by Nic Starr
A short while later, Rocky and Stack took their leave, and Finn spent a couple of hours sifting through invoices and spreadsheets. Once again he was astounded at how well the business was performing, yet Rocky still felt the need to supplement a perfectly healthy income with ill-gotten gains. Once he was done for the day, he logged out of all his systems and shut down the laptop. He hated being here in the office, so always looked forward to the end of the day. When he walked out of the building and saw Mitch, it gave him even more reason to celebrate the trip home, and he couldn’t help the excitement that pooled in his belly.
Mitch finished the conversation he was having with Pete and met him at the car with a huge smile on his face, a smile Finn was sure mirrored his own.
Chapter TWENTY
MITCH PULLED up outside Finn’s house, unexpectedly at a loss as to his next steps. The four days he’d spent staying in the house with Finn were fresh in his mind, although the day spent at Rocky’s beck and call had put a damper on Mitch’s happy state of mind.
Fuck, it’s all an illusion, anyway! What was he thinking? That he and Finn would play happy houses?
He turned his head at the touch of Finn’s hand on his thigh. Finn’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Mitch’s heart took a dip. He looked so sweet and innocent, once more radiating good health and positive energy. Rocky was looking tired and washed-out recently. Plus Finn didn’t display any of the unease and built-up anger his brother conveyed; Rocky always seemed like he was only a stone’s throw from having a meltdown. The two Cummings men may have been as different as chalk and cheese, but Mitch forced himself to remember, for the umpteenth time, that Finn was Rocky’s brother, and that meant he was involved in the club so he too was under investigation.
“Did you want to come in?” Finn asked. “I could make us dinner.”
Mitch needed to remember Finn was the bad guy and ignore the flush of pleasure that filled his chest at the invitation. He needed to politely decline and head home. Ross would be waiting for him to check in, and would want an update, would want to hear the latest info Mitch had gotten from Finn about the shipment in two weeks. Instead Mitch turned off the ignition. “Sure. I’d love to.”
The fridge still held groceries Mitch and Finn had purchased when Finn was well enough to venture out the previous day after their walk, plus the few things left over from Mitch’s original shopping trip. Mitch leaned on the bench as Finn pulled out ingredients.
“There’s the basics here to rustle up a veggie pasta. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
It was relaxed and comfortable to watch Finn prepare the simple meal. He moved with quiet efficiency as he diced onion, chopped garlic and tomatoes, and sliced zucchini. Soon the small kitchen was redolent with the scent of the pasta sauce. The back door was open, a gentle breeze cooling the room after the heat of the day.
“Do you want to get us a drink while I finish up here? Then maybe you can set the table outside.” Finn smiled as he looked up while stirring the pan. He placed the spoon on the bench. “I’ll be back in a second.”
By the time Mitch retrieved water from the fridge, Finn had returned with a couple of tumblers and two large bowls he set down next to the sink. “Here, give these a quick rinse, will you?”
Finn started stirring the sauce again, and Mitch took care of the dinnerware. It felt so right, so perfect to be working side by side getting ready to share an evening meal. Mitch pushed everything else to the side and decided to enjoy Finn’s company.
They finished off the pasta primavera with the remains of a loaf of bread, as the dusk settled over the back garden. The cicadas set up a loud chorus, and it was only when the mosquitoes became too much of a nuisance that they finally made their way inside.
Mitch found himself wishing they’d used more pots and dishes as they finished the washing up in record time. He took his time drying his hands and hung up the tea towel on the handle of the oven door. He didn’t want to leave the small house, but there was nothing else left to do.
He slowly turned around, ready to say goodbye, when Finn came back into the kitchen with a couple of mugs.
“Coffee?” Finn asked, holding them up.
The relief was immediate, and Mitch couldn’t hold back the smile. “That’d be great.”
They sat side by side on the old couch, drinking coffee from the white china mugs. Mitch held his up and gestured with it to Finn. “I’m honored you’ve pulled out the good stuff for me tonight.”
Finn chuckled. “Nothing but the best for you,” he quipped, then flushed slightly.
“I appreciate it,” Mitch said, warming at the idea Finn was flirting with him, even if he did look slightly embarrassed. It had been a long time since that had happened—flirting. He sipped the hot drink and relaxed back into the couch cushions. He studied the mug in his hands. “It’s taken you a while to unpack.”
“Yeah,” Finn mumbled.
“I was surprised that you’d been here for a few weeks, but you were still using the few bits and pieces that were obviously in the house when you arrived. I would have thought you’d want to get settled in with your own stuff, not use the chipped, mismatched crockery. Make this place your home.”
There was silence for a moment as Finn studied his coffee intently. When he looked back at Mitch, his eyes were full of sadness. “This place was my home when I was young. It was my home when Mum and Dad, and Carl, were here. But it’s not my home anymore.”
“But you chose to come back here?”
Finn laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “I don’t want to live here, Mitch. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be anywhere near this place.”
“Where would you rather be?”
“I haven’t really allowed myself to think much beyond cutting the ties, but that’s probably just wishful thinking too. Maybe up the coast. The beach.”
Mitch had learned Finn didn’t like Rocky much, but he wanted to distance himself from the club too? From the one thing that was consistent in his life? His chest tightened at the idea that Finn, who was only twenty-three, didn’t have something to look forward to in life.
“It doesn’t hurt to have dreams,” Mitch said softly.
Finn’s eyes flashed. “Having dreams means there’s something to lose when they don’t come true.”
“Having dreams means there’s something to strive for, to look forward to. And sometimes they do come true. You can’t lose hope to the point of not reaching for what will make you happy.” Mitch was surprised at the level of passion he could hear in his own voice. Was he referring to his own crazy thoughts about being with Finn? They had only known each other for a few weeks but had spent countless hours together, and already Mitch felt so drawn to him, wanted to see where things could go. On one hand, there seemed so much potential, but on the other, things were no doubt doomed—between Rocky and the other club members never being able to find out about them, and what about his work? What impact would having a relationship with Finn have on his job?
Thoughts swirling again, Mitch studied Finn. He wanted Finn to be happy before all else.
Finn looked up. “Maybe you’re right. And maybe one day I’ll allow myself to think about what I really want to do with my life. But one step at a time. And what about you? What dreams does Mitch Nielsen have?”
Finn saying the surname he’d taken on for this job served as a reminder to Mitch that his thoughts had been taking him to ridiculous places, but even if he couldn’t have a future with Finn, it didn’t negate his desire to have a future with someone. He put the now-empty mug on the coffee table and tucked a knee under himself as he swiveled to face Finn on the couch.
“You’ll probably be surprised, or maybe think this sounds pathetic, but I want what my parents have. They both have jobs they enjoy, or at least Dad does; Mum’s retired now. Dad is the principal of a small public school, and Mum was a nurse. They passed on a strong work ethic to my sister, Vanessa, and me—set a good example, you know?” Mitc
h flinched when he realized what he was saying, but Finn just nodded and gave him a small smile. “Well, anyway, Vanessa followed Dad into teaching, and I wanted a bit more excitement, and I wanted to—”
Fuck! He stopped short when he realized he was about to start talking about his desire to be on the force. There was something about Finn that made him want to open up and talk about things he hadn’t really spoken about with too many people.
“I… ah…. Anyway, Mum and Dad are also big on family. I come from one of those families where we used to go on joint family holidays together when we were kids, have regular family nights, have all the rellos over for birthday dinners, that sort of thing. I guess that’s what I’d like. I’d like to do something to give back to the world, do something worthwhile. I’d like to have my own family one day, maybe have some kids—take them to the house up the coast, let their grandparents tell them stories….” Mitch’s chest grew tight and his throat thick. He looked at Finn, expecting to see laughter or him rolling his eyes. Instead he saw Finn’s gentle smile. “I told you, it was stu—”
“That sounds like a great dream to me.” Finn reached out and touched Mitch’s knee, the weight of his slender hand comforting, even through jeans. There was a sadness to Finn’s voice as he continued. “I hope you find someone you can have all that with one day.”
An image of Pete flashed before his eyes, along with a dull ache in his chest. “I thought I had it once before.”
“Really? What happened? That is, if you don’t mind telling me.” Finn gave his thigh a squeeze before lifting his hand and sitting back, giving Mitch some space. Strangely enough, even though the memories were painful, Mitch knew Finn would understand.
“I don’t think he shared the same vision of the future as me, or maybe his view of the future changed somewhere along the way. Things don’t stay the same, I guess, and life took us down different paths. We tried to make it work. He tried to give—he tried to make some changes, but there were some things going on in his life he couldn’t overcome.”
“And you couldn’t live with how his life was? What he wanted?”
Mitch snorted. “Not that, no. They were the sort of things that conflicted with the very essence of who I am.” Mitch cleared his throat. “Or at least who I want to be.”
“I hope you find that future.” Finn had reached out again and drew small circles on Mitch’s knee as he spoke. “And maybe you’re right. I should start allowing myself to hope there’s someone out there, that there’s something for me.”
A little piece of Mitch was sad it wouldn’t be him, but he smiled anyway. “Like I said, dreaming can’t hurt, right?”
Finn smiled again, just a small tilting at the corners of his mouth, but it gave Mitch hope maybe Finn would allow himself to look to the future. Mitch just hoped the future Finn envisaged was one where he was as far away from Rocky and this place, as he’d indicated. He wanted that for Finn, for him to lose the haunted look and spend more time with relaxed happiness on his face—the look Mitch had seen more of over the last couple of days.
“It’s getting late,” Finn said.
“I guess I should get going, then. It’s a long drive back to the city.” Mitch reluctantly stood, immediately missing Finn’s touch on his leg, but forced himself to head to the hall table and collect his phone and keys from where he left them when he first entered the house.
“Mitch?” Finn’s voice was hesitant. Mitch turned to see Finn had followed him into the hall and was standing with his hand held out. “Stay.”
MITCH HESITATED for a moment. Finn could sense the turmoil, could see the indecision in his eyes. Mitch’s gaze flicked from Finn’s face to his outstretched hand, and back again, settling on his eyes. His features relaxed, and Finn smiled when Mitch put the keys back down and took his palm in his own. His hand was warm, his grip strong, the touch telling Finn everything he needed to know. Mitch wanted this as much as he did.
Chapter TWENTY-ONE
THE LAST couple of days spent with Mitch was the best weekend Finn could remember having in years. He smiled at the memory of the two of them doing absolutely nothing. All they did for two days was hang around the house and spend hours talking. They cooked simple food on the barbecue and even played Yahtzee. Who would have thought big, tough Mitch would be happy to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of the banged-up coffee table and help Finn relive some of the happier, more content moments from his childhood?
“What are you smiling at?” Pete said as Finn entered the workshop.
“Nothing.”
Pete raised a brow but didn’t question him further, for which Finn was grateful. He knew he couldn’t keep the smile off his face—however, there was no way in hell he was going to admit his shit-eating grin was 100 percent due to the smiling man winking at him from the other side of the large room.
Mitch looked hot leaning against a workbench, his arms folded across his broad chest. He held a Zippo in one hand, spinning the stainless-steel lighter between his fingers like a magician doing tricks—and what miracles those fingers could perform.
There was the sound of a throat clearing, and Finn’s face heated when he saw Pete had turned his head and was looking at Mitch before settling his gaze back on Finn. Pete had his back to Mitch, but he’d obviously responded to Finn’s lack of attention and turned to see what, or more accurately whom, had captured Finn’s focus.
Finn dragged his attention back to Pete and hoped to God he wasn’t blushing.
“Hey, have you got a few minutes to talk?” Finn asked quickly in an effort to avert any comments from Pete. “I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to see each other without all this”—Finn waved a hand at the workshop with its hive of activity—“without a load of people around. Fuck, I feel like I don’t get any privacy anymore, not since I moved back to Sydney.”
Pete nodded, then glanced briefly over his shoulder at Mitch before heading to the door and beckoning for Finn to follow.
The heat hit like a wall as they stepped outside, the hot afternoon sun radiating against the dark asphalt. Finn followed Pete to the shade cast by a large gum tree on the property boundary. Traffic noise carried across the parking lot, but they were alone apart from a couple of guys standing around a bike parked in the lot at the far end of the building.
Pete lit a cigarette and sucked in a lungful of smoke, holding it before releasing a thin stream between his dry and cracked lips. He held the pack out to Finn, who shook his head. Pete put the pack back into his shirt pocket, took another drag on his cigarette, and leaned on the fence.
Finn used the opportunity to study him. Pete vibrated with nervous energy, or maybe it was the DTs. Had he stopped taking drugs, or was he back on them? It had become clear over the past weeks that Pete, despite reassuring Finn he was trying to put drugs behind him, was failing. But that wasn’t surprising given the amount of time Pete spent around Rocky. Finn had gotten a sense that Rocky was dabbling more and more in his own product, so the temptation for Pete must have been great.
“Are you doing okay, Pete?”
Pete scuffed the ground with his boot, kicking up a small cloud of dust and splinters of bark from the gum tree. He looked up and nodded. “Sure.”
“You don’t look good, mate.”
“Thanks for not taking it easy on me, Finn. I’d hate for you to sugarcoat anything.” Pete huffed out a mirthless laugh, then drew on the cigarette again. His eyes grew dark, and he finally held Finn’s gaze. “But seriously, I do appreciate you asking. I guess I’m not in a good place right now.”
The honesty surprised Finn. Despite the bond they’d formed in Melbourne, events since Finn’s arrival in Sydney had meant they hadn’t had much opportunity to speak one-on-one—a few quick phone calls and a number of texts being the extent of their private conversations. The rest of the time they were surrounded by other people. Even the conversations via text were stilted, both of them reluctant to share too much in a way that could be interc
epted or seen by others. So Finn was pleased to see Pete still trusted him enough to be open about something so personal.
“I’m sorry, Pete. Is there something I can do? A way I can help?”
“Nah. I’m dealing with it. I’ve made my bed, and I’ve got to lie in it.” He sounded resigned, as if he’d given up, and that didn’t sit easy with Finn.
“But you can get help. There are places you can go. If money’s the problem—”
Pete grabbed his arm with surprising ferocity, his fingers digging deep. “Stop, Finn. Money’s not the problem. It never has been.”
“But I’ll support you. You can come and stay with me, live out at the house for a bit, out of the reach of… of Rocky… of stuff.”
“Support isn’t the problem either.” Pete took a deep breath. “And you and I both know that I can’t avoid Rocky.”
“But if I ran interference—” Finn had a flashback of telling Mitch how Carl had stepped in to protect him from Rocky. “What if I kept Rocky off your back?”
“It’s not that simple, and you know why. I want to be close. I need to be close, especially if I’m going to get Rocky to let up on you. Give you the space you need to….” Pete let his words fade and tossed a glance toward the building.
“I hate the thought of you sucking up to Rocky to give me space and because you feel you have something to pay back. There has to be another way.”
Pete snorted, took one last drag, and tossed the remains of his cigarette to the asphalt. “Let’s be honest, Finn. I said I wanted to make amends for some of the shit I’ve done, and I mean it. I really do.” Pete ground his boot onto the butt before he darted his gaze back to Finn’s. “But you think I don’t like being able to get high all the time? You think for a moment that I don’t want to get high without having to go looking for the shit? Wake up! I’m a fucking junkie, not a good guy, and definitely not worth you trying to save.”
