Who’s first wife now? Finn had said when I’d told him to leave that night.
After those revelations, Tucker disappeared.
I couldn’t sit still, so I drove to Finn’s farm, bypassing the main road and taking the little-known access road toward the back of the property. I wanted to see it again—the pond where we'd made love, the land he cared about.
I parked the car and got out. The walk through the small forest wasn't easy. No one had used this path for a long time. I only knew about it because Ivy'd had me drive out here more than once after she and Finn had broken up and she'd lost her driver's license due to multiple OWIs. She'd wanted to see what that asshole had been up to. We never caught sight of him—only his truck, which had changed over the years.
I settled down on the spot where we'd had our picnic and drew my knees underneath my chin.
"Winter Donovan, right?"
My head jerked up. Mrs. O'Malley had crept up behind me, although how I didn't hear the horse, I didn't know.
"You were lost in thought," she explained, reading my silent confusion correctly. "Where's my son?"
"Working. It's nice to see you, Mrs. O'Malley." I stood and watched as she dismounted.
She swung her leg off the horse and came to stand beside me. Her riding boots were old leather and covered with dust. She wore actual jodhpurs that were slightly baggy around the thighs, a helmet, and a trim vest over a long-sleeved blue denim blouse.
"You two haven't been back since that one night." I felt my cheeks heat at the memory of that. I hoped she hadn't been around the pond that day.
"No ma'am, it's been a busy few weeks," I lied.
She stuck her hand under my chin and pushed it upward. She was about five inches taller than me, and I guessed she wanted to look me in the face. "You have this sad, martyred look on your face."
"Martyred?"
"Yes, very. I know it well. I've worn it every day of my life, so I recognize it easily when I spot it on someone else's face. Is this about the baby?"
I did a double take. "How do you know about that?"
She flicked her fingers. "Henry is a gossipy old man. He keeps me in the loop. He was convinced Finn would fail. Too young and not enough experience."
"Finn isn't going to fail," I retorted.
She shrugged as if she couldn’t care less. "Henry told me about the drama. Must have overheard something in the trailers. You are apparently noisy—in all your activities." She looked down her nose, and I flushed, deep and red. Note to self: don't have sex in construction trailers.
"I couldn't say, ma'am," was all I could choke out.
"I didn't want Finn to take this job. In fact, I actively tried to get him to quit. I had Henry call off the concrete subcontractor and create a few other problems that would delay the project so he'd walk away. I underestimated Finn's stubbornness."
"He doesn't walk away from anything." I thought of the daily donuts and coffee. The frequent trips to Tucker's to see me. I wondered about all the phone calls and text messages I'd missed.
She pursed her lips and looked out at the pond.
"I love Finn, but I've always thought of him as inherently lazy because everything came easy for him. He didn't need to study hard in high school to achieve As. He never had to work to gain any girl's attention. He was a naturally gifted athlete and had a good sense of humor which drew people to him. He wanted for nothing. Not friends, appreciation from his teachers, or material goods. He had everything, including the deep admiration and love of his parents. Particularly his father.
“His father worshipped the ground Finn walked on, said Finn was the best thing he'd ever had a hand in creating. So when the Riverside project fell into Finn's lap, I knew it would be something he'd walk away from because that's Finn. If a girl became too much work, he'd break up with her. He could have been a great athlete but didn't care enough to work at it. He didn't want to have the hassle of running a big company like his father's, so he did small flips, short term ventures that required some risk, some work, and netted some reward."
"That's not why he went into flipping." I objected. "And he's a lot different now."
"Oh, he is?" She looked at me appraisingly. "And you know this how?"
"Because he told me." I stopped. "No, he showed me. He's finishing this project of his father's, even though he hates it, because he loved his dad and didn't want to see his reputation suffer. He…he told me I came first for him, no matter what. He fights for what he thinks is important."
"And so you’re important?"
"Yes."
She fell silent, and the words we'd shared hung between us like a giant cloud.
"And what about Finn? Isn’t he important? Doesn’t he deserve to have someone fight for him too?" she said and climbed on her horse and left me.
What had I done to fight for Finn? Nothing. I'd loved him, but in my insecurities, what had I done to show him that I thought he was important?
Even breaking up with him was an act of selfishness. It wasn't about preserving Ivy and the baby as a unit but making sure I wouldn’t get hurt ever again. I’d eschewed long-term relationships. Chose guys like Hugh who were emotionally unavailable.
Didn’t I nurse my unrequited crush on Finn because I knew I’d never have him?
Could there be anything more safe that unrequited love?
Mrs. O'Malley was right. Tucker was right.
The only thing that was preventing me from being with Finn was myself.
27
WINTER
"I can't believe you're doing this," Tucker muttered as he wiped excess ink off my shoulder. "We've always subtly made fun of people—particularly under the age of, say, forty— getting names tattooed, and here you are, putting some chump's name on one of the most visible places on your body."
He bent over and applied the needle to my skin again. He'd been working on it for over an hour so I was getting used to the pain, but it reminded me why it had been so long between the tattoo I got when I first started working and now.
"Would you shut up and finish it?"
"Please tell me after this you'll get some other more interesting art? It's an embarrassment to the shop that you don't have anything else."
"At least I didn't ask for Chinese symbols."
"That's like saying, ‘At least I didn't eat garbage this morning.’"
"I should have asked Omar," I complained.
"Some guys think a tattoo like this tips a girl into the she might be good in bed, but she's too crazy for me bin."
"Thanks for your words of confidence. They’re really making me feel better."
"You're welcome," he said almost cheerfully. "Because I'm such a goddamn brilliant artist, I'll be able to change the lettering into something else. I guarantee the next guy you date isn't going to want to see another man's name staring at him when the two of you are going at it."
"I'm doing what you told me to do—putting myself first."
"How is getting Finn's name on your body putting yourself first?"
"I'm doing something I want. I'm not sacrificing myself for Ivy or even Finn or bowing down to your dictates on what makes a good tattoo. Not rushing home because my sister is getting out of prison and needs me to babysit her, or she'll start using again. Not even for Finn. This tattoo is for me."
Tucker grunted, wiped ink and then applied the last swirl. "You wouldn't last a minute in the courtroom."
I sat up, holding the towel to my chest, and motioned for Tucker to turn around. "Neither did you," I retorted.
He stiffened but then laughed. "Touché, Miss Winter, touché."
The bell tinkled, and Gig yelled back, "New commission consultation for you, Winter-who-gets-her-boyfriend's-name-tattooed-on-her-shoulder."
Calling Gig a five year old was an insult to five year olds everywhere. It was a good thing I didn’t wear bras, I thought, as I pulled my Atra tank over my head. The shoulder tattoo would require going braless while it healed.
&nb
sp; I went back to work, and each time I moved my arm or reached for a pencil or helped Gig pick up around the shop, I felt the pain of the tattoo. It was a good pain. It reminded me why I'd gotten it and what it meant.
•••
I drove to the Riverside project. Finn's truck was gone, just as Ivy had said when I called.
"You look terrible," I said when I climbed into the trailer. The interior looked neat and tidy, a far cry from when I first saw it, but Ivy looked awful. Her belly was growing, but her eyes looked sunken and her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in a month.
"Thanks," she said sullenly.
"How's the baby?"
"Fine."
She was going to freeze me out with terse words and a cold shoulder. So be it.
"I came to tell you that I regret the way we parted. I was hurting, and I wish I had handled it differently."
"Are you saying you want to move back?" she asked perking up slightly.
"No. I'm saying that I want to be a part of your life in a healthy way." I took a deep breath. "And that I want to be with Finn as well."
Her face screwed up as if she just tasted a lemon. "Why him?"
"I don't know. I've been in love with him since you first brought him home. When he walked through the front door, I swear angels sang. The night in March when I saw him alone in the café, I swear I didn't mean to do anything but comfort him, but when he turned to me," I paused, uncomfortable with my own incredibly selfish act. I'd acted pious, as if I was the only one who wasn't greedy, when I was the greediest of all of us. I pushed on, "I was the one who kissed him. I touched him, and I took advantage of his state. If I was truly the good sister, I would have walked away, but I didn't."
Ivy sat motionless. "You've always had a crush on him," she finally said.
I nodded. "I have. I wanted him even when you were dating him. When I saw my chance, I took it. I didn't think of you or what it might mean. Even when Finn and I started dating, I didn't think about you."
She pressed her lips tightly together, a red slash against the paleness of her face. I watched her cycle from disgust and hurt to calculation. I steeled myself for her words. "You're a real piece of work. Claiming I'm the one who hurt you when all I wanted was a little goddamned help. I saved you. You could have gone into the foster home, but I swore to the courts I'd be your guardian. I dropped out of school for you, and this is how you stab me in the back? You want my forgiveness? Then you drop him, come home, and help me birth this goddamned baby."
I took her words, not because I deserved them but because she was alone and hurting and because, more importantly, I wasn’t backing down.
Ivy hadn’t coped with the loss of our parents—or rather, she did but it was in the bottom of a bottle or in the bowl of a spoon. She had to come to the same realization that I did. That hurt from loss didn’t need to break us.
But I wasn’t the one who was going to be able to convince her of this, just like Finn couldn’t convince me. No, it was an understanding she would have to gain on her own.
"I love him, Ivy, and if he’ll forgive me and take me back, I am going to be with him. I still want to help you in whatever way that I can, but I'm going after him."
I made myself face her while I said these words because I knew she’d take them as an abandonment when it really meant I was just expanding our family. She’d have more than me to lean on. There’d be Finn too. Tears streamed down her face, and I felt wetness on mine.
I wasn't even sure what we were crying about, other than we were hurting each other so much right now. I could stop it, but if I did, that meant I'd lose Finn. I was making a choice, between Ivy and Finn, and she knew it.
The door slammed open, and both of us jumped. It was Finn. He glanced from one tear-stained face to another. "Should I come back?"
"I wish you'd never shown up in the first place," Ivy cried. She snatched up her purse and flew out, nearly knocking Finn over in the process.
"That went well." I gave Finn a weak smile. I hadn't seen him in forever, and I had to grip the side of the seat so I didn't launch myself at him. The tattoo that Tucker had just finished felt huge, and I was embarrassed and unready for this. I'd hoped to take one thing at a time.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. It sounded like an accusation. I tried again. "I mean, it's good to see you."
"It's good to see you too, Winter," he said.
It had only been a few weeks, but it seemed like a decade. I drank him in, and I could tell he did the same. He looked older, as if the past weeks or months of contact with the Donovan girls had aged him beyond his twenty-five years. We stared at each other because I didn't know what to say. I didn’t know what his excuse was. I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times trying to form my words.
I hadn't prepared my speech yet. The one I would deliver when I threw myself at his feet and begged for another chance. This was so close on the heels of my emotional talk with Ivy that I wanted to shrink into myself and disappear.
True to form, though, it was Finn who was the courageous one. He took a step forward. And then another. And then another, until he was so close I could feel the cotton of his T-shirt against my nose.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
I raised my hands and hesitantly placed them on his chest. He shuddered under my touch. "You too." His eyes closed as if he wanted to savor this.
I ached that I'd hurt him. I choked back a sob and pressed my face against his stomach. His hands closed around my shoulders, and I flinched.
He drew back immediately. "I'm sorry," he said. I grabbed his hand before he could pull completely away, before he left.
"I'm just tender here." I turned my back and pulled my shirt up and off my head.
"Did you get in an accident?" His fingers smoothed over the ridge of my shoulder, above the bandage that Tucker had placed.
"No." I pulled back the bandage and heard a swift intake of breath.
"My God, is that my—"
"Your name."
He dropped to his knees, and he pressed his face into the middle of my back. The heat of his body was as hot as a furnace. His fingers traced the top of my shoulder and then under my blade.
"This is a pretty bold statement."
"Not so much," I managed to choke out. He placed his lips on my shoulder, the touch tender and reverent. I was glad he was holding me because my knees felt like jelly. The callouses on his palms rubbed against my sensitive skin. Another time it might have hurt but now with his hand on my skin and his mouth hovering so close to the surface I felt euphoric. "I'm yours if you want me, Finn O'Malley."
"I'll never stop wanting you." He stood and spun me around to face him. "I'm so torn, Winter. I want to stare at that tattoo, but I need to see your lovely face. I've missed you."
He reached down and plucked my T-shirt off the floor and pulled it over my head. He wouldn't let me go. It was as if he was afraid if he didn't have a hand on me, I would disappear. I knew the feeling. I wanted his touch on me for the rest of my life. He was breathing hard, and his firm erection was pressed into my belly. "Come home with me."
"Yes."
The twenty-minute drive to Finn's house was unbearable. I sat stiffly on my side of the truck because I didn't want to cause a wreck. He parked and told me to sit still.
A moment later, he was opening the door and pulling me into his arms. He didn't let me go. Not to open the door to the house. Not when his roommates greeted us. Not when he walked upstairs to his room.
He didn't let go even when he placed me on the bed but nothing could make me leave.
I ran my hungry hands over his broad shoulders and down to his trim waist. I squeezed his firm buttocks in my hands and wrapped my thighs around him.
He kissed me softly on the mouth and the cheek and then my collarbone and even lower. My breasts received the same tender attention. And down he moved until his face was between my legs and his mouth was on the tender parts of my inner thighs.
"I love you, Finn O'Malley," I said. He paused and sat up, drawing his fingers over the wetness he'd drawn from me.
He looked down at me with such love, such joy, I felt my heart would burst. "I didn't think I'd ever hear that from you."
Two of his fingers slid inside me, and a moan escaped me. "I'll say it a million times."
"You better." He bent over and took my nipple—rigid with want—into his mouth. He devoured me then. No more tenderness, only deep hungry desire. I arched against his thrusting hand and his suckling mouth. My fingers wended their way into his hair, and I clutched him to me.
He worked me hard, until my voice was hoarse from my cries. He brought me to the edge but never over, until I was sobbing and begging and pleading for him to please, please, please come inside me.
When he did, it felt like a miracle.
"You’re killing me," he groaned with every push of his hips forward. He felt impossibly big. His cock was overtaking me, touching me in places I didn't know could be touched. I was aflame, burning inside. He lifted me so I straddled him, breast to chest. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, and we stared at one another as I moved against him, up and down.
He never hurried, instead just looked at me with wonder and pleasure filling his face, and in the midst of all of that, ecstasy took me by surprise. I shuddered and shook all around him, and he held me to him, whispering nonsense words of encouragement like Yes, that's so good. You're so tight, and I'm so hard.
But he was still thick and rigid inside me when my eyes popped open and I dropped my head against his shoulder in replete happiness.
He moved to the end of the bed and dangled his legs over. With a pat on my ass, he motioned for me to turn around. Ahhh. He wanted to see my tattoo. I repositioned myself, and Finn peeled off the bandage that I'd reapplied.
Finn didn't touch it with his hands, but his gaze was a heavy caress.
"I love you, Winter," he growled and then thrust inside me. One arm clamped around my middle while the other held my hip, and I rode him furiously until I came and he came if not simultaneously then damn close. We collapsed backward, Finn rolling to his side at the last moment so he wouldn't land on me and possibly hurt my freshly tattooed skin.
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