The Shark (Kingston College Book 2)

by Vivica Dorn

  It was strange how quickly Finn had infiltrated his life. How he had let him in. He couldn’t imagine inviting anyone else, especially someone he knew so little, to accompany him home to his grandfather’s funeral. Even stranger was how frankly fine he seemed to be about the situation. He didn’t feel the boredom, or the need to back away and return to his own solitude, that he often encountered when coming close to deepening relationships with others. There was something about Finn’s perpetual energy and sincere emotion, even something about his irritating pride, that fascinated and drew Lance irrevocably in. But there was something dangerous in that, something terrifying, he realized grimly, as he thought of his mother, and now his grandfather. Everyone he loved tended to disappear.

  As Lance stepped into the huge stone shower in the spa-like bathroom and turned on the faucet, he tried to shake himself of the fear that had just bubbled to the surface. He and Finn were just friends, really. In fact, they were barely even that. He could keep it that way, keep some distance, and therefore keep himself from getting hurt when Finn inevitably wanted to get out. He had done well so far maintaining his iron sense of control, even when Finn threw completely unfair curveballs at him, like when he had, cheeks maddeningly flushed, suggested that he would have liked to have shared a room with Lance. What the fuck had that meant, anyway? Why had he said it? Had he really only meant it as a form of politeness so that Lance could have saved some money? The furious flush on his pale skin said otherwise, and so did his reaction to Lance’s touch. Lance breathed out harshly under the stream of warm water, frustrated, sudsing his skin more vigorously now.

  Being in the shower and thinking of Finn led Lance to fall back into the memory of the day before the meet, when they had been in the shower together. He gritted his teeth as he felt himself begin to harden. Eyes screwed shut, he attempted to push the images from his mind.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. His hand shot out and grasped the faucet, turning the water as cold as it would go.

  Maybe he didn’t have such a good grip on this, after all.

  CHAPTER 17

  Finn was ready when the knock on his door came at exactly 9:15am. He smiled slightly. It felt so perfectly Lance to come get him precisely on the quarter of the hour. Even the knock felt controlled and organized – three strong, sharp raps.

  “Coming,” he called as he jumped up from the plush armchair he had been sitting in. He had, up until that moment, been scrolling mindlessly through his phone, unable to focus on anything he saw or read because he was too preoccupied with wondering what Lance was doing in the room next to his. He grasped the handle then yanked the door open before freezing in place, mouth agape.

  Gone was the cool, collegiate, leather-wearing athlete Finn was used to seeing. He had been replaced with a mature, brooding man, exquisitely handsome in a perfectly-fitted black suit and tie. Lance’s bronze hair had been combed neatly to one side, and his sharp jaw had been freshly shaved. He looked ten years older than when Finn had seemed him last, but in the best possible way. He wouldn’t have believed that looking ten years older could have been a compliment to anyone but Lance.

  Finn blushed, competing feelings of attraction and jealous inadequacy surging through him. He looked down at himself and gestured vaguely to his simple outfit of black dress pants and a navy button-down shirt.

  “I hope this is ok. I didn’t have a suit on campus,” he muttered, looking back up to Lance’s face.

  Lance’s gaze bored into him, then softened.

  “You’re perfect,” he said simply. The words pierced Finn, arrow-like and true. He sputtered for a moment, unsure what to say. A perfect man in a perfect tux was telling him he was perfect? How the hell was he supposed to recover from that?

  Lance saved him from having to think of an articulate response. He stepped aside gracefully and gestured towards the elevators.

  “We should go.”

  By the time they reached the Langdon Funeral Home, crowds of other mourners were already milling through the large hall dedicated to Lance’s grandfather. A large portrait on a stand at the front of the room displayed the blown-up image of a smiling elderly man, the words In memory of George Reed scrawled in looping cursive font along the bottom of the frame. Other photos had been posted around the room, too – photos of George in a military uniform, of him holding a little red-haired girl on his lap, and another with him next to someone who appeared to be that same red-haired girl, now a woman, on her wedding day. As Finn looked at these posed and pasted images of the man’s life, several people came up to Lance to offer their condolences. After the well-wishers had dispersed, he returned quietly to Lance’s stiff side, not sure what to say or do to ease the tension he saw building in Lance’s spine, shoulders, and jaw.

  Just as he opened his mouth to say something, anything, a gorgeous young woman with a sheet of glossy blonde hair in a tight black dress hurled between them, drawing Lance into an enthusiastic hug.

  “Oh, Lance, I’m so sorry,” she breathed, pulling him even closer. Annoyance rose in Finn’s chest, an unmistakable sick heat that was becoming all too familiar where Lance was concerned. He could feel himself starting to pout and immediately tried to resume a neutral expression.

  “Thanks, Andrea,” Lance muttered with a wan smile as they pulled apart.

  Andrea. Lance’s cousin. Finn’s anger immediately dissipated, leaving him feeling pathetic and small. This was the second time he had gotten jealous over Lance’s cousin. The second time he had found himself acting like an insecure fool. What was it about Lance that seemed to constantly turn him into such a total idiot?

  Andrea turned to Finn, then, and as he took in her elfin bone structure and long-lashed blue eyes, he realized he indeed recognized her as one of the staff at The White Hart.

  “Who’s this?” She asked, clearly surprised to see someone accompanying Lance. She looked curiously up at her stony-faced cousin before extending a delicate hand to Finn.

  “I’m Andrea Gallagher, Lance’s cousin.”

  Finn took her hand.

  “I’m Finn, I’m Lance’s... um... classmate?”

  Andrea quirked a well-groomed eyebrow at Finn’s awkward hesitation, but said nothing. She turned back to Lance, then, speaking more quietly.

  “Have you seen your dad yet?” She asked, expression turning serious.

  Lance sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

  “No. Why, where is he?”

  Andrea turned her beautiful head towards one of the corners of the room and pointed discretely.

  “My lovable Uncle John is right over there. He’s been looking for you.”

  Finn noted the sarcastic bite to her voice when she said “lovable.” Curious, he followed her gaze to the other side of the room.

  He didn’t have to guess who Lance’s father was. His eyes settled immediately on the tallest man in the centre of a small group. A man also dressed in a perfectly-fitted suit. A man with steely grey eyes and an artfully-composed, almost business-like posture, shaking hands with members of the crowd. So, that’s Mr Gallagher.

  Lance sighed again, his expression settling into one of resigned irritation.

  “I’ll be back,” he said darkly, before stalking off in the direction of his father. As he passed behind Finn, he briefly pressed his hand into Finn’s lower back, and Finn had to repress a small gasp. He shook his head, chiding himself. It was just because the room was crowded, that was all, he was sure of it. And yet that denial did nothing to eliminate the heat emanating from where Lance’s hand had just been.

  Andrea watched him closely. If she had noticed that subtle interaction, she said nothing about it. Instead, she moved closer to Finn, tossing a curtain of her shimmering hair behind her left shoulder.

  “You look a bit familiar. You come to The White Hart sometimes?”

  Finn nodded, refocusing his attention on the person in front of him. He was surprised he didn’t feel the slightest bit attracted to her her
e, despite the tight fit of her black dress against her taut yet curvy body. Whenever he had seen her in the pub in previous months he hadn’t been able to stop staring at her. Now, he felt absolutely nothing. He wondered what had changed since then, even as his back burned from Lance’s touch, even as his eyes involuntarily scanned the room, searching out Lance’s form.

  “Actually, I was there the other night with the swim team. I left my wallet behind – I think you opened up the pub yesterday for Lance to get it. Thanks a lot for that, by the way. I would have been screwed if I’d lost it.” Genuine appreciation tinged his voice; he really was grateful to her.

  Andrea’s slim, refined eyebrows shot up and her glossy mouth dropped into a perfect O.

  “That was for you?!” She squealed. Several mourners turned to look at the two of them with disapproving expressions. Finn reddened, his eyes flicking to Lance and his father at the other end of the room. The two men were deep in conversation, and luckily neither of them seemed to have noticed the disturbance. Andrea chuckled, shaking her head and ignoring the reactions from those around them.

  “I was so shocked to get his text. He said it was urgent, like it was some life or death situation. He’s so intense sometimes.” She sighed and rolled her eyes good-naturedly, shaking her head.

  Finn’s face reddened further. He hadn’t actually thought that much about the fact that Lance had gone out of his way to go to the pub and find his wallet. He had at first been too distracted by the idea of Lance being close with one of the waitresses there, and then the rest of the weekend’s events had unfolded so rapidly that it had kind of slipped his mind. Even when he had thanked Lance yesterday in the locker room he had thanked him for letting him stay the night, but not specifically for going to retrieve his wallet. The more he thought about it, the more unusual the action seemed. He tried to imagine himself doing the same thing, if, say, his friend Sam had gotten drunk and crashed at his place. Would he have gotten up early before his class, contacted a staff member at the pub, gotten them to open early, just so he could go check the lost and found? No, he thought. There was no way. He’d probably just sit around until Sam woke up and then make fun of him. He might offer to help him look for it afterwards, but that was about it. And frankly, that seemed reasonable enough to him.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Andrea continued, aqua eyes sparkling. She leaned in, almost conspiratorially. “It’s not totally out of character for him. Lance can be loyal as a dog to the people he cares about. It’s just... he doesn’t have many people like that. He’s not exactly the social type.” Her gaze narrowed, as if she were sizing Finn up, trying to figure out just what he was to her cousin. “I asked him so many times whose wallet it was but he wouldn’t tell me. I actually wondered if it was his own and he didn’t want to look dumb for losing it, but that’s not really his style. He’s pretty honest, and he doesn’t really get embarrassed about shit like that. Plus, he basically never comes out drinking anyway. Have you seen his wine collection? It’s crazy!”

  Finn nodded dumbly, starting to tune out the rest of what she had said. He could only focus on one thing.

  The people he cares about...

  The words echoed in Finn’s head and chest, resounding like an alarm.

  What exactly was he to Lance?

  His gaze sought out the tall swimmer again. Lance’s father was walking away now, and Lance was staring at Finn hard, grey eyes zeroing in on him across the room, his expression dark and pained yet somehow unbelievably sincere, full of sorrowful need. Finn’s chest clenched and he sucked in a breath.

  What exactly was he to Lance? And, perhaps even more importantly, what the hell did he want to be?

  CHAPTER 18

  The service went just about the way Lance expected it would. Various family members and friends spoke about George and his qualities, his accomplishments, his life. Several people glanced at Lance throughout the speeches, wondering if he, as George’s only grandchild, would speak. But Lance had no interest in things like that. His thoughts, his grief, were immensely private. He couldn’t imagine anything tempting him to get up in front of all these strangers and talking about what he had lost. It had been the same at his mother’s funeral, and it was the same now. Even listening to the others speaking at the podium felt pointless and dull.

  At one point while speaking at the front, his great aunt Lydia, George’s sister, began to cry. Lance shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to do in the face of all that pain. He glanced over at Finn in an attempt to distract himself, but what he saw there shook him to his very core.

  Finn was crying. Softly, silently, barely moving or making a sound. His pink lips were pressed together, and tears glistened along his lash line before streaming soundlessly down his cheeks. Astounded, almost awe-struck, Lance stared at the boy who was crying at the funeral of someone he didn’t even know.

  When Finn noticed Lance looking, he swore quietly and turned away, frantically sniffing and wiping at his face. In that moment, everything else disappeared for Lance – the room, the mourners, the old woman sobbing into the microphone – they all faded into nothing. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed, was Finn, crying and hiding his face. It broke Lance’s fucking heart, seeing him turn away like that. He took his silk pocket square out from his suit jacket pocket and with a gentle but firm touch, turned Finn’s chin towards him before dabbing at the tracks of salty tears. Finn trembled slightly under his touch, but otherwise did not resist, blue eyes wide and wet.

  After a moment, Lance pulled back, and pressed the pocket square into Finn’s palm.

  Finn sniffed and looked down at the crumpled, wet fabric in his hand.

  “Sorry,” he whispered miserably. “It’s your grandpa’s funeral, not mine. Sorry.”

  Lance didn’t say anything, but moved closer to Finn on the bench, close enough so that their shoulders pressed together. He thought he felt Finn tense for a moment before sagging into the strong line of his arm. The warmth Lance felt from the connection was amazing. It illuminated him from the inside out.

  By the time the service had ended, Finn had composed himself, despite a slight a redness that lingered in and around his eyes. Lance noticed that the redness made the blue of the irises stand out even more than usual. The contrast was exceptionally stunning.

  “So, what now?” Finn asked, his voice sounding reedy and weak.

  Lance sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the next part of the day. At all.

  “Now, unfortunately, we have to go to my father’s house. There’s a reception for everyone there. I have no interest in going, but it’s expected that I’ll be there. I hope that’s alright.”

  “Of course!” Finn exclaimed quickly, before quietly adding, “Hey, um, will there be food there?”

  Lance blinked, then, surprising no one more than himself, he found himself laughing out loud, hard and unrestrained. Finn stood still, mouth open in shock, before sputtering, “What! Sorry, but I didn’t eat breakfast and I’m starving!”

  This only made Lance laugh harder, and he fought to catch his breath. There was something so adorably funny about seeing this red-eyed boy asking so earnestly yet shyly about snacks. He took a deep breath, then sighed, wondering when he had last laughed that hard.

  “Yes, there will definitely be food there,” Lance replied, laughter still tinging his voice. “Knowing my father there will be a fully catered spread, fear not.”

  Finn pouted.

  “Well, good.”

  “Good,” Lance repeated, suddenly feeling better about returning to his family home. It would be worth going there if only to watch Finn enjoy the hors d’oeuvres.

  “Let’s go.”

  Andrea offered to drive them to Lance’s father’s house. The ride didn’t take long, and Andrea’s incessant chatter, though somewhat irritating, made the ride go by even more quickly. Lance didn’t partake much in the conversation, but he enjoyed listening to Finn banter back and forth with his bubbly cousi
n.

  When they pulled into the long, winding driveway of his family home, Lance heard Finn gasp, much in the same way he had when he had first entered Lance’s apartment. The Gallagher house jutted out from a thick range of pine trees, trees that were now more white than green due to the recent snowfall. It was a mansion in the true sense of the word, but it wasn’t a traditional-looking monolith of brick. All sharp angles, steel beams, and shimmering glass, the house exploded out of the landscape like a collection of small mountain peaks.

  “Holy shit!” Finn exclaimed, pressing his face to the window. “This looks like something out of an architecture magazine!”

  “Well, no duh,” Andrea replied lightly, putting the car into park at the top of the drive alongside all the other vehicles of those who had arrived before them. “Uncle John literally owns an architectural firm.”

  “Really?” Finn inquired, turning to look at Lance with an expression almost painfully innocent and curious. “I didn’t know that. Is that why you decided to go into civil engineering?”

  Lance frowned but didn’t answer. He knew that Finn’s question was totally sincere, but it still bothered him. It always irked him when people assumed he was following in his father’s footsteps. Especially when it was his own father doing the assuming.

  The trio exited the car and walked up the smooth stone steps to the massive wooden doors as small flakes of snow drifted down onto their hair and shoulders. Lance straightened his shoulders, preparing to enter the house he hadn’t stepped foot in for more than two years. He took a small moment to enjoy the soft, snow-covered silence of the outside world before pulling open the door and letting the sounds of crowds chattering, utensils clinking, and soft jazz music wash over them.