brightest of days.

So, as soon as he remembered, he moved on. That had been the plan, at least. But even the best of plans had flaws—weak spots—and now, eight years later, he was just so fucking tired of running. If he wasn’t such a spineless, gutless excuse of a person, he would’ve done like Jeff ages ago, walking out into a river, never to emerge again. But he was, wasn’t he? Gutless . That’s why he was even running in the first place, wasn’t it? Because he was such a coward. Because he—

“One bowl of steamin’ hot chicken soup comin’ up. And plenty more where it’s comin’ from.” Balancing a tray in his hands, Hank smiled at him, a hint of wariness in his hazel eyes. Then, a dark shadow blew past him and landed, without one shred of elegance, face-first on the bed. It only took the pup a split second to recover before he was all over Finn, a long, coarse tongue connecting with his chin and left cheek.

“For Pete’s sake, Louis,” Hank boomed as he scrambled to place the tray on the nightstand. “Give the guy a chance to wake up before ya gobble him up!” Louis immediately obeyed and sat back on his hind legs, thick tail waving all over the place, a love-drunk look on his face. Face. Did dogs even have faces? “Sorry about that.” Hank shifted on his feet, a gentle smile peeking through his bushy gray beard. “What he lacks in manners, he makes up for in enthusiasm,” he shrugged, ruffling a large hand through the pup’s ink-black fur, rewarding him with a premature good boy. In a flash, Louis was all over Finn again, straddling him and administering sloppy doggy kisses everywhere he could reach. Finn couldn’t have stopped the giggle from leaving his mouth, even if he’d wanted to. The dog was just too adorable, and it’d been so long since he’d been the recipient of any kind of touch or attention. So very long.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Louis?” Finn cooed, ruffling the dog’s silky soft ears, burying his nose against his neck, breathing in the smell of animal, woods, and snow. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” He murmured, eyes squeezed tight, the smell of home-cooked chicken soup intermingling with the smell of wet dog.

“You’re fond of animals, I see,” Hank spoke as he sat down on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly, the scent of smoke and something woodsy wafting toward him. Finn pulled away from the pup, blowing raspberries at a few stray dog hairs caught on his lips.

“Yeah,” he smiled, brushing at his mouth with the back of his uninjured hand. “Yeah, I love dogs. Always wanted one.”

“Yeah, well, I’d advise you not to get the likes of this one.” Louis immediately tilted his head at Hank as if he knew this one was directed at him. “Unless, of course, you’re into the needy, clingy types.” As soon as the words had left the older guy’s lips, a deep crimson blush spread underneath his beard.

“I don’t know. I think he’s pretty adorable, even if in a clingy, needy kinda way,” Finn murmured as he continued to stroke the pup absentmindedly until his stomach produced an angry growl. The smell of home-cooked food had finally caught up with his body, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a few days.

“Your soup’s getting cold,” Hank nodded at the still-steaming bowl of broth. “I threw in some dumplings, too. Homemade, of course. Vern makes a mean dumpling, that’s for sure. More where it’s comin’ from…” he trailed off, the blush now fading into a pale pink. “Oh, and…” Hank reached for his chest pocket, pulling out Finn’s black-framed glasses, and handing them to him. “Before I forget.”

“Thank you. I’ve been missing these.” Unfolding the glasses, he inspected the lenses, but they were sparkling.

“Yeah, I… uhm… I cleaned them for ya.” Hank cleared his throat. Nodding, Finn put on the glasses, seeing the world clearly for the first time today.

“Huh.” Hank’s face transformed before him, little details he hadn’t noticed before, manifesting before him. Different shades of gray intermingled with the deep brown in his beard and hair. That his eyes were actually more golden than hazel. Or perhaps it was just the light. He'd known Hank for all of fifteen minutes, so it was hard to tell. Looking over at the tray, his stomach let out another deep growl that, in return, pulled a low chuckle from the other man.

“It smells amazing. Thank you, Hank.” Scooting back against the headboard, Finn pulled the sheet over his borrowed pants and Hank placed the tray mindfully on his thighs. It had been an odd fit, Hank’s pajama pants. Way too loose at the waist and too short in the legs. But who cared anyway? It wasn’t like he was walking down a runway anytime soon. They were clean and smelled of spring flowers, sunshine, and hope. The T-shirt, too, the threadbare green cotton soft against his heated skin, a pale logo on the left side of the chest. Hank’s Auto Repair. The individual letters were worn, but he could still make them out.

Reaching for the spoon, Finn felt two sets of eyes on him—one expectant, another hungry. Louis acted like he hadn’t been fed in days, a low whimper escaping him along with a huge dollop of drool, when Finn moaned around the first spoonful of hot goodness.

“Well, I guess we’ll better leave ya to it, then,” Hank spoke, his voice gruff. “Louis. C’mon, boy,” he patted his thigh, the dog doing a poor job at pretending to be struck by acute deafness.

“No, it’s okay,” Finn rushed out. “Please stay. It’s been a while since I’ve had company eating.” Shit, why did he say that? Stupid. “Unless I mean… I don’t want to keep you. You probably have other stuff to do other than playing nurse.” Shit, now Finn was the one turning crimson if he were to judge by the hot sensation spreading across his face.

“Well, if you’re sure…” Hank threw a glance at the pup, who was still doing a masterful job at creating a river of drool on the sheets. “Besides, it’s Sunday. My shop’s closed on Sundays unless there’s an accident. Which is a rare occurrence this time of year. In the summer, on the other hand. You know, all them tourists breezing through on unfamiliar roads…” He trailed off, brushing at the crinkled sheets, his eyes flickering between the window and the bed.

“I am,” Finn murmured around another spoonful of soup. “Sure, that is.” And he realized the words were true. He couldn’t explain why he suddenly craved Hank’s company when he usually shied away from it. There was just something about the stranger’s quiet and careful demeanor that made him feel safe and weirdly at home. Home. Swallowing, he added, “I’d love some company.” Hank nodded as he rose from the bed and went across the room to a rocking chair in the corner.

“It’s good, right?” Hank hummed as he sat down in the chair with a small wince, starting to rock the chair back and forth in slow motion. Finn hadn’t realized that he was slurping and moaning with each mouthful. He hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks, money tight since he wasn’t able to take on odd jobs. He’d hurt his hand doing random construction in Chadron. Without insurance, he’d tended to the cut as best as he could, and for a few days, the wound had seemed just fine. Then, the fever had hit him like a truck one night, and when the skin around the cut had grown a flaming, angry red, he’d known it was bad. That was the only reason he’d broken into the veterinary clinic in the first place. Out of sheer desperation. He wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t. But it had gotten harder and harder to be an idealist with a high fever burning you up from the inside and the wound hurting like a motherfucker.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes meeting Hank’s across the room. “From the local diner, is it?” Images of his previous scavenger hunt for food in the trash behind the diner flashed through him. Even the leftovers in carefully wrapped plastic bags had been better than his usual meals, consisting of a random truck stop’s finest. Day-old hot dogs or a dry Danish. A handful of Twinkies washed down with a bland combination of coffee and an overly sweet creamer.

“Yep. Tilly’s. Well, it’s her husband, Vernon, who does the cooking, but it’s Tilly’s place. Well, I guess you could say that it’s a family place…” Hank trailed off. Family. The word echoed through Finn’s chest, a dull pain thudding along with his heartbeat.

“Do you… do you live here alone?”

“Yep. Ever since my partner died a few years back,” Hank blinked, his thick fingers playing with a loose thread on his bottle-green sweater.

“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry,” Finn whispered, his free hand automatically reaching for the pup. It hadn’t occurred to him that Hank had lived here with anyone. The other guy just seemed like one of those recluse loners, living out in the wilderness. But of course, Hank could’ve had a partner. Why wouldn’t he? With the little Finn already knew of the guy, he seemed like quite the rural American catch: friendly, clever, and pretty hot in a rough kinda way, too.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Hank shrugged, his eyes telling a different story. He didn’t linger on the topic, and Finn continued to devour the soup until warmth and fatigue took over his body, the broth settling like a warm liquid ball in his stomach. When his eyes started drooping, Hank rose from the chair and removed the tray, placing it at the bottom of the bed. Then he felt the edge of cool glass against his lips, and he greedily gulped down a large mouthful of water.

“One more,” Hank coaxed, and Finn obeyed, taking another drink of water, before he leaned back against the pillow. “Good boy.” Good boy, Finn. “You sleep now,” Hank spoke, his voice sounding miles away, as he pulled the sheet up around Finn’s shoulders, tucking him in. “You sleep and then later, you can have more.” Hank carefully removed his glasses, and Finn vaguely remembered mumbling something unintelligible while the pup settled beside him, and the door closed quietly behind Hank. Just before his eyelids grew heavy and sleep started pulling at him, he registered something sounding like gravel crunching under tires and muffled voices from the outside. Then he was out.