was his vulnerability. Those first aching moments I’d spent with him were because of that. How fragile he seemed, how easily broken.
I think I might have been a jerk tonight, over the thing with his phone.
It’s hard to say for sure.
“Midnight snack?” I ask, and he’s both relieved and nervous to see that it’s me.
“I’m sorry…it’s just turning into a rough night.”
“Want to talk about it?” There. It’s as open as I can be. I don’t know how to do more than this.
“What I want is to eat. Eat and eat and eat.”
“Funny, all I want to do is drink. But I don’t want to go downstairs and be sociable. What’s good in the fridge?”
His dark eyes search me, as though at any minute I might reach out and grab him, as though I’m something to be afraid of. “I didn’t get a chance to look…”
“There’s no sense being the brother of one of the investors in this place, if I can’t have full run of the kitchen,” I say, with more confidence in my voice than I actually feel.
Inside, there are a few of those cheesecakes we had for dessert. That’ll do.
I pull two of them out and put them on the long counter in the middle of the kitchen. “Now for something to drink…aha.”
Maybe it’s not an ancient scotch, but the bourbon I find in the kitchen will do nicely. I pour us both healthy glasses, and Finn’s eyes widen.
“I’m a little bit of a lightweight,” he tells me.
“Better eat fast, then, to soak up all the alcohol.”
For a moment it’s quiet, just the sound of fork tines on the plates, and the soft crinkle of plastic wrap warming in the night air.
I watch him take a first mouthful of the cheesecake, and I love the way his face smooths out, as though for one brief second all the worry in the world can be cured by cream and sugar. I have a bite myself, and it melts on my tongue; a sip of bourbon with it just makes it more magical, hot and dark and mysterious.
“This…is…fantastic,” he whispers.
“I have to hand it to Noah and his crew, they know how to feed a guest.” I find myself whispering too, as though afraid of getting caught. “Do you want to tell me what’s got you so bothered, that you have to skulk around the halls all night?”
He looks down at his cheesecake, runs the tines of the fork over its surface, like one of those little sand gardens with a rake, a calming pattern. “I think you already know,” he says. “It’s Jimi.”
How to explain this rush of feeling? I don’t feel things, that just doesn’t happen to me. I don’t even know the names of these things I’m feeling. Anger? Relief? Jealousy? Protectiveness? It’s too complicated, I need a flowchart, a diagram, someone to make these things clear to me.
The first bourbon is gone and I pour myself a second. “Has he been calling you?”
A quiet nod. “Calls…visits from his security staff. Apparently he came by my place again tonight.”
This is like pulling teeth. Why won’t he talk to me? Doesn’t he trust me?
He doesn’t.
That’s what comes home to me, right then.
Finn doesn’t trust me.
Why would he? He doesn’t know me. We have this strange closeness—I know we both feel it—but where have I proved that I’m trustworthy? I think back, and all I can see is him patiently tolerating all my complaining, my anger, my grudges and of course my lusts.
You’re not a very pleasant person to be around, Colbert Raines.
“Listen, I’m going to say something to you, Finn, and I need you to hear me. All right? I don’t know what you’ve got going on with Jimi. I don’t have any right to care about it, either. But if he’s hurting you, if he’s holding something over your head, you can tell me. I can take care of it. I know he’s trying to be a big shot with his gold chains and big bodyguards, but I promise you, he’s a gnat I can swat away. He can’t do a thing to you, if we don’t let him.”
Now his eyes are seriously wet. One false move and a tear is going to streak down his face. Will it follow the line of his scar, as though his face has been riven from too much crying?
Not for the first time, I wonder if Jimi’s the one who gave him the scar.
I’m not going to pry, though.
It’s