Finn Beckett

by Mj Fields

  I see him pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

  Don’t do it, I plead with him in my head. Don’t. Do. It.

  He’s doing it … He. Is. Doing. It.

  As he lights up and inhales deeply, I scan the stage for the security men and see them walking up to the stage. However, Xavier shakes his head at them, giving them a look that is without a doubt meant to intimidate, and they step back.

  The band goes right into another song. Memphis is singing; Finn’s jamming; Billy is trying his best not to look annoyed by Finn with his cigarette hanging out of his mouth; and River has a look of mischief as he looks toward the security officers.

  The song ends, and I see River reach in his pocket and pull out … Oh, hell.

  Don’t do it, I plead with him in my head. Don’t. Do. It.

  He’s doing it … He. Is. Doing. It.

  The entire song, River is beating on the drum with what I am one hundred ten percent sure is a joint hanging from the corner of his mouth.

  By the time the song ends, the security guard force has increased, and Nick, Taelyn, and Xavier are arguing with them.

  I look at my tablet as I walk over.

  “They have one more song,” I say as loudly as I can. No one hears me, so I scream, “They just have one more song!”

  All eyes fly to me.

  “They are breaking laws,” the man who seems to be in charge says to me.

  “They’re not, really—” I stop, because what’s not really? Pot is illegal in Texas, and Finn has already been warned that no smoking is allowed at the arena.

  Think, think, I tell myself.

  “They’re props.” I nod, content at my lame-ass excuse, hoping it buys them time.

  Security storming the stage would not be good, not with a hundred thousand cameras in the audience.

  “Props?” one says, and Xavier smirks like this is funny.

  I scowl at him, and his eyebrows rise. Then I sigh and shrug, throwing my hands in the air as I walk away. I tried, dammit.

  The band is saying their thank yous and goodnights when I see River stand.

  “Thank you, Texas! But, hey, there is a whole shit-load of security standing off stage. I think I’m in trouble. I just want to say one thing to them … I didn’t do shit!” He takes the joint from behind his ear and shoves it in his mouth. “I didn’t do shit!” The crowd roars as he raises his hands in the air. “Rockers fucking rock and cops eat fucking donuts! Rockers rock and cops eat donuts! Rockers rock and cops eat donuts!”

  When the crowd starts chanting with him, Xavier throws his notebook on the ground and his hands in the air, turns, and walks away.

  Security storms the stage, the lights go out, and the crowd goes mad. Once River is cuffed and off stage, the lights come up.

  Memphis steps to the mic. “Hope you enjoyed the show. River’s just fucking with you. He just had to piss. Not all cops eat donuts; some just like the coffee.”

  Tally laughs, then covers her mouth. Taelyn looks relieved. Xavier is with River and the security crew.

  “Go in peace, drink responsibly, don’t fucking smoke on stage”—he laughs, pointing at Finn who holds his hands up as if to say ‘not me,’—“and when you get rocked tonight, fuck like you’ve never fucked before. I know I will.” The crowd freaks out again as he waves. “Goodnight, everyone.”

  When Finn comes off stage, his eyes are murky, hazy, and still beautiful as they seek me out. The hair on the back of my neck immediately stands on end, and I know I need to find a corner and hide from the hurricane that appears to be coming … for me.

  Quickly, I turn and head for the backdoor. I open it, the wind pricking my skin as I walk down the cement path toward the parking lot. Then I hear the door open, then boots thudding toward me.

  I just need time to regroup, but apparently, he isn’t going to allow it.

  “Sonya, stop,” he growls.

  I don’t want to run after her, spook her, but if she doesn’t turn the fuck around, I will have no other choice.

  I reach in my pocket for a cigarette, fucking anxious as all hell, as she stops yet doesn’t turn around. I light it up and wait.

  Finally, she turns around. “Do you really need that?”

  “Yeah,” I say on an exhale.

  “Why?’

  “It calms me down,” I answer before taking another drag.

  She crosses her arms. “And the pot?”

  I exhale. “Relaxes me.”

  “You didn’t need it in Houston,” she states.

  I nod. “Different times.”

  “How so?”

  I shake my head and take another drag. You weren’t running, I think to myself.

  “You need to stop smoking. It’s a disgusting habit.”

  I just look at for a moment. “It’s not a habit.”

  “No? Then what is it?”

  “Come closer, and I’ll tell you,” I say as I inhale the last drag, toss it down, then stomp it out with my boot.

  “You come here,” she says as she looks down at her feet.

  Good plan, I think to myself.

  It takes three long strides to get to her, and then two eyes gazes up at me, telling me she wants me, one kiss to make the fear go away.

  I grip her hips and pull her close, and she relaxes into me immediately. I then take my hands from her hips and hold her face, tilting it to the side before pushing my tongue in deeper. Her thumbs hook into my belt loops, and then she pulls me even closer as her tongue begins stroking mine in return.

  I slowly pull my mouth away, leaving one hand on her face and rubbing up her back with the other.

  “Tell me,” she says quietly.

  “A replacement for that.”

  She leans forward and rests her head on my chest. “Didn’t I scare you away last night?”

  “Scare me away?” I tilt her chin so I am looking in her eyes again. “Not a chance, Yaya. I was just waiting for you to give me the green light. Took you long enough.”

  “How was me being pissed at you the green light?” she asks, tugging down on my loops.

  “You were looking at me. You were showing some sort of emotion. You let loose the badass you’ve been lugging around all day.”

  She looks up at me, her eyebrows slightly arched.

  “There she is again.”

  “Then you should run,” she says, shaking her head. “I need a little badass to continue on the path I am choosing to follow.”

  “Is there room on that path for someone to stand in the shadows and help you out once in a while?”

  She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “I need to take this time to become strong. You should do the same.”

  “I’m strong. I’m really fucking strong.” I pull her closer, afraid if I don’t, she’ll walk away when I know damn well she can be stronger with me.

  “Prove it?”

  “Are we twelve?”

  “No, Finn. We are much older than twelve, and look at the time we’ve both wasted being drawn down by our demons.” She looks to the side. “I want you to be happy. I want you to—” She pauses, and then her hand touches the side of my face, her fingers stroking my beard. “I want you to see. Like the song, Finn. I want you to see.”

  “I see you. I see the parts of you that you hide, the parts of you that you don’t let anyone else see. Make no mistake about that. I see you.”

  “And when I am where I want to be, where I know I can be, what will you see then?”

  I look at her, certain she’s pushing me away, but she hasn’t let go, even if she’s telling herself she has. “I see me taking you on a date.”

  She looks completely shocked. “A date?”

  “Yes, because my demons don’t drive me, Yaya. They make me stronger, but they don’t drive me.”

  “Prove it,” she says, trying not to smile.

  “Will do.”

  “Finn,” she sighs and shakes her head again. “Smart girls don’t date rock stars.”


  “No, lucky ones date men who create music.” As she bites her lip, I lean in and whisper, “On and in between the sheets.”

  She can’t contain the smile now, and the look in her eyes is unmistakable.

  “I know you want me, and I want you bad,” I tell her.

  “Bad?” she says, swallowing back her desire.

  “Really bad. You and I are dating now,” I inform her.

  “We are?” she says, lifting her chin and licking her lips. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t. I can’t. We—”

  “Spit it out, Yaya,” I say, pulling her to me more tightly.

  “I don’t want anyone to … I like how things … Oh, Finn, this isn’t a good idea,” she sighs, looking so frustrated it drives me insane and makes me hard.

  “You can pretend all you want, but don’t ask me to.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispers, her eyes shifting around as if she thinks someone will see us.

  “It means I’m not going to act like I don’t like to be around you,” I answer.

  “I can’t. People will dig, Finn. People will find out who I am. Besides, I have no idea what is going to happen to me when this tour’s over.”

  The frustration she feels, I feel it, too. I feel it for her.

  “I gave up giving a shit about what people think of me a long time ago,” I say, easing my hold on her a little, but fuck if I will let go. “I understand, though.”

  She looks at me in confusion.

  “We’re good friends, really good friends. I won’t hide from the people in this circle, but I can promise you I will do what it takes to keep the outside world out. Don’t ask me for any more than that.”

  “I don’t want them to know, either,” she argues.

  “About your past, I feel you; I understand, but—”

  She puts her finger over my mouth. “No buts, Finn.”

  I groan in frustration, then lean in and kiss her before stepping back. “I hope, when you feel comfortable, you can trust them. I do.”

  “I hope you can let go of what’s causing you to … smoke and stuff.”

  “Letting go would cause it to be worse,” I say without thinking.

  “Meaning?” Not having you, that’s what I mean.

  “Meaning I will get my shit together, and you’ll see my past doesn’t prevent me from chasing whatever the hell it is I want.”

  “You scare me,” slips out of her mouth.

  “No need for that.”

  “Do you understand that I am trying to be strong?”

  “I sure as hell do. Let me help you.”

  “Finn, have you tried to help River?”

  Reality hits me, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

  “You’re afraid because—” Oh fuck no.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

  “But something that’s eating at you. Have I tried to help River? No, he has to want it. You may think I’m a mess now, but I’m not. I was a hell of a lot worse once. I gave zero fucks about anything, including myself. I care about my music. I’m realizing a dream, and I will hold on to it by any means possible. Right now, I am stronger than I was a week ago, and in a week, I’ll be stronger than I am now. You will be, too, little Yaya.” I smile at her new nickname. “We’ll do this together.”

  “And if I leave after the tour?”

  “I’m not asking you to give up something for me. I would never ask you to walk from your little man. I’m simply asking you to spend some time with me, ’cause you know as well as I do, it feels damn good. If our paths lead in different directions, we shake hands, walk away, and make damn sure we walk with respect.”

  She nods.

  “Yeah?” I ask just to fucking clarify.

  “Yes.” She smiles and nods. “Yes.”

  Instead of kissing her, I nod to the arena. “As much as I want to take you right here and right now, we should get back in before anyone notices we’re gone.”

  ***

  We leave the venue and head to the airport. As we board the plane, headed for Orlando, I make sure she is sitting next to me, and River is on the other side. Not that I want him to be fucked up all the time, but fucked up friends miss shit, like me holding her hand.

  She pulls out a Blow Pop and hands it to me. I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth as she does the same with hers.

  “Your new vice.” She smiles, and I can’t help watching those lips.

  “I have a new vice. You should, too,” I tell her, already having something bigger than a Blow Pop in mind.

  “Care to enlighten me?”

  I bite my lip and shake my head. Then I pull the Blow Pop out of her mouth slowly and rub it across her lower lip.

  “See? Addicted already; you’re stealing mine.” She sighs, “Again.”

  “I might take it out, Yaya, but I promise to always put it back in.” I slowly move it to her mouth. “Now open up and say ‘ah.’ ”

  “Ah,” she plays along, but clearly has no clue what I am alluding to. Fuck! Even that is hot.

  “You’re killing me, girl. Fucking killing me,” I groan as I adjust my shit.

  I look back and her eyes are big as saucers, her mouth hanging open slightly.

  She looks around and whispers, “You meant—”

  “Perfect new addiction.”

  “You’re so bad.” She smiles, her eyes lighting up.

  I shrug. “I’m better when I’m bad. Let’s hope I can prove that to you … very soon.”

  Contentment must bring on exhaustion in me, because when I next open my eyes, she has a laptop open and is typing a mile a minute. I glance over to see two screens open. One is Rocking Reviews and the other is Single Mom Saves. I watch as she types up product reviews and posts them. Some, she saves and schedules for a later date.

  She clicks to the other page and starts posting about the top hits on Indie, Rock, and Pop music. She highlights tweaks and posts. As with the other page, she schedules some for later dates.

  Then she clicks on a tab that takes her to a page that says something about favorites, and I see “Beckett is Bangable.” She types and glances over, slams the computer shut, and blushes furiously.

  Pulling out her ear buds, she whispers, “Let me explain.”

  “Explaining means you think I’m confused. There is nothing confusing me.” I lean my head back against the seat, reach over, and pull a few strands of her hair toward me. When we are nose to nose, I whisper, “I’m just glad you think so.”

  She closes her eyes. “It’s just …”

  “You do that a lot, you know, Yaya. Closing your eyes doesn’t mean I can’t see you. You just can’t see me.”

  She grins, giggles, and then says, “I run a few blogs. That’s how I make money—made money … Well, I guess I still do.” She opens her eyes. “It helped a lot when I was … Well, when I didn’t leave, when Noah was a baby.” Her eyes smile when she says his name.

  I sit back a little, let go of her hair, and take her hand, instead. “Tell me about him.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “Well, he’s beautiful.”

  “Looks like his mom, then.” I smile, but her face doesn’t follow suit.

  “He has darker hair and eyes.”

  I nod and smile, and yes, I’m thinking of that motherfucker I want to rip apart with my bare hands.

  “Two little dimples. He’s small for his age, but he’s growing.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  She nods. “He was early—really early—so he has some … issues.”

  “How early?”

  “Ten weeks. He was born at thirty weeks. His lungs weren’t developed well, but they’re getting stronger. He was in the hospital for a long time. He gets sick easily.” She closes her eyes. “He didn’t talk until he was two. They thought he had more serious problems … mental health problems.” She smiles. “You really don’t want to know all this.”

/>   “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

  “I figured out he could communicate with me. I waved to him; he waved back. He pointed to what he wanted, smiled, and mimicked facial expressions—that kind of thing. He wasn’t slow; he was … well, a little monkey. He climbed everything, and one day, I dropped something right beside him on his left side. It didn’t make him jump, so I dropped something next to his right side, and he reacted. Come to find out, he has fifty percent hearing loss in that ear. He has a hearing aid now and talks just like a normal four-year-old.”

  “And you figured that out?”

  She nods.

  “You’re a good mom.”

  “I’m gonna be better,” she says with forced conviction.

  “Why do you think you aren’t good enough? Some moms don’t even make sure they feed their kids or keep them clean. You paid attention and diagnosed an issue a doctor couldn’t.”

  “Well”—she swallows—“I suppose it’s because, at first, I went through the motions. I was just seventeen. My mother really wasn’t all that affectionate, so I suppose I didn’t know how.”

  “And how is she with him?” I ask.

  “She’s never met him,” she whispers. “She was in prison for dealing. She had a good lawyer or it would have been a much longer sentence, turns out she only did four years. When she got out, she left the country, illegally.”

  “Left you?” I ask, staying calmer than I feel.

  She nods. “She left me, but she left me the house. It was in my name before she divorced her latest husband. She also left me enough money to live on for a few years.”

  “So, your work online is more a hobby?”

  “No.” She shakes her head and smiles. “That’s how we live.”

  “You and Noah?”

  “My aunt and her kids who used to live there, too. Then they kind of moved back West. My cousins”—she holds up her hand—“all five of them, had a hard time with school.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, some of them got kicked out a lot, so she home-schooled them. Anyways, we ran out of money faster than Mom had planned for. When I was eighteen, I was either going to have to sell or get a mortgage on the house. I like my house. It’s—” She stops and looks down then up at me again. “I’ve never talked about this with anyone. It feels—”