Chapter 28

 

 

 

 

Finn

“Go!” Gia screams. “Run!” She’s jumping up and down and tugging on my arm and her nose is red, as are her cheeks from the cold, and she’s smiling so big and holy shit. Just holy shit. Because I don’t necessarily care about football at all, but her excitement is contagious. “Touchdown!” Gia yells, doing a little dance and hugging me and laughing at herself. That’s contagious too. “Go us,” she sings, wiggling and dancing about. “We rule. We’re the winners.”

Now, we’re not in Boston. We’re in New York, well technically Jersey, but still. This is not a Patriot’s crowd. But no one is yelling at her or giving her shit. In fact, they’re laughing. Because she’s just so goddamn cute. “You’re a very gracious winner,” I say and she laughs, nudging me with her hip.

“Never said I was. But maybe I should tone it down some?”

“Probably.”

I’m smiling down at her. She’s smiling up at me. She’s staring at my mouth like she likes the way my smile looks. I’m staring at hers like I want to kiss it.

“Come here, Finn.” She grabs my shoulder and yanks me down so that I’m close to her height.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She glances at me and rolls her eyes like it should be obvious. “I’m taking a selfie of us. I want a picture to commemorate our first Patriot’s game together. And the win of course. Have to memorialize that.”

She takes her phone out, extends her arm, presses her head against mine and then clicks away.

I can honestly say this is the first selfie I’ve ever taken, but then again, I don’t get out all that much. “What’s your number?” she asks, looking up at me expectantly.

“Why?”

“Jesus, Finn. What century are you living in? I want to text you the pictures. They came out really good.” she flips her phone around so I can look at it. “See.” I nod, because it is a great picture of us. But I don’t want it on my phone, because if it’s on my phone then I’ll look at it. “And really, the fact that I don’t yet have your number feels a little strange. So digits me, baby.”

“What if I don’t want you to have my number?”

She peeks up at me nonplussed. “Why wouldn’t you want me to have your number? It’s not like I’m going to go all geostalker on your ass. What did I tell you in the car on the way down about being an asshole?”

“Fine,” I sigh, because she’s right. I’m being ridiculous. I tell her my number and then she puts it in her phone and texts me pictures and an emoji of something which looks like chocolate soft-serve ice cream with a smiley face on it. “What’s that?”

Gia bursts out laughing, “It’s poop, Finn. Because that’s what you’re being. A poop.”
“A poop?” I can’t stop my smile.

“Yup. But since you brought me here and the Patriot’s not only won, they kicked ass, I’m willing to be magnanimous and forgive you.”

“Come with me,” I say, twisting her body so we’re facing the aisle and then I push her forward. “I want to get the hell out of here before we’re stuck in traffic for ten hours.”

“Party pooper,” she says.

“I thought you weren’t going to call me poop anymore?”

She laughs, turning her head over my shoulder. “Oh Finn, you made a joke. How adorable.”

We reach the waiting limo and get in, both sighing out contentedly at the warmth of it. Gia takes off her coat and I do the same and she tosses her Patriot’s beanie next to her coat and we settle in because we’re not moving anytime soon.

“That was so much fun,” she smiles sleepily. “Can we do it again next year? It can be our thing.”

“Sure. I had fun too.”

Gia grins as she closes her eyes, “I’m beyond thrilled to hear that. It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

I don’t respond to that and Gia leans her head against my shoulder like she did on the way down, but this time, she’s squirming around, unable to comfortably settle. “Here,” I say, sitting back in the seat, propping my legs up on the other and positioning her head so that it’s in my lap.

She blinks up at me, a little surprised, I think, but she doesn’t pull away. And she doesn’t stop me as I stroke her hair, marveling at just how soft and silky it is. Like flowing ink. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”

My hand freezes in her hair and for the longest time, I just watch at her. Her expression tells me she’s nervous, that she knows she’s skating on thin ice with this, but she doesn’t retract her question. She’s patiently waiting for my answer.

“I haven’t had a girlfriend in six years.” Technically Kelly was only my girlfriend for about a year before she became my wife. It was six years ago that I married her.

“Six?” she gasps.

I nod.

“You haven’t been in a relationship in six years?” She’s incredulous and I shake my head, correcting her misassumption.

“No. I haven’t been in a relationship in three years.” Her eyebrows knit together and I press my finger into the groove, flattening it back out. “I was married for three years.” I don’t know why I just told her that. I don’t particularly want her to know about my past. About Kelly.

Gia’s mouth pops open a little. I believe I’ve stunned her speechless, which feels like a minor victory considering the subject matter. I wait for it with my heart stuck in my throat. The inevitable, what happened, question. But it never comes.

Instead a lone tear rolls down the right side of her face. She does nothing to brush it away and I do nothing, but watch it glide down her temple, only to be absorbed by her hair. “Are you happy with Mason?”

She nods. That’s it and for some reason, that response bothers me. I want her to tell me she’s blissfully in love with him. Hopelessly content. I want her to tell me that even though we have this unbelievable chemistry, that’s all it will ever be.

“But he loves you,” I say and comes out sounding defensive.

Now I get a shrug.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asks and I smile at the change in subject matter.

“Aqua,” I say, staring directly into her eyes. “Yours?”

“Bright blue.”

I love that answer as much as I hate it. Especially since I know she’s lying. Everything in Gia’s world is lavender. Her phone case. Her freaking clogs. Her nails sometimes. It’s why I made sure her birthday present wrapping, rose and mug were that color as well.

“What’s your favorite food,” I try, going for something safe.

“Clam chowder. The New England kind, not the Manhattan.” Of course, it is. “And my grandmother’s manicotti. Yours?”

“Sushi.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “God, that’s so pretentious.”

I laugh with her because it sort of is. “Can’t help that. Do you speak any other languages besides Italian?”

“Spanish. Do you speak any other languages?”

“French.”

“French?” she snorts out. “Were you raised with a silver spoon in your mouth? Who the hell speaks French and has sushi as a favorite food?”

“I do believe I am not the only one to come from an affluent background.”

Gia rolls her eyes at me. “That’s another thing, the way you speak. You’re very formal, Dr. Banner. It makes me want to ruffle your hair or pierce your tongue or something.”

I smile, running my fingers across her cheek and through her hair. “Definitely no piercings, though if you had a tongue ring, I’d be all for a demonstration.” She laughs and sticks out her tongue. No ring, but there is a scar. “You had one?”

“Yes. Rebellious stage when I was eighteen. I also got a tattoo.”

“Where?” She points to the right lower quadrant of her abdomen, between her hip and pelvic bone. I don’t ask what she has. Honestly, I’m a bit preoccupied with its location. But I’m afraid if I keep going, she’s going to ask if I have one and then I’m screwed.

“Very sexy, kitten. Say something in Italian for me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

I wink at her. “How about, I love, Finn. He’s the greatest man in the world.”

Gia laughs, shaking her head against my thighs as we slowly creep through game traffic. “No way. I’m not saying that.”

“Oh, come on, Gia. Have some fun with me.”

She rolls her eyes again and then says, “Amo Finn. È l'uomo migliore al mondo.”

And because I’ll never get another chance to say it. “Je t'aime aussi, Gia. Merci de me faire ressentir comme ça.” She sucks in a shuddered breath, holding onto it before letting it out slowly. “Do you know what I said?”

She sniffles a little, her eyes becoming increasingly glassy. “The first part.” She swallows. Clears her throat. “Not the second.”

“Sucks for you. I know what you said.”

She laughs, reaching up to wipe away at a falling tear. “Yeah, well, that’s what Google is for, right?”

“Only if you know how to spell it.”

“Asshole.” She smacks at me. “Not fair. You tricked me.”

“Just remember who said it first.” I chuckle, enjoying the hell out of her angry glower.

“Doesn’t count. You told me to say it.”

“You’re right,” I concede, holding my hands up in surrender. “I did. I’m forever an asshole.”

Gia watches me for a very long moment as something I don’t understand crosses her features. She needs to ask me something, but is afraid to do so. “What?” I challenge. “Just ask me.”

“Finn,” she says my name so softly. Hesitantly. “What are we doing? Why does the thought of Mason being hurt with me going to the game with you, seem to please you? Why do you touch me and kiss my forehead and spend time with me? Especially after my birthday night.”

I hate those questions. All of them. Why did she have to ask me that? Why did she have to go there after such a perfect day? Frustration slams in to my chest, as I run a hand through my hair and then down my face. “Because I’m addicted.”

“Pardon?” That is not at all what she thought I was going to say.

“I’m addicted and you’re…I don’t know what exactly. Heroin? Alcohol? Both? Who the hell knows. But even though I’m not sampling the alcohol or shooting the drugs, it doesn’t mean that I don’t like to spend time in the bar. That I don’t like to be around the drugs.”

“I think I’m only partially following you.”

Blowing out a loud growl, I say, “I like spending time with you, Gia. I think you already know that. In fact, I’m positive you do. But I told you it will never go beyond that.”

“You told me all of this before. More than once actually. So what the hell are we doing here? Why do you bring me presents and dance with me and take me to football games?”

“I don’t know,” I huff out, really wishing she’d shut the fuck up already. “I tried, okay? I tried. But I’m not all that good at staying away from you. And maybe Mike’s right about me. Maybe I like to cut myself just so I can watch it bleed, but that doesn’t change the situation.”

“Jesus, Finn. How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?”

I sigh. This is a losing battle with her. She’s right. I know she is. I’m fucking with both of us, but I don’t plan on stopping until she makes me. Maybe that’s wrong, but it’s all I’ve got and I can’t go back to nothing when I’ve finally began to feel something good again.

“You’re not, Gia. There is no response because there is no situation to respond to. You have a boyfriend, remember? You said friends, remember? I’m just trying to give you what you want. Make you happy.”

“Because you’re addicted.” To me, she doesn’t tack on, but we both know it’s true. We both know that’s exactly what I was saying.

I nod, my fingers wiping away yet another tear as it glides down her temple. “I think you’re getting it now.”

“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t get it. But you’re not one for real explanations or detailed stories. And your truths that I believe you’re very fond of, are perpetually sliced in half. I’m tired, Finn. You make me so very tired. But maybe I’m addicted too. Maybe that’s the perfect way to explain this.” She waves her finger back and forth between us.

I don’t have an answer to that. If I were a better, stronger man, I’d cut her loose for good. But I’m not, so I return my hands to her hair and her eyes grow heavy. “Close your eyes, Gia. Get some rest.” Shifting my position, I lean down and kiss her forehead. Being addicted to her sucks. “I’ll wake you when we get home.”

Gia sighs and as I draw back, her eyes flutter shut and her head tilts and she falls asleep just like that. With her head in my lap and my hands stroking her hair and my eyes glued to her face.

And when I know she’s really out, I whisper, “Je t’aime.”

Because even though she didn’t mean it, I did.