All the Way

by Kristen Proby

The lead detective stops and stares at me.

  “You heard me correctly. I’ll explain it all.”

  “He needs an ambulance,” another man says. I stand back, leaning on my kitchen counter, blood still rushing through my head.

  I just beat the shit out of my murdering brother.

  He wakes up as they’re putting him on a gurney, and Finn comes running inside along with Quinn. His eyes search the room for me, and he immediately comes racing to me, pulling me into his arms.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s the only one bleeding.”

  “Fucking bitch!” Kyle yells. “You’re going to pay for this. Dearly. I promise you.”

  “Good-bye, Kyle.” I watch as they take him away, and the lead detective asks if he can talk with me for a while, which I agree to. Quinn leaves to go wrap things up at the party.

  “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

  “Let’s sit in the living room,” I reply. Once we’re settled, with Finn next to me, I tell him everything, from the day my parents died until today, adding what I know about Kyle following me. “That’s it. He admitted that he killed them, and that he tried to kill me.”

  “We have so many charges here, he’ll be put away for a very, very long time,” he replies with a nod. “Here’s my card. Call me if you need anything.”

  He stands and leaves, and Finn follows him out then returns to me. He sits and pulls me against him, not saying anything for a long moment.

  “I thought that you’d left me,” he admits finally. “I looked around the party for you and couldn’t find you. I thought you’d skipped out because you were so angry with me.”

  “I told Quinn to tell you I was coming here.”

  “He told me just before I called your phone,” he says, and kisses my head. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been that fucking scared in my whole life.”

  “I wasn’t scared,” I reply honestly. “Even with the gun, I don’t believe he would have hurt me. And I know, that’s stupid, because he just admitted to trying to kill me, but I just wasn’t afraid of him.”

  I still don’t feel scared. Worn out, and a bit hollow, but not scared.

  “I’m just happy you’re safe. Let’s go back to my place.”

  “I definitely don’t want to stay here,” I agree. “I may not be scared of him, but I’ll probably never get the image out of my head of him admitting to killing my mom and dad. He smiled, Finn. He thought it was awesome.”

  “For the money?” he asks.

  “Yep. And he was pissed that I lived because I fucked up his plans.”

  “Son of a bitch. Come on, let me take you home.”

  “You know, I don’t think so.” I stand and walk away from him. “I think I really just want to be alone tonight. I’ll check into a hotel.”

  “London, if this is about what happened earlier today—”

  “It’s not,” I interrupt, but then rethink that remark. “Maybe it is, a little. But I want to be alone so I can process everything. Not because I don’t love or appreciate you.”

  “I won’t have it,” he says, shaking his head. “No. You’re coming to my place. I’ll give you all the space you want, but you’ll be at home with me, not by yourself in a strange place.”

  “Finn.”

  He just cocks an eyebrow, and I honestly don’t have it in me to fight with him again right now. I’m exhausted, and not a little numb. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to prove my point, or dig in my heels.

  So I just shrug, grab some sweats, clean underwear, and my clutch, and follow him down to his car, which is miraculously waiting when we get outside.

  We’re quiet on the short ride to his place. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away and he doesn’t try to touch me again. Once inside his condo, I immediately walk into the guest room and shut the door, strip out of the beautiful dress I bought for today, and get into the shower.

  Finally, the tears come, hot and hard. My emotions are all jumbled: anger and sadness, disappointment. Fury. Love. Hurt. I can’t make sense of any of it as I lean on the shower wall, let the water beat down on me, and give in to the tears as they explode out of me like a burst dam.

  When the water starts to turn cold, I get out and dry off, wrap my hair in a towel and my body in a robe, and fall on the bed.

  My phone pings with a text from Finn.

  Do you need anything from me, baby?

  Tears fill my eyes again. I love him, but I’m so frustrated with him. I take a deep breath and then reply.

  No thank you.

  I roll over and turn on the TV, finding some reality TV to play in the background. It dulls the loudness in my head.

  I want to forget about all of it, just for a few hours. I don’t want to think about Kyle, my parents, or Finn. L.A. Real estate.

  None of it.

  But I do text Sasha because I don’t want her to hear about this from anyone else. It would devastate her.

  Hey. Quick FYI, and I’ll tell you more later. Kyle showed up at my place, threatened me, and confessed to killing my parents. He’s in jail. I’m safe, at Finn’s. Gonna sleep now because I’m fucking tired, but didn’t want you to hear about it from anyone else.

  I reach for a box of tissues and wipe my eyes off, then blow my nose as I wait for Sasha to answer.

  Do you need me?

  So simple. So Sasha.

  Maybe tomorrow?

  I smile at her response.

  Anytime, love.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ~London~

  It was a long night. I slept in fits, and when I woke, I would reach for Finn and then remember everything that happened yesterday. There were so many highs and lows yesterday, I’m not convinced that it wasn’t a bad reality TV show.

  But it wasn’t. It was my reality. Everything from the elation of being in love with an incredible man and celebrating his birthday, to being frustrated with that same man, and the horrible scene with Kyle.

  I’m sitting on Finn’s rooftop, watching the sun come up over the city. I’ve been up here for about an hour, watching the black sky turn to twilight. Enjoying the quiet. Despite being the city that never sleeps, New York does get quiet in the very early morning hours.

  “I made you coffee,” Finn murmurs from beside me. I felt him walk up. I glance up at him and see the hesitation in his chocolate eyes as he passes the steaming mug to me and sits next to me on the chaise.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, and take a sip, then lean my head back as the caffeine immediately hits my system. It’s delicious.

  He must know that I’m not ready to talk because he wraps his arm around my shoulders, and we sit like this for a while, listening to the city come alive around us. Once my mug is empty, I set it aside, and then lean my head on his shoulder, enjoying the way he feels.

  I admit, I missed him last night.

  And yet, I’m still so damn mad at him I don’t know what to do with myself.

  “London,” he says softly, and kisses the top of my head. “I would appreciate it if you’d talk to me, sweetheart.”

  Here we go.

  I’m not ready for this conversation, but it looks like we’re going to have it whether I want to or not.

  I wish he’d just let me go to the hotel last night, just to get a little distance from him to sort everything out.

  “London,” he tries again.

  “I hear you,” I murmur, my voice scratchy from a night of crying and nightmares.

  “Talk to me,” he repeats, and I have to stand and walk to the side of the rooftop, facing away from him as I gather my thoughts. “You know, I can deal with a lot of things, but I absolutely hate the silent treatment.”

  I turn now, lift my chin, and look him squarely in the eyes.

  “I’m not giving you the silent treatment.”

  “Well, you’re not speaking to me, so if that’s not the silent treatment, I don’t know what is.”

  I nod and look down at my feet, my a
rms crossed over my chest, and then back at him.

  “Okay, I’m going to be brutally honest. I’m so fucking pissed off.”

  He frowns. “At me?”

  “Hell yes, at you. At pretty much everybody. I told you last night what I needed. I explained that I love you, but I really needed a night by myself.”

  “I didn’t want you to be by yourself,” he replies, and stands, shoving his hands in his jeans.

  “And I can appreciate that. Really. But I’m a grown woman, and I needed a night alone so I could process everything that happened yesterday.”

  “You had a night alone.”

  “In your house.”

  “That’s right.” He steps toward me, but I hold my hand up and he stops. If he touches me right now, I’ll walk right into his arms, and I need to get my point across. I need him to hear me. “After what had just happened to you, did you seriously expect me to let you go check into a hotel somewhere by yourself?”

  “Well, yes, I did.”

  “Well, fuck that, London. I love you. You’re my partner. I’m not going to ever do that.”

  “What you’re saying is that you’re never going to listen to my needs and give them to me?”

  “I’m so fucking tired of fighting with you,” he says, and pulls his hand down his face.

  “I don’t like it either, but you’re not hearing me, Finn.”

  “I’m right here, and I’m listening. Tell me.”

  I pace away from him in frustration and then turn back to him, willing him to truly hear me this time.

  “Most of the decisions in my life haven’t been mine. The way I eat, how much I exercise, where I live, all dictated to me because of my career. Which I love, and I choose, but it doesn’t change that.

  “Then we have my brother. Who, by the way, tried to fucking kill me, and I don’t think that really set in until about two hours ago, but I digress. Every destructive thing he did in his life? Not my decision. Drugs, homelessness, anger, meanness. All of his shit was out of my control.

  “Now I’m in a relationship with a man who is wonderful. But he wants to buy real estate and sell my house behind my back. I’m not a weak woman, Finn. I’m actually kind of badass, but it feels like everyone treats me as if I’m made of glass.”

  “I don’t see you as weak,” he says, shaking his head. “I just want to take care of you. Is that wrong?”

  “Yes, sometimes. I don’t need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself just fine, as you saw last night. I need a partner. You called me your partner a minute ago, but this is not how you treat your partner. You include her in decisions, and you work together.”

  “So, locking yourself in my guest room last night was us working through this together?”

  Oh my God, I want to strangle him.

  “No, this is a valid question, London, because you don’t get to have this both ways. We’re partners until you decide that we’re not?”

  “That’s not what I did,” I reply, but feel a little nudge of guilt because it’s kind of what I did. “I just wanted one night to process everything. To think it through. So I could come back to you and we could talk everything out.

  “We aren’t being productive right now. We’re just fighting and hurting each other, and it sucks.”

  “Okay.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “You tell me what you need from me, or need me to do, because I’m not losing you.”

  “I told you what I needed last night,” I say again, and shrug a shoulder, but then decide that if he’s going to make decisions without giving me a choice, I’m going to do the same. “And you’re going to give it to me.”

  And with that, I turn and walk back into his condo, collect my bag and shoes, and leave.

  As I walk to the front door, he’s standing in the living room, his hands still in his pockets, staring at me with a mixture of sadness and frustration.

  But I walk out and don’t look back, tears already falling down my cheeks.

  “The storm is rolling in,” I say into the phone. I’m sitting on the sun porch at the house on Martha’s Vineyard, watching the clouds rage over the ocean, and I can’t help but feel that it’s a perfect mirror for the conflict happening inside me.

  “Are you okay?” Sasha asks. We’ve been on the phone for over an hour. I’m in my favorite chair, with a blanket and a box of tissues because I just can’t stop crying.

  “Do I sound okay?”

  “I meant with the storm,” she says softly. “I know you hate them.”

  “I do, but I’m not afraid. The last storm we had when I was here earlier this summer was a shit show. Finn sat with me, and watched the storm with me, and then he made love to me.” The tears start flowing again. “Maybe that good memory has replaced all of my fear where it comes to storms.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “So you seriously just walked out on him today?”

  “Yeah.” I dab at my eyes with a tissue. “I just wanted to be alone, and he wasn’t having it. He’s not the boss of me, Sasha.”

  “Right.” She clears her throat, the way she does when she doesn’t agree with me.

  “Say it.”

  “Well, he’s not the boss of you, that I agree with. I mean, even when you’re in a relationship, you’re still you. But he loves you, London, and he was probably super worried about you. I have to say, I wouldn’t have been comfortable with you going to a hotel either.”

  “It’s not like I was going to hurt myself.”

  “Of course not. But you had just been through something traumatic, and as someone who loves you, I would want to make sure I was nearby in case you needed anything.”

  “I’m not sick either. I’m just so angry. And I’m sad. Why am I so sad about Kyle? I should hate him.”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “I mean, I knew that he was a jerk. I didn’t know he was clean, and let me tell you, that was a blow.”

  “Yeah, that’s just weird.”

  “Well, he clearly has mental health issues,” I reply with a sniff. “And I am so fucking pissed at him for killing my mama and dad. Sasha, he killed them.”

  “I know, sweetie.”

  “I keep saying it to myself, but I don’t know if I believe it yet. He’s a class-A jerk, but I never would have thought that he’d hurt any of us. Not like that.”

  “You’re grieving for all of them,” she says, and I nod, even though she can’t see me.

  “It’s not fair. They didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.” I can’t stop the tears now, and they’re flowing freely. I’m a snotty mess. “And now, I have to deal with the fact that my brother, who I’ve never been particularly close to anyway, is permanently out of my life too, as if he died with them.”

  “Did you think that you might eventually have a relationship with him?”

  “I guess part of me hoped so.” I blow my nose and then toss the wet tissue aside for a clean one. “Especially when he told me that he was going to rehab. I really wanted it to be true.”

  “I know.”

  “And, when he had that gun pointed at me, and said he was going to kill me—”

  “Wait, there was a gun?”

  “Yeah, and I didn’t believe him. I would have just walked up to him and plucked the gun out of his fingers because I knew in my heart that he wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “London,” Sasha says. “He would have. He did.”

  “I know. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing at all. He’s your brother and you love him.”

  “No, not anymore.” Why can’t I stop crying?

  “And you hoped that things were different. Not to mention, it was a complete and utter shock that he confessed to killing your parents.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.” I take a deep breath and let it out, watching the lightning fill the sky and illuminate the churning water. “But he did. And I feel like I’m just grieving them all over again, except this time I can walk while I
do it.”

  “You don’t have the distraction of an injured leg,” she says. “You have to feel the emotions now.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.” I swallow hard. “And it didn’t help that Finn and I had a big argument before his birthday party and really hadn’t resolved that yet.”

  “What was it about?”

  I explain the real estate situation, and Finn asking me to move in with him.

  “He doesn’t listen to me.”

  “Hold up.” I can hear rustling on the other end of the line, like she’s sitting up. “You’re pissed because he wants to make sure you’re comfortable in L.A.?”

  “No, I’m pissed because he didn’t talk to me about it.”

  “He doesn’t have to ask your permission to buy a house, London.”

  “No, but he wants me to live in it.” I frown. “So you’re saying I’m wrong about this too?”

  “Well, I think he needs to hone his communication skills, and definitely include you in big decisions, but you also could use some polishing on your communication skills. You need to take a step back and look at it from his point of view. At the end of the day, the man just wants to love you.”

  “He wants to take care of me, and I don’t need that.”

  “He wants to love you,” she repeats. “And I know I’m no expert in the relationship game, but I think that part of loving someone is taking care of them when they’re sad or scared or grieving. You’re my best friend in the whole world, and if you want me to kill him and hide the body I’ll totally do it, but, London, I think you were being a little extra sensitive yesterday. And I also think, while we’re at it, that you’re taking a lot of your anger at Kyle out on Finn.”

  “Maybe,” I admit with a sigh, and wipe my eyes for the five-hundredth time. “It just rubbed me wrong, you know? He handed me three properties to choose from.”

  “So, he didn’t say, Hey baby, let’s go find a house together.”

  “No. He’d already been hunting, found three he liked, furnished, and told me to pick one.”

  “Okay, that’s a bit much,” she agrees. “There’s gotta be a happy medium.”

  “Exactly,” I reply, and then feel an ache over my heart. “I hurt him. I hate that I hurt him.”