Chapter Fourteen

Finn

Now

Or you could stay. The words rang through the small kitchen, or they seemed to—at least to Finn, as loud as thunder tearing through the night. At first, he assumed that he’d misheard, but when Hank had repeated them, looking straight at him, he’d understood their full meaning. You. Could. Stay. Not even after that summer in Montana had anyone asked him to stay when the days grew shorter and there was an extra bite in the morning air. Eight years on the road, and Hank was the first person to ask him to stick around.

“I think we better get going.” Henry’s gaze flickered between him and Hank, his elbow poking at his fiancé. Hank seemed to have taken over Finn’s newfound habit of playing with the tablecloth, a deep indecipherable frown lingering between his bushy brows.

“Yep.” Colton nodded, getting up, towering over Finn like a prehistoric giant. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to unpack.”

“And the seedlings,” Henry added. “We need to check on the seedlings. C’mon, Louis. C’mon, boy.” Once again, the table shifted beneath them, the pup bulldozing his way through Finn’s legs to get to his master. Strange how the pup had clung to him all day. He knew animals had a unique sensitivity about them, being able to tell things that humans couldn’t. Perhaps Louis could sense Finn’s unease, the beast understanding something that man couldn’t; that Finn—as ironic as it was because he’d been alone for eight years—hated to be alone. It reminded him that there’d been a time when nobody had wanted him. Fuck, if it weren’t for the state check every month, Aunt Molly would probably just have dropped him off outside a dog pound. If it hadn’t been for Mom and Dad… fuck, don’t go there, Finn. Don’t you fucking go there.

He hadn’t noticed that he had his eyes squeezed tight, but when he opened them, he realized the kitchen was empty. Faint murmuring came from the outside, from the driveway. Getting up, he stretched his weary limbs, tiredness catching up with him. Reaching for his own cup, then Hank’s, he moved to the counter, placing them in the sink. He quickly rinsed them out, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel, before looking out into the driveway. The truck was gone now, the pale mid-afternoon sun struggling to break through a layer of heavy late-autumn clouds.

“There’ll be snow soon,” a quiet voice sounded behind him, and seconds later he was enveloped in the scent of crisp country air, wood, and man. “Are you hungry?” He heard soft steps padding on the wooden floor next to him as Hank headed for the fridge. At first, he’d pegged Hank as taller, when he was still in bed, but now that they were both standing, he seemed to be around Finn’s own 6’2”, maybe a little taller.

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, still gazing out at the opposite end of the driveway where the forest started. “Is it a large forest?” he asked.

“Yeah, they’re pretty big.” Hank came to stand next to him, placing a carton of eggs and a generous piece of bacon on the counter. “It’s mostly woods and grasslands around here. We’re not too far from South Dakota, either. A lot of indigenous reservations.”

“It’s beautiful. This place, Hank.”

“I don’t know. It is what it is, I guess. Never been to a lot of places. Probably a thousand places just like this. Same woods, same birds, same sky. Same folks.” He hesitated for a moment while he unwrapped the chunk of bacon. Opening a cupboard, he pulled out a pan and inspected it closely, before placing it on the stove. Turning towards Finn, he exhaled. “It’s just home, I guess.” Home. Such a strange concept when you thought about it. When you were there, surrounded by the physical frames, the people, the… stuff, it was something you could see, touch, feel. But once you left, it morphed into a mere abstract. An idea. A memory. Something vague and elusive just beyond your grasp.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Hank, but I can’t stay.” His tongue fought him on every word, his sight suddenly blurry, the clouds melting before him like gray nuances of aquarelle.

“Why not?” Hank grabbed a large knife from a block of wood and meticulously started slicing the bacon into generous slices. “Are ya headin’ somewhere?”

“No… I… Look, you won’t want someone like me around,” Finn murmured, his gaze fixed on the slicing motion, the knife securely grasped in Hank’s large hand. The skin was rough-looking, still quite tanned, coarse hair covering his robust wrist.

“Why the hell not?” Hank’s voice came out gruff as he reached to turn on the stove.

“Because… I’m not very good company. Most days I don’t speak much. I don’t want you to feel obligated, Hank.”

“Obligated?” Hank threw the slices of bacon on the pan, the sizzling sound and the smell of fat and smoke spreading in the small kitchen after a few seconds. “This ain’t got nothin’ to do with obligation.” Turning toward Finn, Hank leaned his right side against the counter, crossing his beefy arms in front of him. He wasn’t overly muscular, this Nebraskan man, but he made up for it in sturdiness. Because that was what he was. Sturdy. Broad shoulders and a wide neck. Thick wrists and toned arms. Not in a carefully sculpted kind of way, but from years of manual labor and earning your way through life. It was an unpretentious kind of physique. A body shaped by years, work, and just life in general. “Look, kid, I’m a straight shooter. I ain’t offerin’ you a four-star accommodation with an all-ya-can-eat buffet. You’re gonna have to help out around the house. But the thing is, winter’s headin’ our way and you ain’t exactly in peak fitness condition, are ya now?”

Finn’s eyes widened, and he failed to suppress a small smile. Looking down at his frame, he realized that he’d lost weight. Quite a bit, to be honest, his ribs protruding from his skin, his stomach hollow. Being sick in freezing cold weather had taken its toll. The lack of sustenance, too. Yeah, he wasn’t exactly the fit ER nurse he’d been eight years ago, running five miles every morning, doing double shifts, running on a few hours of mediocre sleep here and there.

“I… I can’t pay you anything,” Finn mumbled, his cheeks growing hot, sweat gathering at his nape.

“I don’t want your money, kid.” Finn looked up, and Hank must’ve read the skepticism painted across his face, because he quickly added, “I don’t want anythin’ from ya.” Hank turned, removing the bacon and putting the crispy slices on a sheet of kitchen towel. Reaching for the eggs, he spoke over his shoulder. “The thing is, I have a spare room. It ain’t much. You’ve seen it yourself. Colton lived there a while back before he shacked up with young Henry.” Knocking out four large eggs in the pan, Hank once again turned towards Finn.

“What about food?” Finn swallowed, the palms of his hands growing clammy.

“What about it now?” Hank tilted his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“You’ll have an extra mouth to feed. If I stay.”

“I will,” Hank nodded, his hazel eyes sweeping along Finn’s body. “But from the looks of it, you ain’t exactly gonna blow my budget.” A warm smile tore across Hank’s weather-beaten face, his eyes turning just a shade more golden. The older guy was by no means classically handsome, but there was an undefinable attractiveness about him that was difficult to separate from his personality. His modest kindness and straightforward demeanor made him attractive in the eyes of Finn; his deep voice disarming, making Finn relax in a way he hadn’t in years. And that was scary, to say the least, the notion of letting your guard down. Staying put instead of moving forward.

Finn squeezed his eyes closed, his mouth starting to water from the enticing scent of bacon and eggs. He suddenly felt lightheaded, the kindness of this mere stranger overwhelming. Resignation coursed through him, starting in his chest and then moving out into every limb of his body. Swaying slightly on his feet, he recalled how it had felt to sleep in a real bed, eating a home-cooked meal. How it had felt to have a genuine conversation with someone. With Hank. About planes. When was the last time he’d even thought about something other than staying dry and warm and filling his belly with something resembling food? Ages. It’d been ages, hadn’t it?

“So, what do ya say, Finn the Hun?” Hank hummed next to him, placing his large palm on Finn’s shoulder, waking him from his stupor. “Nebraska for the winter?” He winked, a half-smile peeking through his beard. Nodding slowly, Finn sighed, tasting Hank’s proposal on his tongue. Nebraska for the winter .

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, Hank. Nebraska for the winter. Thank you, Hank.” Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.