“I’m willing if you are, Cozy,” Finn rumbled deep and sexy, sending a tremor of awareness through her limbs.
“Not in a thousand lifetimes,” she volleyed from behind her clenched teeth, pivoting on her toe and stumbling over Jorge, dropping her clipboard, her purse and her sheets of carefully ordered music.
The papers scattered along the sidewalk, picking up gusts of the light breeze and flying in all directions.
Finn jumped out of the car, ready to lend a hand, stopping to grab as many papers as he could manage.
It was then everything hit her all at once, as she watched all the efforts she’d made to keep her life in a nice, neat package fly wildly across the road. The contents of her purse scattered about the sidewalk, her clipboard on the edge of Roscoe Brown’s dried-up lawn with the inflatable waving Santa.
Her anguish over Finn’s disappearance, her frustration once she’d learned he hadn’t been hurt at all but rather, was perfectly fine. The endless nights of deconstructing their relationship to look for flaws she might have missed, only to put it back together again so she could relive some of the best memories she’d ever made with another individual.
The war—the unmerciful, Godforsaken, internal war—she had with herself for still loving Finn so much, she ached, even after all these months.
It all caught up with her. Right there on the corner of Hexed and Toiled-Trouble lanes. Tears began to seep from the corners of her eyes and her shoulders began to shake as she dropped to her knees to gather sheet music.
“Cozy,” Finn whispered, pulling her up from her knees and brushing a lock of hair from her face with gentle fingers, his eyes soft and sympathetic. “Don’t cry. Please.”
Yanking her arm from his, she stared up at his beautiful face, swiping angrily at her traitorous tears and her far too willing body.
“It’s a little late for that.” She shook her head as though she could shake off the pain he was causing by showing back up here—sentenced to do so or not. “Leave me be, Finn. Go away. Go back to Winnie’s, do your time, and then go away. Please.”
And still he said nothing. Offered no explanation, not a single word of apology. But his eyes, his eyes roamed her face, picking up the lights on the festively decorated houses.
It was as though he were sending her some kind of signal—the way he used to when he was caught in a conversation with one of the seniors who liked to gab too long. The “help me” signal.
But he blinked and they shuttered, glazing back over until he had that half-cocky, half-amused expression he’d worn so well earlier today.
“It doesn’t have to be like this, Cozy.”
Her expression went from pleading to flabbergasted. “It doesn’t? How should it be, Finn? Should I forget what you did to me? Should we start hanging out at Skeeters and share a bucket of chicken wings and a beer? Maybe we could sit up and talk all night about prison life and the benefits of co-showering? How exactly is it supposed to be, Finn?” she rasped.
He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his arms flexing with tension. “I don’t know. Just not like this.”
“Tell you what, Fugitive, when you figure out how it’s supposed to be, you let me know. Until then, it’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. I don’t want your rides, your jokes, your presence. So if you’ll excuse me, I have music to reorganize.”
Snatching the sheets he’d gathered from his hand, she turned her back and began to walk as quickly as she could until she hit the corner, where she made a mad dash for home, Jorge huffing and puffing behind her.
And as the wind began to howl and leaves scattered across the street, she had to stop and ponder the kind of constitution she apparently possessed.
What woman in her right mind would still want to be held, kissed, touched by the man who’d left her high and dry without so much as a glance over his shoulder?
What did it say about her fortitude that she wasn’t repulsed by the very sight of him?
What?
* * *
Finn held the disposable phone he kept hidden under the bushes at Winnie and Ben’s up to his ear. As he sat in the parking lot of Paris’s version of the Eiffel Tower with the red cowboy hat on top and waited for the voice at the other end to pick up, he took a moment to allow the tightness in his chest to ease.
Thankfully, the parking lot was deserted. Rolling down the window, he leaned back in the seat of Winnie’s ridiculously wrapped Pacer and exhaled long and slow.
This was damn well killing him. He’d only seen Cozy twice now, and it was as though she’d sawed his heart right out of his chest and crushed it on the ground.
Her beach-blonde hair had grown longer, falling to well below her bra strap, lengthy curls the color of a white-hot summer sun, soft and wavy, hair he wanted to run his fingers through just one more time.
She was still as much of a girl as she’d ever been, and it still turned him on just as much as it once had. Nails painted red, white-lace fitted shirt beneath a short denim jacket he distinctly remembered her calling a shrug, and jeans that hugged her rounded hips and long legs. Shiny gold hoop earrings had fluttered in the breeze against the lightly tanned column of her neck, paired with a thin gold chain with a locket her parents had given her.
When her blue eyes had looked up into his after he’d kissed her, confusion, anger, raw pain in them, he’d almost broken right there.
And all he’d wanted to do was haul her to him, crush her against him. Hear her call him honey while she rested her head on his shoulder and drove her arms up under his because she was cold.
His mouth grew to a thin line when he finally heard the voice on the other end pick up.
“Yeah?”
“Why so long to pick up? What the fuck are you doing, your hair and nails?”
“Sorry, brother. Busy night,” the gruff voice answered.
“Did shit go down?”
“Shit’s always going down. Tonight was just the tip of the shit. Whaddya need, man? My hands are full here.” There was a grunt and a loud thwack that sounded like a fist hitting flesh before silence and nothing but the static on the line.
“Tell Pembroke I’m in for now. Also tell him I want out. Soon.”
“Donovan, don’t be a goddamn pansy. You were the one who offered to take the hit. It’s been a long shit-eating road, but we’re so close. I can taste it. You knew what we needed. You’re our best shot at this. Just keep trying to get in touch with them for a little longer.”
“She’s killing me, Orson. I knew it would be a bitch, but I didn’t know it would screw with my head like this. She’s damn well killing me.” He rubbed his aching chest as though there were a gaping wound.
Orson barked a laugh into the phone. “All broads’ll kill you eventually, Loverboy. That’s what they do. Did ya talk to Ridge yet?”
Finn gritted his teeth and squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. “He’s next on my things to do.”
“That oughta be a real cheerful conversation. Sorry I’m not going to be there to see Ridgie-boy smash your face in. What about the people in town? Everyone hate your bloomin’ yellow guts?”
“Like I gave them all the damn clap. Especially the seniors at Hallow Moon, where, in case you were wondering, I’m cleaning toilets, you bunch of shits.”
“And wearin’ pink like a fucking prom queen, Petunia. We got eyes on ya. Don’t think we haven’t spent a solid couple of minutes almost pissing our pants laughing about your new ex-con wardrobe.”
“You all suck.”
“Donkey balls, buddy. Look, I gotta go. I blow slimy chunks at this therapy thing, right? Call Weaver the next time you need somebody to wipe your tears. He’s sensitive.”
Now Finn barked his own laugh. “Fuck you, Orson.”
“Ah! There’s my boy. Now go get ‘er done and quit dickin’ around in the lady pool.”
“Later.” He clicked the phone off and popped open the back, yanking out the sim card and setting it on the dashboard.
<
br /> He used a hard fist to crush it, sweeping up the tiny pieces of it and stuffing them in the pocket of his pants to dump down the toilet at Ben’s.
As he wondered where to ditch the phone, he thought about Cozy. About how much he loved her and about how much he wanted all this to end.
When he turned the key in the ignition, Jacques sprang to life, almost making him smile. “Bonjour, Finn Donovan! Take ze left out of ze parking lot and onto…”
He tuned Jacques out and headed back to Winnie’s before he broke curfew. If the way she’d given him the death-wish glare this morning over breakfast was any indication, she’d meant what she said about sticking to the rules, he’d hate to break one and find out what she was really capable of.
Turning onto Ben and Winnie’s road, he drove slowly, soaking in the Christmas decorations and remembering how he and Cozy used to do their annual seasonal walk through Paris to see all the lights. Then they’d hit the diner in town and have hot chocolate and her favorite blueberry scones.
Fuck, he missed her.
Chapter Four
“THERE SHE IS!” Winnie called from the corner of the bakery, waving her hand at Cozy as though royalty had just strolled into the joint, her smile extra bright.
She sat with all the regulars for their early Tuesday morning coffee and pastry date. Calla, Ridge’s fiancée Bernie, Daphne, and Greta, Winnie’s sort of fellow parole officer, all with the same smiles plastered on their faces. Equally bright, equally overdone for her benefit.
They’d dubbed their pastry dates part of their religion. Once a week, unless you were dead. That didn’t include their monthly Girls’ Date Night Out, where they chose a restaurant out of a hat full of suggestions and then went dancing afterward…or the yoga classes they took together…or movie nights.
She’d missed this ritualistic bond they’d created. She needed it now more than ever. But what she didn’t need was their pity or their need to make everything all better. She loved them for it, and sure, that’s what girlfriends were for. But this time, she just wanted to let it ride. After last night, she was bruised.
She’d put on extra concealer this morning to hide the dark circles she was harvesting under her eyes after a long night of more rehashing her and Finn’s relationship. Nothing seemed to deter her from poking herself in the eye over and over.
As she made her way across the black and white checkered tiles with Jorge glued to her calf, she put on a falsely cheerful smile to match theirs, as they all rose to greet her. “Hey, ladies! How are you?” she asked, pecking each of them on the cheek before grabbing a white metal chair and sitting down in the middle of the throng.
“Good-good,” Winnie said brightly, folding her hands in front of her and grinning.
“Daphne? How’s Fate?” Cozy asked, referring to her friend’s husband—the real live man in charge of fate. “It’s a busy time of year for him, making sure everyone meets their destiny and all. Have you had time to do a little Christmas shopping with him…snuggle by that amazing fireplace at least?”
Daphne, beautiful, blonde, artfully made-up, shot her the same grin Winnie had. “Oh, Fate’s good, honey. Just fine; sends his love.”
“Greta? Take down any criminals shoplifting these days with your tae kwon do?”
Greta smiled wider, her bobbed haircut bouncing just beneath her round chin when she held up her whistle, always securely around her neck—a whistle she didn’t hesitate to shatter your eardrums with if you committed the least infraction. “Nope, but I have my whistle just in case.”
“Bernie—”
“I can’t take it anymore!” Bernie shouted, making her familiar cat Fee jump from his place in her lap when she slapped her hands on the Formica table. His tutu fluttered and his tiara wobbled. Then she clamped her hand over her mouth and gave them all a guilty glance.
Cozy frowned as she broke off a piece of a bear claw. “Take what?”
“All this eggshell-walking! Look, I hate this. I haven’t known you as long as the others, but I like you, Cozy. I know I didn’t meet you until Finn was long gone and you’d just come back from summer vacation, but we were going to be sisters-in-law—sort of, anyway. I can’t stand that you’re so sad. I can’t stand that he’s back and at the farmhouse as we speak, and that’s part of what’s making you so sad. I can’t stand that we’re all trying to behave as though he’s not shoved under our noses like he didn’t hightail it out of here, his belly scraping the ground as he went! That’s what I can’t stand—and neither can Ridge, in case you were wondering whether Finn had successfully played the family card. He’s as angry as I am with his brother.”
Cozy looked down at her lap and nodded. The struggle Ridge had gone through when he’d had to come back last summer from Dallas to a farm in shambles was much talked about when Cozy had returned.
She’d heard all about how Bernie and Ridge had met and, as a couple, the work they’d put into reviving the farm to its former thriving state. She admired them both.
“I get this is awkward. Especially for you, Bernie, on the way to being related to Finn and all. I’m sorry.”
Bernie tugged at her purple-and-teal knit cap, the wisps of her strawberry blonde hair falling to her shoulders, her blue eyes full of worry. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not awkward for me at all. I’m on your side. We’re all on your side, Cozy.”
Calla nodded her head, her slender fingers twisting the colorful green-and-gold scarf she wore around her neck. “God, yes! This sucks. I don’t want him at Hallow Moon, Cozy. I want to chew my way through his liver every time he smiles that stupid smile and nods yes, no matter what chore I give him. I made him wash out the Dumpster in the back—like get in the damn thing and wash it with a sponge and some Mr. Clean, and he smiled the whole damn time while he whistled ‘White Christmas’. I hate that Baba’s forcing me to let him work for me. Hate,” she seethed.
Winnie leaned forward and finally gave in to the anguish she’d apparently been suffering. She reached for Cozy’s hand. “If anyone should feel awkward, or like total shit, however you want to lay it out, it’s me. I have to put him up, let him sleep, eat, bathe in my house, or feel the wrath of the council. I hate it, Cozy. You do know that, right? And I gave him hell—so much hell. After I ripped him a new one, I haven’t spoken to him since. I let Ben do all the talking because I refuse to speak to someone who’d do what he did to you.”
A tear wanted desperately to roll down her face, but she fought it with every ounce of energy she had left.
“It definitely isn’t your fault, Winnie. I know how inflexible the council can be to deal with. They probably sent him here because they want him to feel the scorn of his peers. I just wish they’d thought about this peer—the one he dumped.”
Everyone paused and waited, visibly holding their breath, unsure whether to reach out in support or remain silent. But she understood their unnecessary guilt—they needed to cleanse themselves of it just as much as she didn’t want to address it.
Fighting the impulse to lean her head on Greta’s shoulder and sob, she instead smiled. “Let’s make a pact, okay? Now that you’ve all purged, let’s forget it. I know none of you would hurt me purposely. I know your back is against the wall, Winnie, and you, too, Calla. But it’s done, and I’ll just go right on avoiding him as best I can until his parole is up and he slinks back off. Okay?”
Everyone sighed now, relief visible on their faces.
Daphne reached over and patted her hand. “You want me to ask my hunk of a husband to break all the rules and see if Finn’s fate includes a testicle removal?”
Cozy’s head fell back on her shoulders as she laughed. “Ask him if I’m part of that fate—because I don’t want to miss showing up for that. Now pass the coconut-custard-filled donuts and help me get my cholesterol on, would you?”
Everything was suddenly normal again, like every other breakfast they’d ever shared. They were chatting and laughing and talking about their plans for Christmas. Holiday mu
sic played in the background and tiny white lights twinkled around the perimeter of the store and as her friends, new and old, gabbed, they slathered their special brand of healing balm all over the open wound of her heart.
* * *
“You didn’t really just show up at my house, did you, brother? Like, standing here at my door, wearing someone’s fucked-up idea of a disco joke, wanting inside my door like nothing has passed between us?”
Finn looked down at his red polyester pants from somewhere in 1970 and the matching striped orange-and-red shirt with the wide collar and the buttons that only went to the middle of his chest, and then he looked at his brother, Ridge, amidst the dormant Christmas lights and reindeer on his front porch.
His big brother. The one he’d fished with, skipped stones with. Got drunk for the first time with—and the one now with raging disappointment laced with very visible anger in his eyes, greeting him at the door of their farmhouse.
His sharply angled face tight, his Stetson firmly in place, wadded fists clenched at his sides, making it clear, he was in no mood for Finn’s shenanigans.
So he did what he did best. Cracked wise. “The seventies called. I happened to be the closest to the phone.”
Ridge shook his head, meaning, not funny. “I’m gonna try to ignore your smart ass and I’m also going to give you one shot at explaining yourself. You left this place in a damn mess, Finn. Then there’s Cozy. You left that poor woman a shitwreck. Now, I only just recently got the farm out of hot water and that wasn’t without a lot of sweat and elbow grease and more help than it took to build The Great Wall Of China.
I thought you were dead. Jesus, Finn, the very idea scared the shit out of me. Then I hear Freemont Gable’s story about seeing you with some damn blonde in a bar in Galveston, slammin’ ‘em back like you don’t have a care in the world. So I’m gonna give you five seconds to tell me you’re not a fuck-up, and explain what the hell you’ve been doing, before I beat the living shit out of you for tearing my heart out. Go!” he shouted.
Alphas Unwrapped: 21 New Steamy Paranormal Tales of Shifters, Vampires, Werewolves, Dragons, Witches, Angels, Demons, Fey, and More Page 41
