Chapter Twenty-Four

Finn

Now

It was strange, this time of year. This in between. It was the first time in years that he’d stopped and noticed the seasonal changes to his surroundings. The trees, now naked, the various colors of gray moving aimlessly across the sky. The frost in the morning, lingering on the leaves and the fir trees like tiny sparkling crystals. In the previous years, he hadn’t seemed to care one way or another, but now there was suddenly time to take it all in and notice these little changes and transitions. There was all this time to just be. And to reflect. Funny how when you stopped moving, the world stopped moving too, and then endless stretches of days just lay ahead of you. Finn had come to realize that he didn’t mind the days being longer when he spent them with Hank. He didn’t mind at all.

He’d always imagined Nebraskan winters as ruthless, but this year it felt like Mother Nature couldn’t really decide on her next course of action. A constant state of indecision, of back and forth. Like she was trying to poke at him, stir those feelings back up inside him that had inhabited his body and dominated his mind for the past eight years.

‘Move, Finn. Why aren’t you moving?’

‘I don’t want to move. I’m tired of moving.’

‘You know what happens when you stop moving. When you stay put for too long. You know what comes with that. Hope comes with that.’

‘I know. Let me just pretend, okay? Just for a while, okay?’

‘You know that’s dangerous, too. Pretending. That you can actually have this.’

‘I know, but what if I feel like being a little reckless?’

‘Stupid. Stupid, stupid, kid.’

A permanent state of indecision. Some days were sunny with just a crisp bite in the air; others, the snow would wrap the land in a thick cushiony blanket, and they would huddle up inside as soon as Hank came home from the shop. Drinking hot chocolate or warm cider, another documentary on that they would soon lose interest in, their bodies taking over, speaking their own secret language of comfort and need.

On the days that he didn’t join Hank in the shop, Finn would either take the truck down to Henry’s and give him a hand at the clinic or go down to Til’s for another lesson in The Alternative History of the State of Nebraska. And some days, he would just stay in and laze around, waiting for Hank to get back. There was so much space now for his thoughts to expand, which wasn’t always a good thing. Something—well, to be more specific, Hank’s words—had struck a chord inside of him after Thanksgiving dinner. ‘How come you aren’t home, Finn? With your people.’ Because they don’t want me, need me, they’re better off without me. Funny how he, for the longest time, had kept telling himself this, and he’d believed it. And now, he was suddenly questioning everything.

Were they truly better off without him or did they miss him and think about him as much—or perhaps even more—as he’d recently started thinking about them again, too? Had they, perhaps, been missing him all along and he’d created this unfounded narrative in his mind to cope? To justify to himself why he’d run away. Was it out of fear of rejection or out of his own cowardice that he’d run away? It had all started to blur together lately, and the initial reasons were becoming unfocused. Unclear. Invalid.

Meeting Hank and having these random talks that always ended up being anything but random had created this whirlwind inside of him that threatened to blow him into smithereens. To blow away the carefully constructed walls he’d spent eight years building up around himself. How long until Hank finally peeled away all the layers and he would see the real Finn? What would happen then?

It was becoming increasingly more difficult to hide from Hank, especially when they were fucking. Shit, that night after Thanksgiving… He’d been so close to saying things he knew he was going to regret. Things that would be hard to take back or explain away. He’d felt them, just on the tip of his tongue, ready to spread their wings and fly towards Hank, and crash into him. I’m afraid. I’ve always been afraid. Please, Hank. Please, keep me safe. It’s been so long since I’ve felt human. What if I can only be human around you? What if it’s you, Hank, and you alone? He was so fucking afraid of winter ending, of spring arriving. Of when he would have to leave. He didn’t think that he could go back to being inhuman again now that he’d had this taste of human companionship.

Today was Sunday and unseasonably warm for mid-November. The shop was closed and after a quick morning tumble in the sheets, they’d headed down to the creek for their usual Sunday walk through the woods. Usual. A lot of things had become usual by now; things that had, a while back, seemed quite unusual. Like sleeping next to someone again. Waking up to Hank’s broad, furry arms wrapped around him, a low murmur against his ear. ‘Don’t get up yet. Sleep. I’ll be at the shop.’ So typically, Hank. So… reassuring. Where else would he be? Finn loved it, nonetheless. After years where no one had been his only company, he welcomed this comfortable domesticity and savored the awareness that someone—Hank—seemed to need him. Want him.

A few times after Thanksgiving, Hank had again asked Finn about his family, and now, as they sat staring out at the sunlit surface of the water, the creek flowing by steadily, he approached the subject again.

“What about making it back home for Christmas?” Hank twirled a branch between his oil-stained fingers, his silver beard reflecting the rays of the sun. Finn would easily be able to pick those hands out of a lineup. Not because of the oil stains, but because of the thickness of Hank’s fingers and the pattern of dark, coarse hair spread across the back of the hand. The turquoise veins running just below the skin, like small rivers running in different directions only to eventually disappear. A few pale scars—likely from working in the shop—scattered across his knuckles.

“Hank…” Finn sighed. He was like a fucking dog with a bone, this man. Christmas. Did Hank really want him gone that badly?

“I could drive ya. I don’t mind. Your folks would be happy to see ya, I’m sure.” Eyes bright and hopeful, Hank removed his knitted hat, scratching at the outgrown gray locks at the back of his neck. Finn’s fingers itched to replace them, to be the one to tug at the silky strands. Was Hank really that eager to get rid of him that he would drive him there himself? All the way to Florence? Had he, without noticing because he’d been so consumed with everything that was Hank, outstayed his welcome after all?

“What, like some cheesy Hallmark Christmas movie, the lost son returning from his wayward ways? The family welcoming him back with open arms. You gonna throw a blind dog in there, too, or just the crippled sister?” He spat the words, frustrated that they were back at this again.

“No need to get all snarky with me, kid. I just know that if it were my kid, I’d be sick with wonderin’ what’d happened to them.” Hank tilted his face against the sun, his hazel eyes illuminated, turning a pale green.

“Yeah, somehow I doubt that…” Finn mumbled, his head dipping towards the ground. It wasn’t hard to imagine Hank as a father, natural-born caretaker, and all. Fuck, the way he took care of Finn spoke volumes, didn’t it? Of a good heart, comfort in abundance. Like that night after Thanksgiving dinner when he’d let Finn use him. Use his body to still his mind. It was such a… selfless act. To let Finn take and take, never asking for anything in return. And as much as he appreciated that side of Hank, it was also the cause of a permanent state of unrest inside him. Because he knew that at some point, he would have to do without it again and he would be back out in the cold. It was only just a matter of time. And the more Hank asked him about Oregon, the more he felt like his time was running out.

“What makes you think they wouldn’t welcome you back with open arms? That they haven’t been wondering for these past eight years where ya at and how ya are?”

“I just know, okay?” he spat, picking up a small rock and throwing it at the ever-moving stream.

“Okay, then,” Hank sighed. Shit.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you? You’re just gonna keep on asking me, aren’t you?” Finn groaned, rubbing both hands against his face, that dull pain thudding beneath the skin of his forehead. Suddenly, it occurred to him that he wanted to tell Hank about that day. Because at least it would be out there then, and it wouldn’t be his burden to carry around any longer. At least not solely his burden.

“Probably not,” Hank smiled. Shit. Hank had already told him once, hadn’t he? That he wasn’t a burden. He had such broad shoulders, too, didn’t he? Broad enough for Finn to share this part of himself with him, too. Rubbing at his eyebrows, Finn braced himself as he went back to that place in his mind that he dreaded the most.

“That day, after we’d visited Cara in the hospital, the neurologist had told us that the paralysis was permanent. That the damage was beyond repair…” He paused, sucking in a deep breath. “I’d taken a few days' leave of absence from the hospital and we’d gone back to my parents’ place. I remember my mom crying while she cooked us dinner. Hamburgers. Haven’t had a hamburger since. The smell alone. My dad was in the living room filling out a shit ton of papers for the insurance, looking ten years older overnight.” He would never forget the eerie quiet wrapping his childhood home in a suffocating blanket. The house had never been this quiet before, usually filled with distant music from the kitchen, Cara’s laughter as she spoke on the phone with one of her numerous girlfriends or boyfriend-of-the-month, his dad yelling at the TV when the signal went weak during an important baseball game.

“My mom had asked me to go to Cara’s room to get a few things for her. Just some clothes and toiletries.” Hank nodded, his eyes not leaving Finn for one minute. There was something oddly comforting about that. As if Hank knew that even though now was not the time to touch Finn, he still needed his reassuring gaze on him. That he would crumble beneath his touch and be carried away by the water. Yeah, he wouldn’t have been able to get through the next part if Hank had touched him.

“As I came down the stairs, I heard him. My dad. I guess he’d been unable to tell me to my face. I wish he’d just told me to my face because I deserved every word. Every syllable.” He had deserved it. Still did. There would never come a day when Finn wouldn’t deserve to be the recipient of those words.

“What did he say?” Hank asked, his voice neutral. Finn swallowed, bile threatening to flood his mouth. He’d never told anyone. As much as he’d replayed that conversation between his parents repeatedly in his head, he’d never told anyone. Never repeated the words to a single soul. He knew them by heart, though. Whenever the urge to go back home had become too overwhelming, on the edge of unbearable, he’d repeated the words to himself. He’d begged the guilt to win over the feeling of longing. The guilt won every time. Some nights, it took longer than others, but, in the end, the guilt won. As much as he missed Cara and his parents, the hatred he felt for himself was, if not stronger, then louder.

“He told my mom that he’d never be able to forgive. Me. Forgive me ,” he croaked.

“Finn…” Hank whispered.

“That he didn’t know how to. My own father.”

“People say stuff they don’t mean when they’re hurtin’. I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that.”

“He meant it. I know he meant it.” Of course he had. If Finn had been his own flesh and blood, perhaps his dad would’ve been able to see past it at some point. Only he wasn’t, was he? He’d always waited for the other shoe to drop. His entire life, he’d waited for that inevitable moment. He’d often wondered about that saying. What it implied. But he’d never imagined how loud it would be when it did. When the shoe dropped. Nothing could’ve prepared him for that moment, although he’d often tried, both as a child and as a grown-up. It gets really loud, though. Really fucking loud. When your entire world comes crashing down.

“What happened then?” Hank scooted a little closer, apparently succumbing to the urge to wrap his arm around Finn’s shoulders. He winced at first, but when Hank only tightened his hold around him, he relaxed against his solid chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

“I left after that. I just… I placed Cara’s things on the bottom step and just walked out the door. Out of my childhood home. I went back to my apartment, packed up the bare necessities, and went to the bus station. Took the first bus out of Florence. From Eugene, I took a Greyhound to Portland.” Hank sucked in a breath, then exhaled in small gasps, his chest rippling beneath Finn’s cheek. Eugene. The ride there was still a blur, his father’s words going on repeat in his head. ‘ Every time I look at him… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive… Every time I look at him… Every time…’

“And when they realized that you’d gone. That you weren’t comin’ back? Didn’t they call ya?” Hank spoke against his hair, his soft breath coasting across his scalp.

“Maybe. Don’t know. I left my phone behind, too.” Yeah, he hadn’t needed that temptation. He knew he would’ve caved, answering his mom’s call—because he was sure it would’ve been his mom—eventually. He was pretty sure that he would’ve caved, then.

“Oh. I see.”

“Yeah, oh, indeed,” he chuckled bitterly. Hank shifted next to him, his hold loosening.

“I still think you should go home, though. You’ll never make peace with your past until you do. You can’t run forever, you know.” Of course, he couldn’t. He knew that. Of course he did. Still, he’d fought so hard to convince himself that he could, and just like a cornered animal, there was still a little fight left in him.

“And what about you, Hank?” he countered.

“What about me?” Still so calm, his voice. Always so fucking calm and unfazed.

“When are you gonna make peace with yours?”

“I have.”

“You sure about that? I mean, in all the time I’ve been here, you haven’t gone to visit him once, have you?” This was unchartered territory. Talking about him like that. But he wanted—just fucking once—to get a rise out of Hank. To see and feel his anger and ugliness, too. His grief. Because he knew it was in there somewhere. It had to be. He just wanted one tiny glimpse.

“Who?” Hank let go of him, and even though his voice remained calm and neutral, his eyes darkened slightly, matching the color of his spruce sweater.

“Eugene.”

“That’s because he’s not here,” Hank shrugged, then crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“What do you mean, he’s not here?” Did Hank really feel this was the time to mess with him? Of course, he knew Eugene wasn’t here- here.

“He’s not here. He’s in California. After he died, his parents brought him back to California.” The words were spoken matter-of-factly, like Hank was paraphrasing some mundane news article and not referring to the person he’d loved more than anything.

“They did?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you keep him here? Bury him here?” A long, shaky sigh left Hank’s mouth.

“I had no say in it. To the outside world, to his parents, we weren’t anythin’ to each other. Funny, ain’t it, how someone who was everything to you becomes nothin’ in the eyes of man when they’re gone.”

“And they didn’t let you keep him here?” Why would someone do that? Take Eugene away from Hank like that. From his home.

“I didn’t ask. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He’s already here. Everywhere.” Jesus .

“Have you ever gone? To California? To see him?”

“Nah…” Hank exhaled, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“Don’t need to go all the way to California to see him. To talk to him. To feel him. He’s here. Where it matters.” Hank patted his chest, just above his heart, and in that moment, Finn felt it, too. Eugene’s presence. Wetting his bottom lip, he wanted to say something, anything, to comfort Hank. No word in the English vocabulary seemed sufficient, though, so he settled on, “I’m sor—”

A splash tore through the quiet woods, then another, and then several more. A succession of splashes, to be exact. They both turned, looking towards the creek at the same time.

“Shit, look at that, Hank!” The surface of the water had suddenly sprung to life, dozens of fish breaching the water, leaping into the air, their colorful skin reflecting the light from the sun, to then disappear again underwater. “What are those?”

“They’re goldeye,” Hank laughed, standing up, grabbing Finn’s hand, and pulling him with him.

“Goldeye? Sounds like some 007 movie.” Finn grinned.

“Yeah.” Hank let go of his hand, pointing at the water, Finn feeling the absence of his touch immediately. “Look at their large golden eyes. They’re somethin’, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, sure are.” But Finn wasn’t looking at the water anymore; the fish, as spectacular as they were, were bland and uninteresting compared to the man standing next to him, his silvery beard glistening in the sun. Finn had always preferred silver over gold, anyway.

“Come spring, I’ll take you fishin’,” Hank blurted, his eyes connecting with Finn’s. Simultaneously, they both seemed to realize what Hank had just said. Nodding, Finn reached out, tangling his fingers with Hank’s. It was the first time he’d done that aside from in the throes of passion, but somehow, he needed to feel connected to Hank right now.

“Yeah, maybe there’s time before I leave,” he muttered. “Before I go home.”

“Home?” Hank’s eyes widened, his thick fingers squeezing around Finn’s.

“Yeah, I think you’re right, old man. I need to make peace with the past or something like it.” Hank nodded, his gaze moving back to the water.

“Yeah, guess it can’t hurt,” Hank smiled. “Maybe I oughta do the same.”

“I thought you said you already had?”

“Yeah, well, guess I’m full of it, too, aren’t I? Takes a bullshitter to know one, I guess.” Finn chuckled at Hank’s simple logic.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he murmured, reaching out his right hand, brushing his fingertips against the corner of Hank’s mouth. “About him. Eugene.” Hank nodded slowly, swallowing audibly, his Adam’s apple moving up and down behind his corded neck.

“I don’t like talkin’ about him,” Hank whispered, his eyes remaining fixated on Finn.

“Why not? Why not, Hank?” Tears pressed behind his eyes, his mouth dry.

“I already have so little of him left,” he whispered. “With each passing day, I seem to lose a little more. I… I can’t even remember his voice anymore,” Hank breathed, his voice wobbly, a small sob lingering at the end of the sentence. “His laughter. I know it was my favorite sound in the world, but I can’t remember it anymore. Even when I search my mind and my heart, I can’t find it. I’m afraid of the day when I can’t find him anymore, Finn.”

“Hank…” Finn took a step closer, the toes of their boots touching.

“I’m afraid that if I share the last few things about him I have left, I’ll lose him altogether. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I just wanna keep a few things to myself, you know?” Finn nodded, closing the final bit of space between them, resting his forehead against Hank’s.

“Yeah, I get that. I do,” he murmured against Hank’s lips. “But maybe it’d become easier to remember if you shared him with people. Maybe you’d even learn new things about him. Things you didn’t know.”

“How so?” There was a hopeful lilt to Hank’s gruff voice.

“Maybe people around town, you know, like Til or Vernon; maybe they remember things about Eugene, too.” Finn didn’t know if he was making any sense, but he was driven by some deep-seated need to do something for this man who’d done so much for him. To give him something in return. “Or maybe if you talk to me about him… Maybe then you’ll suddenly remember things you thought you’d forgotten about him. About Eugene.”

Hank nodded against his forehead, his beard brushing softly against Finn’s cheek and chin.

“Yeah, maybe,” he spoke against Finn’s lips. “Maybe I can tell you about him sometime.” Closing his eyes, he sucked in a clipped breath. Reaching out his arms, he wrapped them around Finn’s waist and drew him against him. Burying his face in Finn’s neck, he exhaled, sending tiny sparks through Finn’s entire body, once again breathing life back into that tiny flame that he’d tried so hard to extinguish for eight years. Hope. “Thank you, Finn,” he murmured, his breath warm and moist against Finn’s skin. “Thank you.” Thank you , Hank. Thank you .