Hot Mess (Life Sucks Book 2)

by Elise Faber

  Their mouths were an inch apart. Hot breath on her lips, a slightly calloused palm on her cheek. “I—”

  “Root beer floats!” Rylie yelled, tearing out of the house, the door slamming behind her.

  Finn straightened, fingers sliding from her cheek. “So close.”

  She nibbled at the corner of her mouth. “So far.” A beat. “For the record, the floats will rock your world, too.”

  “Hmm.”

  Shan started to turn for the front door, but Finn caught her arm, tugged her back around to face him.

  “What—”

  He kissed her, one brief firm press of his mouth to hers that had her knees going weak. Then he released her, nudged her toward the door, saying, “Get a jacket, wind’s picking up.”

  “Are you coming with us, Mr. Finn?” she heard Ry call, while grabbing her jacket from the hook in the hallway.

  “Is that okay with you, Ms Rylie?” Finn asked.

  Ry’s “Yup!” was punctuated with pounding footsteps across the deck and had Shannon grinning. “Root beer floats are the best!”

  Yeah, this less worrying, more living thing was pretty great.

  Fourteen

  Resolution on the Dotted Line

  Finn

  “And that’s the final signature right there,” the mid-twenties-something notary said, pointing at one last line.

  Finn scrawled his name on the line, took his copy of the paperwork, and then slipped out the door and onto the sidewalk.

  He was one town over.

  His assistant had called that morning to say he’d found a house and the deal for it was done—easy, Finn supposed when he’d offered the sellers all cash, over asking price, and to take the property as is. It was ocean-front with an identical layout to the cottage he was staying in, and the address told him it wasn’t far from it either.

  He’d have to wait until the payment processed and the keys were turned over, but that shouldn’t take long.

  Then he’d have his home base here.

  Then he could keep spending time with Shannon.

  It had been two weeks since they’d watched the movie together, and he’d seen her and Rylie every day—sometimes for just a cup of coffee and the walk to school, twice more he’d brought her takeout for dinner, and once he’d brought her lunch at school.

  All of that had given him even more proof for why he loved this town.

  Not one picture of him had appeared in any newspaper or social media post, not even the selfie he’d taken with the teenager more than a month before.

  So yeah, even if Shannon and Rylie weren’t here, Stoneybrook would be high on his list of places to have a house.

  He slid into his car, dropped the papers into the back seat, and turned on the ignition. Privacy, a beautiful woman, an awesome little girl who was energetic and sweet and funny.

  He’d bought houses sight unseen multiple times in the past.

  This was the first time he’d known with one hundred percent certainty that he would be thrilled about the purchase.

  Because Shannon.

  Because Rylie.

  Yeah, he couldn’t wait to set up a home here.

  She came to his deck that night, a mug in her hand, fluffy pajamas on her legs, and an oversized hoodie covering her curves. “Do you mind company?” she asked, gesturing to the laptop open in front of him.

  “No,” he said. “I was just reading through a project.”

  “A new film?”

  “T.V. actually,” he told her. “Or well, for a streaming platform.”

  She sank into the chair next to him. “That seems out of the ordinary for you.”

  A shrug. “I haven’t done it before, but I’ve been . . .” He trailed off.

  “What?” she asked, resting the mug down on the table and covering his hand with hers. “What is it?”

  “Hollywood problems,” he said. “More selfish need to feed my soul, more not finding anywhere where I fit in.” He closed his laptop and sighed. “And more of me being totally aware of how ridiculous that sounds being a straight, white man.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Well, I will say I agree that your category of story has been told more than most.” A soft smile. “But I don’t think it’s wrong to search for different ways to tell that story, different pieces of yourself you haven’t had the chance to explore yet.”

  “How do you always have the words?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “Well, if you find the story for a single mom with a jerky ex who looks like me and not some blond, skinny Hollywood type, let it be known, I’ll buy the first ticket.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve got a deal.” A beat. “Cute jammies, by the way.”

  A snort. “Really?”

  “They’re adorable.” He grinned. “I’ve always loved sheep.”

  Those pretty blue eyes danced with laughter. “You can’t help but be charming, can you?”

  “It’s a gift.”

  She took a sip from her mug.

  “Coffee this late at night?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Hot chocolate.” She extended the cup. “Want some?”

  He wanted something, and it wasn’t hot chocolate. His mouth watered with the desire, the need to kiss her, to touch her again. “No, thanks.”

  She shrugged, leaned forward to place the mug on the table again.

  They sat in silence for several long moments before Shan turned back to face him again, studying him closely, searching his eyes, the heavy weight of her stare almost tangible as it traced over him.

  “What is it?”

  The corners of her mouth tipped up. “I just realized why I came over here tonight.”

  Finn tilted his head to the side. “Was it not for my charming personality?”

  That mouth curving further. “No, honey. I came over here because I wanted to kiss you again.”

  Lightning through his veins.

  He sat up straight, the statement pretty much the last one he’d expected to come off her tongue. “What—?”

  “Is that okay?” she asked, standing up and spinning to face him, then sitting back down, only this time astride his thighs. “Is this okay? I’ve been promising myself I’d do less worrying, that I’d start living and feeling and just . . . going for it.” Her expression became tinged with shy. “Is that—well, I mean . . . is that—”

  His words wouldn’t come, at least until the moment she faltered, the moment uncertainty crept into her face.

  Then Finn found himself unfrozen.

  “Yeah, Blue Eyes,” he said, sliding one hand behind her head, dropping the other to her waist and tugging her close. “That’s more than okay.”

  He kissed her.

  And later, when he’d walked her to her front door, pressed a gentle kiss to swollen and slightly-reddened lips, he was beyond grateful that he’d bought the house.

  Beyond. Grateful.

  The phone call came when he was already in bed that night a few days later, having missed Rylie and Shannon for dinner because of his trip to the next town and because they’d both been busy with Back to School Night.

  Now it was almost eleven, he’d been tucked into bed with a script open on his computer, and Shan had said she and Rylie would come over for breakfast in the morning, since it was Saturday.

  He was going to make French toast.

  With chocolate sauce—per Ry’s suggestion.

  Grinning and lost in the memory of her fist-pump upon sight of Lizzy, as they’d all walked to school that morning, Finn jumped when his phone buzzed again. He set his laptop to the side, picked up his cell, glanced at the screen . . . and felt his heart seize.

  Lexy.

  His sister.

  His younger sister. Who’d told him to go. Who—

  Buzz. Buzz.

  Whose call he was going to miss if he didn’t pick up the damn phone.

  Scrambling, he swiped his finger across the screen. “Lex?”

  “F
inn.” A shaky breath. “I’m here.”

  “Here, where?”

  “On your porch.”

  He sat bolt upright in bed, heart clenching again. “On my porch,” he repeated. “In Stoneybrook?”

  “Y-yes.”

  The cell hit the bed the same moment his feet hit the hardwood floor. Then he took off for the front door, footsteps pounding down the hall, and he hauled ass for the person he could see silhouetted by the overhead lights through the window in the white wood.

  He reached for the knob, wrenched open the door.

  “Lex.”

  “Finn,” she said, her expression unreadable.

  He opened his arms.

  She took a faltering step forward and fell into them.

  Then she was crying.

  Then Finn was crying as he tugged her inside, leading her over to the couch. All the while, Lexy’s tears didn’t stop, great wrenching sobs that soaked through the T-shirt he wore, heartbreaking pain that sliced through him with each hiccupping breath that passed through her lungs.

  His own eyes were burning, leaking hot tears down his cheeks, but he did the only thing he could.

  Held on to his sister as they both cried.

  For everything that had happened. For everything that had changed.

  For everything that had been violated and lost.

  He didn’t even realize he’d been repeating, “I’m sorry” over and over again until she pushed off his chest, cupped his face in her palms and said, “It’s not your fault.”

  “Lex,” he began, voice rough. “I—”

  She jostled his face. “It’s. Not. Your. Fault,” she repeated. “Nothing that happened that night was your fault or my fault. It was his fault. He was wrong. He violated me and took what wasn’t freely given. But that’s not on you or me.”

  He covered her palms with his fingers, gently peeling her hands from his face. “Lex, you shouldn’t be trying to make me feel better. You should be concentrating on you.”

  “I did concentrate on me,” she said. “I’ve spent the last months concentrating on me, on my healing, on processing what happened, what was done to me.”

  “You should keep doing that,” he said. “Not fly out here and—”

  “I told you to go.”

  He winced.

  She turned her hands over in his, squeezed his fingers lightly. “I told you to go because every time I looked over the dinner table, seeing you there as the media storm grew, watching you in agony week after week after week, I just . . . I couldn’t take it.”

  He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  “Finn.”

  His eyes flicked back to hers.

  “I was never mad at you about the interview, about how it came out.”

  “I shouldn’t have—” He shook his head, sat back. “I violated your privacy and—”

  “The only one who violated anything was my rapist.”

  “I—”

  “And further that I was proud of you for standing up for that girl, for calling out that sleazeball of an anchor. That was the right thing to do.” A ghost of a smile. “Maybe I would have liked some warning . . . but—”

  He shook his head. “Lexy, I get what you’re doing, but—”

  “I was angry at you.”

  His lungs froze.

  “I was furious. I hated that you were famous enough to get me an invite to that party, that you didn’t come and protect me. I was hurt and shattered inside, and I was so fucking mad at you.”

  “You should be.”

  “No, Finn,” she said. “The person I should be furious at is my rapist.”

  “I—” What could he say? Because she was right, but that also didn’t excuse his role. If he’d just been there, then things would be different.

  “Guilt train.”

  His brows dragged together. “What?”

  “You’re all aboard the guilt train, and you don’t want to get off,” she said. “You stay on it, you keep beating yourself up, thinking you deserve this punishment, but in reality, you’re punishing me.”

  “Lex.”

  “Because if you stop living, if you keep hurting yourself”—she sniffed—“then you need to know that you’re hurting me, too.”

  He tugged her into his arms. “Lex.”

  “He hurt us enough,” she murmured. “Let’s not allow him to keep doing it.”

  Finn held her tight. Partly in wonder because how had his sister gotten so big and grown-up when he’d had to help her tie her shoes all the way up to fifth grade? Partly because he felt so lucky that she was there and safe and had survived the awful thing that was done to her. “You were right to tell me to go.”

  “Hey—”

  He loosened his arms, leaned back to meet her eyes. “You needed space to heal, not me freaking out and making it worse.”

  “That’s not what I came to say.”

  “I know,” he said. “But it’s what I need to say. I was never hurt because you told me to go. I got it, and you were right. I needed out of town, just as much as you needed me gone.” He twisted, leaned back so his shoulder rested against the cushions and he faced her. “The media was relentless. Every time they hounded you, I felt worse. And, let’s face it, they were there for me. When I left, things got better.” A beat. “For both of us.”

  Her head tilted to the side. “They haven’t found you here?”

  “No.” He shrugged. “This town is great. I haven’t had a single person hound me, no stories of my exploits on the gossip sites. It’s so great that I bought a place.”

  Lex smiled. “Of course, you did.”

  “Wait until you see it in the daylight,” he told her. “The sunrise is gorgeous.”

  “I feel silly for waiting to drive over until this late.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Sitting at a diner, reading a paperback. My flight got in, and I drove to Stoneybrook a few hours ago. Oh!” She pushed off the couch, went to the front door, and grabbed a small backpack that she must have dropped on his deck. “I can’t believe I left this out here—” She reached inside, tugged out a book, and extended it toward him. “But anyway. I think this needs to be your next project.”

  Her yawn punctuated the paperback hitting his palm.

  “Hit the hay,” he told her, nudging her in the direction of his bedroom. There was only one in his cottage, the second bedroom having been made into an office.

  But he’d be fine on the couch for a night.

  “I’m all right”—another yawn—“I want to catch up with you—”

  He snagged her backpack and pushed in front of her, bringing it into the bedroom and setting it on the chair just inside the door. “You’re exhausted from being on a plane all day. Get some sleep, and we can catch up tomorrow.”

  No more arguments.

  She just nodded and unzipped the large compartment of her backpack and extracted some pajamas. “Okay.” Another yawn.

  “Bathroom’s through there. There’s a spare toothbrush under the sink.”

  “Okay,” she said again. “Can I borrow a T-shirt?”

  Finn grabbed one out of his dresser and tossed it to her, then turned to pull a blanket out of the closet, a pillow and his laptop and cell off the bed as she disappeared into the bathroom to change, then got himself settled on the couch.

  Lex appeared a few minutes later, clad in his shirt and fluffy penguin pajama bottoms, and looking about twelve years old.

  “Love you, middle bro,” she said, giving him a hug.

  “Love you, littlest sis.”

  She grinned.

  “Sleep tight,” he told her and watched as she went back down the hall and closed the door to the bedroom. He knew she’d be out in approximately ten seconds, because that was her superpower: give Lex a semi-horizontal surface and a modicum of tiredness and the girl could sleep.

  He’d always been so jealous of her on road trips, both of them crowded into the back of the minivan with their sibl
ings, Lex sleeping through the bickering as the miles slipped by.

  Tonight, just like then, he knew it would be nearly impossible to fall asleep.

  He had too much to think about.

  Too much to process.

  But somewhere around the time the sun began to rise, his eyes were finally heavy enough to slide shut.

  And, what felt like mere moments later, they opened back up to chaos.

  Complete and utter chaos.

  Fifteen

  The Other Woman

  Shannon

  She knocked on the front door, frowning at the quiet of the house.

  Rylie was wriggling next to her, almost vibrating herself out of her skin—if such a thing were even possible, her daughter would manage to get that jumping, dancing skeleton right out of her body and prance along the porch.

  But those fictional dancing bones couldn’t answer the door.

  She knocked one more time, waited a few more minutes.

  “Why isn’t Mr. Finn answering, Mom?”

  “He’s probably sleeping, honey.” She tugged the end of Ry’s ponytail. “Let’s go back to our house and make French toast. When we’re done, we’ll come back over and knock again.”

  Ry made a face. “Okay,” she muttered.

  “He probably just stayed up too late. Remember how hard it was to get up that time you tried not to go to sleep?”

  Her daughter considered that. “Yeah, I remember.”

  “So, we’ll make our French toast extra good, in case Finn is grumpy when we come back and knock again.”

  “With extra powdered sugar?”

  “Yup.” She started to turn. “And maybe even with bananas.”

  “Bananas!”

  She grinned. “Let’s go—”

  The door opened.

  A beautiful blond woman stood there, one hand on the wooden frame, the other on the knob. “Can I help you?”

  She was wearing a T-shirt of Finn’s.

  Shannon knew because she remembered with crystal clarity the last time he’d worn it. Standing on her deck. Well, leaning against the railing of her deck, the disappearing sunlight emphasizing the strong lines of his jaw and cheekbones, wind ruffling his hair. She’d just come back from checking on Rylie inside, making sure she was settling down for bed, then had emerged to the sight of a Greek god.