by Erika Kelly
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Barbara said.
“Well, if you’re here to get me to talk about my broken heart, you can forget it,” Stan said.
“She doesn’t want to hear your sad stories, old man,” Fin said. “She needs your help.”
Stan nodded. “What can I do?”
“I don’t really know.” Callie hesitated, worried about imposing until she realized Fin wouldn’t have brought her here if he didn’t think they’d want to participate. “Right now I just have basic displays hanging on the walls. I’m going to have some TV screens, but mostly it’s just bland. I need to kick it up a notch.”
“She needs to plug it in.”
Fin’s voice was like flint to her heart. Just the sound of it sparked heat, excitement…and…something else. Something indescribable. She couldn’t help reaching out to him, placing her hand on top of his where it rested on his thigh. Immediately, he turned his over and entwined their fingers.
Home. That snap of connection? It felt like coming home.
“Will it be interactive?” Barbara asked.
“I’d like it to be. I’d like to create a tree so visitors can write down their personal stories and hang them off the branches. On the other side of the room, I’m dedicating a wall to give people a chance to ask the one question they desperately need answered by the person who broke their heart. If I could just find a way to make it more—”
“What would yours be?” the elegant woman at the end of the table asked. “The one question?”
She didn’t hesitate because the answer sat on the tip of her tongue. “If you loved me, how could you treat me like that?”
Fin gave her hand a hard squeeze.
“Mine would be, Did she make you happier?” A woman tossed her bag on the table and then dropped into a chair. She smelled strongly of cloves. Everyone stared at her. “What?”
“I didn’t know you had a heart to break, Judy,” one of the men said.
Judy, heavyset with a white bob, chuckled. “Bastard took it with him when he left me for another gal.”
“How old were you?” Callie asked.
“Forty-four. He left me twenty-two years ago.”
“Do you ever see him?” She probably shouldn’t have asked, but Judy had been pretty free in sharing.
The others looked away, so Callie knew she’d hit a sore point.
Judy barked out a laugh. “He’s the former mayor, so yep. I got to see him all the time.”
Callie’s heart ached just hearing about it. “I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine what that must have felt like.”
For just one moment Judy’s snarky persona faded, and pure unadulterated hurt took its place. And then in a blink, it disappeared. “So, what’s the plan? You need a crew to get you going?”
“I’d be happy to be a docent,” the elegant woman said. “And, once we spread the word among our friends, you’ll have a dozen more for your exhibition.”
“She’s going to need more than a bunch of old ladies standing around.” Stan tapped the table with his knuckles. “You need workers.” He pointed to the man across from him. “Barry’s a retired electrician. I ran Poplar Media, a communications firm. And Judy here, she owns the biggest construction company in the state. How about we run over there after lunch and take a look at the place, see what we can do to perk things up?”
“I’d love that.” She squeezed Fin’s hand.
“The only way you’re gonna get me running is if Clint Eastwood’s walking down the street,” Judy said.
Everyone cracked up.
“Sound good?” Stan asked.
“Sounds amazing.” Automatically, she turned to Fin to share her enthusiasm, but his expression had turned stony.
For a moment there, she’d gotten so carried away she’d forgotten the cost to him. And, damn, if that didn’t cut right through her happiness.
He’d brought her here to help with the very thing that was destroying his reputation.
Chapter Eleven
What the actual fuck?
Fin sat on the edge of the coffee table, watching Traci Allen lie on national television.
“We’ve been together on and off over the years, but it was never serious. Given our careers, it couldn’t be. I’ve always understood that about him, that his career comes first. That’s just who Fin is. Everyone knows that.”
He found her word choice interesting. Been together didn’t mean dating.
The camera angle switched to Entertainment Update’s host. “But he abandoned you in a strange hospital in a foreign country. That’s…” The reporter shook his head in disbelief. “How did that make you feel?”
Fin shot to his feet. “Tell him the truth.”
“It was scary.” Traci let out a shaky breath. “Scariest thing I’ve ever gone through.”
Yeah, the accident was. But that had nothing to do with Fin.
Tell them.
With his closely cropped blonde hair and artfully groomed beard, the reporter leaned forward as if Traci was about to tell him the secret to pulling off a frontside 180. “But this time it was different, right? You’d blown out your knee—on a trip you took for him. I mean, Fin Bowie takes these risks all the time. But you’re a champion. You can’t take risks like that. You’ve got the Olympics to think about.”
You’re a champion. And Fin was what? A dilettante? He scrubbed his face with both hands. Okay, not the point.
He waited for Traci’s answer. Tell them you asked to come.
“I wanted to go. That’s on me.”
Thank you. He waited for her to fill in the rest of the story, but she just kept looking at her hands like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should. To anyone else watching, she probably looked like a woman who’d had her heart torn out by her boyfriend.
He tipped his head back in frustration. “I’m not her boyfriend.”
Callie rushed into the room. “Shh.” They’d just gotten Theo to bed.
“You really are a champion, aren’t you?” the reporter asked.
Traci’s head snapped up, obviously not sure what he meant.
“You wake up alone in a foreign country, in pain, your career on the line, wondering where your boyfriend is, only to find out he’s at a wedding. And here you sit, calm as can be, forgiving him.” The reporter shrugged. “That’s a true champion.”
Traci shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, Fin’s not a bad guy.”
“That’s right,” Fin said. “I’m not.”
“Not a bad guy?” The reporter practically snorted. “You tore your ACL and your MCL. Your career might be over.” He looked disgusted. “And the man who’s supposed to love you and take care of you is just…outta there. It’s beyond callous. Even on a first date, I wouldn’t leave a woman alone in a situation like that.”
“Yeah, but you’ve got to know Fin,” Traci said. “He’s…driven. And he had a wedding to get to. He was the best man. He wasn’t going to miss it for anything.”
Fin couldn’t believe this shit. “I’d have missed it if my four other teammates hadn’t promised to stay until your coach and family showed up.”
“I think you’re being far more understanding than most of us would be,” the reporter said. “I have to wonder, though, as you sat all alone in that hospital, not speaking the language, not knowing if you were facing a career-ending injury…what did it feel like to read that text? You see it’s from your boyfriend. You must have expected kind words. Concern. A plan of action, right? Like, I’m contacting your parents or, I’m working on transferring you to a hospital in the States. Something that would help you. Instead you get…” The guy put on his glasses and read from a blue index card. “Thanks for a great time?” The camera zoomed in on his expression of shock and disgust.
“Yeah, I screwed up, all right?” Fin flicked a hand at the television. “I should’ve been sincere.”
“Have you talked to her?” Callie asked.
He shook his hea
d. He’d never expected the attention to go on so long. Three weeks.
And just when it had started to die down, Traci’d jumped on the media circuit to fan it back to life. He hadn’t wanted to bother her in the hospital, but she was obviously doing okay now. He whipped out his phone and searched for her number.
“Who’re you calling?” Callie stepped closer.
“Traci.” He stepped out onto the porch so he wouldn’t wake Theo. Just in case I lose my shit.
“Hey.” Traci sounded wary.
“It’s Fin.”
“Yeah, I know.” A gust of breath blew static in his ear. “You’re watching it.”
“Trace, what’re you doing?” He cupped the back of his head. “You had a chance to clean things up. Why’d you lie?”
“I didn’t. I haven’t lied once. If you pay attention, you’ll see I haven’t actually said anything bad about you. The reporter made it sound like you did those things.”
“You didn’t correct him.”
She was quiet for a moment. “No, I didn’t.” She actually sounded defiant.
“I’m not that guy, Traci. We’ve known each other for years. Have you ever seen me treat anyone like shit?”
“No.”
He wanted to put the call on speaker so Callie could hear. He didn’t want even a shadow of doubt in her mind. “Then why? Why are you doing this?”
“Because, honestly, Fin? It’s not that big a deal to you.” She grew agitated. “You get some attention for a few days, so what? It’ll pass, and nothing in your life changes.”
“Weeks. This has gone on for weeks. You’ve turned me into a meme. I’m an athlete, not some bad boyfriend.”
“Hey. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t start this, and I have no control over where it went.”
“Yeah, Traci, you did. You could’ve jumped on your Instagram page and told the truth, but you didn’t. It’s not too late, though. You can end it right now.”
“That’s so easy for you to say. You’re a billionaire.”
Of course. It always comes down to money. “I live off my own earnings. I’ve never touched my dad’s money.”
“Oh, please. You live on a compound with servants.”
Servants? Jesus, the ideas people had about his family. But he wasn’t about to correct her. His financial situation wasn’t the point.
“And don’t pretend you can’t dip into that honey pot any time you feel like it. My parents are teachers, and the only money I’ve ever made has come from winnings and endorsements. Which I won’t be getting anymore. So I’m sorry that your reputation has a taken a hit, but my career’s probably over, and if I can get a few bucks out of you trending, I’m going to take it.”
“You’ll still make money if you tell the truth. In fact, the story’ll get a new boost if it turns out your fans made it up.”
“It’s too late for that. Besides, this thing’s going to run out of steam in a few more days. And while you’ll get back to boarding with your boys in Japan or Alaska or wherever the cool kids play, I’ll be in rehab for the next year. Look, I honestly didn’t think you’d care, so…I mean, I’m sorry if you do. I really am, but I’ve got my own shit to deal with.” She sounded despondent. “I gotta go. Bye, Fin.”
Well, shit. He stood on Ryder’s porch, looking out into the darkness.
The screen door creaked. “What’d she say?”
He didn’t even turn around. “It’s about money.” Traci thought his pride had taken a hit, but what mattered was the blow to his professional reputation.
Sure, he could’ve told her the meme had cost him the National Adventurer nomination. Since she was facing the end of her career, she might’ve understood that getting the cover this year meant something. That it might never come around again. But his concerns were hypothetical. Hers were real.
“Yeah, I figured.” Callie came up beside him. “She’s probably thinking you could’ve done the same thing. Someone else in your situation might have ridden the wave and gone on talk shows, too. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?” Her hand settled gently on his back. “She doesn’t know what it means to you. How important it is for you to be known for your achievements. She doesn’t know about your relationship with your brothers.”
“It’s nothing compared to what she’s going through.”
“No, it’s not. But, Fin, you’re the youngest. You could be the eight-time winner of the Games…you could make the Guinness Book of World Records for most gold medals in a lifetime, and your brothers will still make fun of you. That’s never going to change.”
He straightened, turning towards her. She’s right. And it made him wonder, if he made the cover, would they respect him? Or would his one and only achievement for his dad’s trophy room—the framed cover from National Adventurer—wind up with a Sharpee moustache on it?
“And, you know, at some point…you have to stop caring.”
“I don’t care that they fuck around with me.” Except that wasn’t entirely true. He’d hated the sign they’d put at the end of the driveway. Sure, he’d laughed, and he’d retaliated by making them run to the summit, where Brodie had satisfyingly puked. But it’d still pissed him off.
And the way he’d just bristled when imagining the moustache—yeah, he did care. She was right.
“They love you, Fin. And they obviously respect you since you’re the one they go to for training.”
“Yeah, cool, but I’m not an athlete to them. I’m just a reckless kid with a wild hair up his ass.” He looked at her, deciding whether or not to tell the whole truth. Frankly, if he was going to talk about this shit, he’d only do it with her. “They think I’m doing it because I’m messed up over losing you.”
Her eyes flared with surprise. “Is that true?”
He thought of Will flagging him down on his dirt bike, that crazy feeling he’d tried to outrun after Man-Bracelet’s proposal, and he couldn’t deny the compulsion for speed, the thrill of danger, was associated with Callie. “To some degree, yeah. Whenever I think about what I did to us, what it cost me, it stirs up all this crazy energy. And there’s no outlet for it.”
He dropped to a crouch, covering his face with both hands. “Hell.” He couldn’t escape the feelings. No matter what he did, they remained trapped inside his body. “It never goes away. I’ll be in the shower or just drifting off to sleep, and it hits me. I see your expression when I told you I wasn’t going to NYU with you. I destroyed you with that one stupid decision that I can’t take back.” He stood back up. “There’s no peace for me. So, yeah, the adrenaline pushes it out.”
“If we got back together—”
His heart flipped over.
But she held up a hand. “That’s not going to happen, but hear me out. If we did get back together, would you enter a competition? Would you train for an event?”
“Hell, no. Practicing the same trick over and over till I master it? That would bore the crap out of me. Groomed courses? I’d rather stay in bed. There’s nothing like the thrill of riding a spine no one even knew existed. That’s…it’s exhilarating.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “Then it doesn’t matter what they think because you love your work, and you have no interest in doing what they do. Do you know what I’m saying? You’re not doing it because we broke up. You’re doing it because it’s who you are.”
“Yeah, but I still want them to think I’m a badass.”
“Believe me, they do. Everyone knows you’re a badass. But they’re your brothers, and they’re scared you’re not going to come home.”
Like my dad.
“You have to get it through your head that you’re on equal footing with them now.”
Talking to her like this…his heart felt so full it ached. He’d missed being close to her. Only with her could he be his whole self. But it wasn’t easy not being able to touch her, put his hands all over her. “Did you miss me at all?”
Callie always told the truth. And he saw in her relucta
nce to answer what it cost her this time. “Every minute of every day.”
Adrenaline punched through his system. Fuck.
“I can’t tell you how many times something would happen…I’d get an internship or some guy would take his pants off on the subway…and I’d reach for my phone to tell you first. Or I’d wake up in the morning”—she looked away, pain etched on her features—“and want to curl up with you, only to remember all over again what happened. So many times during class I’d check the time on my phone, counting how many minutes until I got to see you again. I missed our adventures—I’ve never had more fun with anybody than I had with you. I missed the way you held onto me all night long, like I was your place in the world.”
“You were. You are. Jesus, Callie…” Hope flapped heavy wings inside his chest, and he cupped her cheeks, searching her warm hazel eyes for the truth. “Don’t you feel this? Now that we’re talking again? Doesn’t it feel like you can finally take a full breath? Like the missing puzzle piece is back in place?”
“Honestly, yes. But…” Her fingers closed around his wrists.
In her eyes he saw an eagerness—a willingness—to throw herself all-in with him—he saw it—but he also saw Calliope, counting off all the reasons they couldn’t be together—and he had this one shot to knock her over onto the side that had them naked under the covers and losing themselves in each other, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t take it.
“Fuck, Callie.” As he brushed his lips over hers, he watched the way her eyelids fluttered closed. Her mouth opened to him, and he licked into that soft, wet heat—
The screen door creaked. They both turned to see Theo stepping out in his Superman pajamas, the elastic waistline hanging low off one butt cheek, his hair sticking up at the side of his head.
