by Roni Loren
Liv sagged against the headboard. She appreciated Kincaid’s offer, but there was no way she was going back to sleep, and she didn’t have the energy to put on a happy face. It was mortifying enough to have them all see her like this. Even when her panic attacks had been at their worst, she’d been a pro at finding a way to have them alone, to hide. “Thanks, but it was just a nightmare. Probably from too many margaritas.” She tried to offer a smile. “Y’all get some sleep. I’ll be all right.”
“You sure?” Rebecca asked, rubbing her arms like she couldn’t warm up.
Liv met her gaze, hating that she’d also stirred up bad memories for Rebecca with this middle-of-the-night drama. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Okay,” Kincaid said, reaching out and patting Liv’s knee through the blankets. “But you let us know if you change your mind.”
“Will do.”
Kincaid circled her finger in the air and got up from the bed. “All right, troops. Back to your bunkers. Let’s leave the woman be.”
Finn didn’t move, only glanced distractedly at Kincaid. “You two go ahead. This door won’t be secured tonight. I’ll help Liv move her stuff into my room, and I’ll sleep in here.”
Liv straightened. “You don’t have to—”
He turned his head, giving Liv a look. “You’re not sleeping with an unlocked door. Not an option.”
His green-eyed gaze left no room for discussion. She sighed. “Fine.”
She didn’t bother to tell him she wouldn’t be sleeping regardless.
“Liv?” Kincaid asked, eyebrows lifted in a way that said, If you need me to escort this bossy boy out for you, I will grab him by his ear and make it happen.
The concern warmed her. “Yeah, it’s all right. Y’all go on.”
“Okeydokey,” Kincaid said, her tone too bright for this late at night. “See you two for breakfast in a few hours. Don’t try to get out of it.”
The two women headed to the door, Rebecca glancing back once with an odd expression before stepping out into the hall. They wedged the mangled door shut as best they could and left Liv alone with Finn.
Finn looked back to her, concern lining his face.
She ran her fingers through her knotty, damp hair, wishing she could just crawl in a hole or rewind time. “You don’t have to worry about the room thing. I’m not going back to sleep anyway.”
“You still shouldn’t stay with a broken door.”
He got up, giving her a view of his backside as he crossed the room and grabbed the hotel robe she’d tossed over a chair. Normally, she’d be able to appreciate the scenery—all those finely honed muscles and broad shoulders, and the way the boxer briefs clung to everything beneath. The guy had always been nicely put together and seemed to have only improved with time. But all she could focus on was the corresponding entry scar on Finn’s back. That smooth, raised mark gave her comfort that this was real, that the nightmare was over.
Liv rubbed her eyes, trying to erase all traces of the images from the dream. “I’m sorry I woke you and scared everyone.”
Finn’s expression darkened as he shrugged on the robe and belted it. “Don’t apologize. Not your fault. Stuff happens.”
Sure. But most people’s “stuff” didn’t wake up half a hotel and get a door busted in. They didn’t require a freaking intervention. She pointed to her open suitcase on the floor. “Can you throw me those shorts I have sitting on top? I’m feeling a little underdressed here.”
His gaze briefly jumped to the sheets that covered her, something unreadable in his expression. “Yeah. Sure.”
She caught them when he tossed them her way.
“I’m just gonna…” He jabbed a thumb to the left and stepped into the bathroom to give her some privacy.
Her face heated. Leave it to her to figure out a way to make things even more awkward with Finn. Throwing herself at him on the porch had apparently only been the opening act. She got up, wiggled into the shorts, and then snagged the bra she’d left on the floor so she could slip it on beneath her shirt. She needed all the armor she could get. “I’m dressed.”
Finn came back out and handed her a cup of water, somehow looking businesslike and official despite wearing a hotel robe. Maybe it was a cop thing. All business all the time.
“Thanks.” She accepted the water, sat back down on the bed, and took a long gulp.
He didn’t move away. “Sounded like a pretty rough nightmare.”
She eyed him over the rim of the cup. “Alcohol and being away from home do weird things to my brain, I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?” His voice was quiet, but his eyes were shrewd. “Sometimes describing the dream gets it out of your head so it won’t come back.”
The first part of the dream flickered through her mind, and her face went hot again as the images filled out in full color. The kissing. The roaming hands. His fingers… “Not even a little bit.”
God. Leave it to her to have a sex nightmare. Was that even a thing? Apparently her mind was going to invent new ways to torture her. Hey, here’s a nice little sexy dream, a bit of X-rated fun—nope, just kidding! Demented, gory shit on the way! She shivered and set the cup on the nightstand.
“You still look flushed.” He sat on the edge of the bed, the springs squeaking, and pushed a lock of damp hair away from her face. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Just peachy.” She gave an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Can we go now?”
He tilted his head, giving her the not-buying-it face. “It was a nightmare about the shooting.”
She looked away. “I didn’t say that.”
“Come on, don’t bullshit me,” he said, no ire in his voice. “You looked at me like I was a ghost and seemed relieved to see my scar. You’re obviously shaken up. I just want to make sure you’re all right. Tell me what happened.”
Great. So they were going to talk about this. Yay. She pulled a pillow onto her lap, needing some kind of buffer between them. “Fine. It was about that night, but I’m okay. It’s just something that happens sometimes.”
He nodded in a go on fashion and scooted back a little, not letting her get away with a pat answer but giving her some space.
Ugh. She hated this, hated having these conversations, hated anyone seeing this fragile side. Especially Finn.
“I used to get them all the time. Sometimes nightmares. Other times flashbacks. Wasn’t pretty and made college super fun, but I’ve learned what to avoid. Being here just set me off.”
“Understandable. Today’s been…difficult.” His eyes scanned her, a line appearing between his brows. “Any tricks you have for calming down afterward? You’re still shaking.”
She glanced down at her hands, the slight tremor visible against the pillow. She grunted in frustration and flexed her fingers, trying to will them to cooperate. “Not really. It’s kind of a suck-it-up-buttercup thing once it’s passed. I have to let the adrenaline burn out and distract myself. Take a shower. Watch some TV. Read. Not go back to sleep—like I’m a character in a Nightmare on Elm Street movie.” She smirked. “It’ll pass. Just ignore the crazy lady over here.”
There. She’d said it. I used to be messed up. Still am sometimes. Now you know. She braced herself for the oh-you-poor-thing face.
“I used to run.”
She looked up. “What?”
He shrugged. “You’re not crazy. Or if you are, I guess I am, too. I’ve been there. Had the nightmares. The panic attacks. For a while, anything that sounded like a gunshot or even the click of a gun being cocked would set me off. I’d freak out and then go running afterward to shake the feeling. Even if it was the middle of the night.” He raked his hand through his messy hair. “I’d run until I physically couldn’t anymore, until my legs would just give out. It made me feel nuts. So, I get it.”
She stared at him, caught off guard b
y the confession. When she’d known Finn in high school, he’d been the poster child of laid-back—if anything, purposely chill to piss off his high-strung father. So imagining him crushed by anxiety was hard to picture, especially seeing the man he’d become. A man who’d bust through a door and run toward danger. A cop. She glanced over at the nearby table and rolled her lips inward. Even the sight of the gun made her heart pick up speed. “But you’re a cop now. You have a gun.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like things that can control me.” He followed her gaze. “Sorry, let me take care of that.”
In one smooth movement, Finn got up and went to the table. He picked up the gun, checked the safety, and then tucked it into the drawer and out of sight.
She swallowed past the tight feeling in her throat. “Meaning?”
He settled back onto the bed. “Meaning, one night I was on one of those middle-of-the-night runs after a panic attack. I usually stuck to a regular path, but that night, I was at a friend’s house. I ran without any set direction. I wasn’t paying attention, just trying to run as fast and hard as I could. I ended up on my knees, near passing out, in some random park. Some dude snuck up on me and put a gun to my head to rob me.” His jaw flexed.
“I completely froze. Even if I’d had the energy to defend myself, I was useless. And when he found out I didn’t have anything on me except my phone, he stole that and then beat the shit out of me with a piece of pipe.” He looked up, lip curled in derision. “I survived one of the deadliest school shootings in history, and there I was, bleeding on the sidewalk at the hands of some punk kid out for kicks.”
“Jesus.” She hugged the pillow tighter, picturing the scene, knowing she would’ve reacted the same way.
“But it flipped some switch in me. Instead of getting more scared, I got pissed. Not just about that night, but about it all.” He glanced up at her, those green eyes haunted but earnest. “I remember sitting in the hospital afterward, giving a statement to the police and thinking, Never again. Like fuck that guy and fuck that gun and fuck the assholes who put that panic in me in the first place. I was done.” He rubbed a hand over his scar in what looked like an absentminded gesture. “I signed up for a gun-safety course as soon as I healed so I could deal with the fear.”
Liv rubbed the chill bumps from her arms. “That must’ve been ridiculously hard.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “The first few weeks, all I could do was sit there and watch other people do target practice. Listen to the sounds. Let the panic come and force myself not to run. It sucked. But then I met this cop who offered to help me. She pushed me, and I started to get used to handling the gun and began to train.” He focused on a spot somewhere over her shoulder like he was seeing the memory play out on a screen. “She taught me how to switch off the emotion of it. It’s going to sound ridiculous, but it became like football used to be for me. One mission. No emotion attached to it. Get the ball into the end zone. But this time it was hit the target. It was the only thing that helped.”
“Jumping into the fire.”
“Yeah. But it was the best thing I could’ve done. Learning from Eileen, the officer I met, seeing how confident and dedicated she was, made me want to do the same thing. When I eventually went into the academy, I was ready. I had to go through simulations where people would attack me or come at me with a weapon over and over again, in a hundred different ways. It diluted the power of my fears because now I had the skills to protect myself and the people around me.”
She leaned back against the headboard, impressed and a little awed. “So no one is going to catch you off your game again.”
His lips kicked up at the corners, some of that old arrogance breaking through. “Let’s just say it’s probably not going to go well for them if they try.”
She laughed, his playful smirk helping some of her jittery feelings dissipate. “Now I see it. I couldn’t picture you with a badge, but there it is. Cocky Finn does law enforcement.”
“What? Afraid I couldn’t pull it off?” He lifted an eyebrow, his face stern. “Ma’am, can you please step out of the vehicle? Hands where I can see them.”
She bit her lip. Of course with his authoritative tone, her mind put him in a uniform and some aviators. She’d never had a particular fetish for men in uniform, especially after her own run-in with the police. But the thought of Finn wearing a uniform and manhandling her a bit had her reconsidering. She would definitely get out of the vehicle. Maybe even let him cuff her. And as inappropriate as the thought was, considering the circumstances, it was a welcome respite from her nightmare. She cleared her throat. “I think you pull it off just fine.”
His dimple appeared beneath the stubble. “You’re blushing, Arias.”
“I am not.” She tipped up her chin. “I’m just…still flushed from all the adrenaline.”
“Uh-huh. Or you’ve got a secret cop fetish.”
“Stop flirting.” She pointed a finger at him.
“Am I flirting?” he asked innocently.
“Yes. And that’s not allowed. You yourself said that kiss was a mistake. So don’t come prancing around here half dressed with your Batman abs and talking about where to put my hands. No one likes a tease, Dorsey.”
His grin turned roguish. “I said that kiss was a mistake, not a regret.”
“Finn.”
“And Batman abs?” He grabbed the lapels of the robe like he was going to open it and check. “These old things?”
She stretched out her leg and kicked his thigh. “Stop it. You’re terrible.”
He lifted his palms in surrender and laughed. “At least you’re smiling now.”
“Yeah, well, there’s that.”
Even after all the years that had passed, Finn still seemed able to get her mind off things. When her mom was going through chemo and everything was doom and gloom at home, Finn could somehow figure out ways not just to make her laugh, but to do so in a way that didn’t make her feel guilty for feeling a moment of happiness.
She leaned forward, bracing herself on one hand, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
She looked up, meeting his gaze, and realized how close she still was. Close enough to see the flecks of gray in his green eyes, close enough to kiss him. She wet her lips. “Being you. I’ve missed that guy.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, his attention flicking to her mouth before sliding upward again. Her heart picked up speed, and his hand closed around her upper arm. “Liv…”
“I…” Whatever she was going to say died on her lips, because the way he was looking at her made her forget her words. There was want in those green depths—lust—but there was something else. Something that made her breath stall. Need mixed with something more dangerous. A wildness.
A curl of heat went up her spine, twining with unease. So much of her wanted to give in to it, to see what exactly was simmering between them. Just grab him and say to hell with it all and make the sheets even sweatier than they already were. But as much as he was drawing her in with that look, he was also warning her off. She didn’t know how she got that sense, but it was there, loud and clear. Push me away. Run. He wanted her to stop this.
He’d told her outside what he had to offer—nothing but a one-night stand. And though right now that sounded all kinds of enticing, she wasn’t going to go there. He didn’t want this. Plus, even sober, it would be too close to how she’d handled her anxiety in college. She didn’t need to chase away her nightmare with a hookup she’d regret in the morning. She wasn’t that girl anymore.
“Finn.” The word was strained.
“Yes?”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “We should get my stuff moved. It’s late.”
He stared at her for a moment, and then his grip on her arm softened. His breath tickled her hair. “Right. Of course.”
He released her, and she climbed off the bed with shaky limbs. She wouldn’t let herself look at him. She needed a task—something, anything, to get her mind off the man sitting on her bed. She packed in record time, and Finn retrieved his gun from the drawer, tucking it in the pocket of the robe. No words were exchanged. When she was done gathering her things, he helped her roll her bag down the hallway to his room.
He let her inside and quickly rounded up his own stuff. He moved with quiet efficiency, awkwardness creeping into the silence between them and spreading into every corner of the room.
She leaned against the dresser, watching him, hating the growing divide. “Hey, Finn.”
He looked up, his hands full of computer wires.
“I know the kiss was a mistake, and things have gotten a little weird and a lot personal tonight. But this—you and I having some time to talk—was good. I think that’s what I missed the most when everything happened. Losing you as a friend.”
His stance relaxed. “Yeah?”
She crossed her arms and shrugged. “Yeah. We were good at the kissing, but we were better at the talking. I never had to fake stuff with you.”
His eyebrow arched.
She laughed. “That’s not what I mean, Mr. Mind-in-the-Gutter. I mean that things were easy between us. That’s hard to find with people. I’m realizing that now. I don’t…have that.”
He tucked the computer cords in his bag and straightened, his watchful gaze making her fidgety.
“And that’s not your problem, obviously.” She was rambling now and couldn’t bring herself to stop. “But I opened that time capsule tonight and got to see a big, long list of things I wanted to accomplish in life and haven’t. I was supposed to do this. I was supposed to do that.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to name my freaking autobiography Supposed To, by Olivia Arias.”
He frowned. “Liv.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. It is what it is. But all I’m saying is that I don’t want another regret added to the list. So I just thought you should know that you meant—mean—something to me. And maybe you could give a flying flip about me. I have no clue what your life looks like now, but I would rather not leave Long Acre later today and go back to being strangers. Because people you don’t have to fake it for are hard to find. So… Yeah, that’s all I wanted to say. I’d like us to stay in touch.”