Finn

Sol stirs when I turn off the highway and onto the ramp. I rub her thigh when she yawns and tries to sit up. “Ouch,” she says, rubbing her neck.

Yeah, that position against the window didn’t look comfortable. “You okay?” I ask.

She nods, but still squints as she continues to rub. “Just a little sore.”

So am I. And it’s not from sleeping with my head pressed against the window, that’s for damn sure.

We didn’t get much rest during our time in A.C. I mean we did, but it was mostly small naps between rounds. I’ve had good sex before and a crazy amount of it. But it’s never been with the same woman―not for this long―and it sure as anything hasn’t come close to what Sol and I share.

I’m not complaining. I love Sol. I’m guessing what I feel for her plays a huge part in why I can’t keep my hands off her.

And I’m not alone.

I think it was about three in the afternoon yesterday when I went to use the bathroom. I was brushing my teeth when Sol walked in. She was groggy, her eyes still partially closed. But as soon she saw me, it’s like she was wide awake. She fell to her knees right in front of me, taking me deep. We were both bone tired, hungry, and pretty damn stiff. That didn’t stop us from going at it on the bathroom floor.

It’s like we both needed it―this time with just me and her. But as my truck draws closer to her neighborhood, it’s all I can do not to turn around and drive us back to my house.

Her hand finds mine, holding me gently. I lift and kiss it, meeting her smile when I glance briefly her way. But that sadness that’s never far from the surface trickles its way into her voice as she leans her head against my shoulder. “Thank you for taking me with you,” she says quietly.

Man, it always kills me to hear her sound so sad, always. But today it hits me worse. These past few days have reminded me how good we are when we’re together. I hate that I’m taking her someplace I’m not going to be. I want to tell her as much, but I don’t want to be a douche bag about it. “Thanks for coming. It meant a lot.”

She laughs a little. “That’s what he said.”

Ordinarily I’d laugh right along with her, since that’s what we do all the time, laugh, joke, have a good time. But I don’t laugh now. No matter how hot the sex is, I never want her to think I’m using her. Have I used girls in the past? Sure. Just like they’ve used me.

My brothers and I are well known in Philly. We’ve all made a name for ourselves to some degree. Curran for being among the city’s most revered cops, Declan for being a bad ass D.A., and Killian and me for our performances in the octagon. Our looks have played a part, sure. But it’s our name and status that have gotten us laid.

When a couple of my brothers finally found love, I was happy for them. I was. I may have the rep for saying shit I shouldn’t and for acting like a clown, but I’m not stupid. Tess and Sofia, they’re good for Curran and Killian and bring out the good in them. Being as young as I am, though, I couldn’t help thinking how much they were giving up by settling down. I didn’t necessarily think they were pussies for it, but I couldn’t relate or understand. To me, the world was full of women for the taking.

I never expected one woman to become my world.

So no, I don’t laugh with her. Instead I squeeze her hand. “That’s not what I saying,” I tell her. I release a breath as I pull onto her street. Once more, my time with her has come to an end. She’ll have dinner with her family while me and Wren will order in or eat at one of our brothers’ places. Either way, Sol won’t be with me and I totally hate it.

“I know,” she answers quietly.

Most of the spots along the one way street are taken, so I have to park almost on the corner. I’m still on her side of the street, but we’re about eight houses down. I cut the engine, abruptly shutting off the heat and the radio.

It’s only fifteen degrees outside, despite the sunshine. Being this close to March, it shouldn’t be so damn frigid, but there are years where it’s still snowing in April. I should keep the engine running, leave the heat on, and keep her with me a little longer. But I’ve already pressured her enough by telling her I want us to live together. If she needs a little space from me to think things through―needs to get back and check on her family, I want her to know I understand―that I’ll give her the time she needs, although it’s taking all I have not to pull back onto the street and drive away with her.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

I can’t look at her right now. I don’t want to meet those large, light eyes, the ones who looked so sleepy yet so happy when I took that selfie of us this morning. Man, I can picture that image so well: her tucked against my chest as I held my phone up and away from us. It’s my new wallpaper. You can’t see much skin, but it’s obvious we were naked and in bed. Maybe it’s inappropriate, but it’s my damn phone and this is how I like us: her close to me―not like she is now, moments from walking away.

“Finn?” she asks.

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” I tell her.

She waits a beat, her small fingers skimming over my rough knuckles. “Are you mad I’m not staying with you tonight?”

“I’m not mad that you’re not staying with me,” I admit. “I never want you to stay if you don’t want to. But I am kind of pissed you have to leave.”

“It’s not that I want to leave you,” she says. “I hate us being apart.”

Me too, baby.

For a moment, I just hold her. But when I look at her, even though I’m frustrated, sad, and somewhat angry, I smile. I can’t help it. Sol makes me happy. “This is why it’s hard to let you go. If you didn’t want to be with me, it would be tough to hear and take, but I’d let you walk away. But you sitting here, telling me you don’t want to be without me, makes everything that much harder.”

The way her eyes travel along my face, I know she’s not only listening to what I say, but sensing how every word carves into my bones like a saw.

“I wish living with you could be as easy as that,” she whispers.

My lips skim over hers. “And I wish you could see it’s not as hard as you think.”

I’m making her feel worse by saying what I do―and I hate myself for it. I don’t want to guilt her into something she’s not ready for, no matter how much I wish she was. That doesn’t mean I can pretend like I never asked or deny how I feel.

I’m ready for more. A lot more. Her moving in with me is just the start. “Will you at least think about it?” I ask quietly.

She averts her gaze, but nods. “I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah?” I ask, not sure she means it.

“Finn, it’s not that I don’t want to live with you.” She leans in close, her pretty eyes begging me to believe her. “I want to wake up beside you every morning and for your face to be the last I see at night. But I’m not sure it’s the right thing for my family or for me. At least not now.”

“I get it,” I tell her.

“I hope so,” she says, her voice laced with so much emotion it tugs at my heart in a way nothing else can. “I mean it when I tell you I love you.”

Her face lights up at my grin. This is one of those moments when life seems too perfect to be real.

So when the screaming starts, I’m reminded that nothing is perfect and that life can be fucking cruel.