Chapter Ten

 

Aven

 

Finnley officially shut down. It was clear there would be no further discussion on the matter when he turned on the TV and pulled up Friends on Netflix. I could tell he was fighting with an abundance of humiliation at his admission, and I didn’t know how to make him feel comfortable again. With the starting up of his show came an icy barrier of indifference. Settling back against my chest seemed hard for him, but I could be stubborn, too, so I hooked my arms around him so he couldn’t squirm away.

After the second episode ended, the tight coiling of his muscles loosened, and he relaxed, sagging into me and allowing himself to feel comfort in my touch. I had a million and one questions and twice as many concerning thoughts brewing as to why Finnley had developed such a crippling fear of one of life’s basic needs. Sleep.

From the little bit he’d shared, I already wondered just what kind of exposure he’d had to his father’s work growing up. Was he left on his own a lot? How traumatizing was his mother’s death? And, had his father supported a frightened eight-year-old during the grieving process that must have followed? Did he see a therapist back then? Had he considered seeing one now? Did he still hold onto the notion that death and sleep were correlated somehow? It seemed ludicrous seeing as he was an adult and considering where he worked, but…

He doesn’t sleep well. Margret’s words came back to me.

Did she have any idea how much of an understatement that was?

“Finn?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

His eyes never left the TV, and his lips moved along with everything that was being said at the exact moment the characters spoke. Friends was more than a favorite TV show. It was an obsession, perhaps, a security blanket of sorts. It was the shield he used to hold back the fear. Considering it had aired in the mid-nineties when Finn would have been exactly seven to ten years old, it made sense. Had he been watching it for that long?

A massive yawn shuddered through my system, and I squinted at the clock to see how late it was. Four-thirty in the morning. I was exhausted. Aiming for subtlety, I shuffled my ass lower, taking Finn with me until I was mostly lying on the couch with him in my arms. He was too absorbed in his show to notice and went willingly. I tucked my leg between his thighs and squeezed us together, breathing him in and settling into the cushions.

Not too long ago, Finnley had fallen asleep in my arms in exactly this fashion. Perhaps I could coax him to sleep beside me on the couch again.

At one point, I nodded off, but it was a light sleep, and when Finn shuffled to reach for the remote, I stirred. He flipped through the seasons and pressed play on a new episode before finding his way back into my arms.

It was after seven in the morning, and by the look of it, he hadn’t slept at all. I tried to sum enough mobility into my tired limbs to stroke his hair or his cheek and hopefully lull him to sleep, but I passed out before I was successful.

The startling blast of music snapped me awake a short time later, and I was disoriented and confused as Finnley jumped from the couch and flew down the hall to my bedroom.

“Sorry, that’s my phone.”

As my brain woke up, the familiar tune of “Tainted Love” wasn’t as assaulting as it had first seemed. I worked myself upright and rubbed at my eyes. My head was clouded, and I knew the shoddy handful of broken hours I’d managed weren’t nearly enough.

Finn came from the bedroom with his brows drawn together and a deep frown on his face as he listened to whoever was on the line. It was shy of nine on a Sunday morning, and I could tell by the visible dark circles embedded in his pale skin that Finnley hadn’t slept a wink.

“What time will they be there?” he asked. “Uh-huh… Okay… yup. No problem, I’ll handle it.”

He hung up and pinched fingers into his sockets as he pivoted back to the bedroom.

“I have to go.”

I followed and found him pulling on his jeans and scoping the room for the rest of his clothes.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I guess we had a teenage girl brought in yesterday. Car accident victim, and the parents are insisting on an open casket even though Margret tried to explain it wasn’t a good idea based on her condition. So now…” He trailed off when he looked up at me. I wasn’t sure what kind of face I was making, but it couldn’t have been good. “God, I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear that.” He washed a hand over his face and stifled a yawn. “I have to meet with the family. They’ll be there at ten.”

“But you haven’t slept a wink. You’re dead on your feet.”

He laughed humorlessly as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Welcome to my life.”

He gathered his few belongings and went to slink past me, but I caught his arm. “Finn, you are in no state to meet with people, let alone work.”

“That’s what coffee is for.” He pulled from my grasp and continued to the door.

“Finnley!” He didn’t turn back and kept going. At the front hall, he put on his shoes and found his jacket, checking his pocket for his keys. “Finn, come on. Are you serious?”

It was then he finally looked at me. “What do you think I’ve been doing my whole life? What you see here,” he waved his hands over his body, “this is me every day. Every. Fucking. Day. My life doesn’t stop because I have a shit-ass childhood problem that won’t go away. I’ll suck it up like I always do. I gotta go.”

The door closed in my face, and I was tempted to go after him, but he’d made it abundantly clear that a little sleepless night wasn’t going to hold him back. Was he pissy because he was embarrassed that I knew? Or was he overtired and moody?

I was the one who’d managed a few hours the previous night, yet I was too tired to process Finnley’s sour mood. I fumbled to the bedroom and collapsed sideways across the bed, wishing I’d grabbed the comforter from the couch, but too exhausted to get up and get it. Maybe he didn’t need sleep, but I sure as fuck did.

It was noon before I woke, and I wasn’t sure I felt any more rested. The heavy weight of my night with Finnley monopolized my thoughts. It wasn’t like he’d disclosed he was afraid of spiders or heights or swimming, those things were avoidable. Fearing sleep and death both to the point of crippling anxiety attacks and health issues was life-impacting. You couldn’t go without sleep. It was as important as food and water when it came to survival. The human species required it. Yet, my boyfriend fought tooth and nail to avoid it at all costs.

The piles of empty energy drinks I’d seen all over his coffee table, the permanent sleepy look in his eyes, the initial reaction when I’d invited him to spend the night; it all came together and made a lot more sense.

I’d never seen anyone have a panic attack in my life before the previous night, yet, when I’d been thrown from sleep to Finnley gasping and making every attempt to flee, I knew it for what it was. And it was terrifying.

I stumbled to my shower and stood under the warm water for a long time until I felt more awake. After toweling off, I found my phone to see if I’d missed his call or text. Nothing. Maybe after his meeting, he’d gone home and tried to sleep. Even thinking those thoughts, I knew it probably wasn’t the case.

I pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a black T-shirt before rummaging through my kitchen cupboards in search of coffee. Once I’d set a pot to brew, I pulled up Finn’s number and sent him a text.

Are you working?

When my coffee finished brewing, I filled a mug. Still no response. I ate through a bowl of cereal and cleaned up the dishes. Nothing. Silence.

It was going on one-thirty, and although I’d have liked to believe Finnley was asleep, a gut instinct told me different. I could almost envision him working… well, maybe not exactly since I wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed—nor did I want to know.

Figuring he probably hadn’t found himself a decent meal either, I packed a few leftover enchiladas into a container.

Then, I collected my keys, put on a coat and a pair of shoes, and headed out into the early afternoon. The sun was warm despite the cool March air, and the snow was melting and sparkling under the assault. Maybe spring would officially arrive and drive winter away for good. We were long overdue for nice weather. I drove across town to the funeral home and considered what I was going to say.

The parking lot was quiet—a good sign—so I parked next to his Jetta and killed the engine. Glancing up at his apartment above the home, I noted all the windows were dark. If he was home and sleeping, I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for waking him after the night he’d had. I walked around to the front of the building and let myself in through the double doors.

The soothing essence of incense drifted in the air, and somewhere in the back of the house, classical music sounded. Knowing there were cameras and door chimes to alert anyone of visitors, I wandered in the direction of Finnley’s office, anticipating being interrupted.

His office was empty, but the desk light was on so I assumed someone was about. Heading back the way I’d come, I poked my head into the rooms that were lit, looking for anyone. Margret was in the second room on my left. That room was also the source of the music which danced softly through the air.

She was arranging flowers up front of the room. When I saw the urn on a raised platform and a few pictures surrounding it, I stalled, unsure if it was polite to venture into a space that was clearly being prepared for a viewing.

Since Margret hadn’t noticed me, I cleared my throat but remained in the hallway.

She spun and placed a hand to her chest, clutching the chain she wore. “Jesus in heaven, you scared me.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought you’d hear me come in. I was looking for Finn. I didn’t know if he was here or upstairs.”

She visibly relaxed and her features warmed as her soft smile returned. She had a perfect look for the job. Her aura was always calming and sympathetic.

“He’s downstairs.” Her lips firmed as she pushed out an exasperated breath before fixing her features again. “I’m not sure how long he’ll be, but I can go let him know you’re here if you’d like. He’s overdue for a break.”

“Thank you. If you don’t mind.”

Margret slipped away, and I sighed. He’d been at it all day without rest. I was glad I’d brought him food. If I could manage to drag him out of there, maybe I could convince him to eat and find a way to get him to rest.

I wandered to where I knew the stairwell was that headed down into the basement. I’d been down there once when I’d come to make arrangements for Dominique’s funeral. The room where I’d been taken was warm and decorated, but I recalled seeing a drab hallway that led to other areas. I would bet the rooms where Finnley spent a good portion of his time were not nearly as inviting.

I was a grown man of thirty-five, and the idea of working so intimately with the deceased sent a rush of anxiety to the surface of my skin, prickling goosebumps alive. Finnley had grown up in the environment. How young was he when he was first exposed to life’s brutal and inevitable reality?

Footfalls sounded as Margret climbed back up the stairs. Her heels clicked differently than a man’s loafers, even against the carpet. She rounded the bend halfway up then paused, looking up at me.

“He…” She hesitated, and her forehead creased. She didn’t look at all pleased. The softer undertones I’d noted earlier were gone. “He said if you needed to talk to him badly enough, then feel free to go on down.”

I flinched as a large pit of discomfort rolled in my gut. “Excuse me?”

She climbed the remaining stairs much slower, and when she reached the top, she gave my shoulder a rub. “He’s in a mood. Sometimes in this business, we have to deal with people who make difficult and unrealistic demands. They’re grieving and probably wouldn’t ordinarily be so stringent and unwilling to see what is realistic. Unfortunately, Finnley took the brunt of just such a couple this morning and is doing what he does best. If I ever thought his father to be the more stubborn of the two, I take it back. Finnley has surpassed him by leaps and bounds today.”

I couldn’t get past the “feel free to go down” part of her speech and clung helplessly to the rest of her explanation, taking in only part of what she said.

I looked past her and down the stairs. “He hasn’t slept. That can’t be helping.”

“The owl rarely slumbers, Mr. Woods. Some days, he copes better than others.”

She went to move past me, but I caught her elbow with a delicate touch. “Umm… I don’t know if I feel comfortable going down there.”

“At the bottom of the stairs on the right is a display room. The lights are off. Nothing but caskets and urns. Around the corner on your left is a hallway. Head that way. You’ll pass a closed door on your left with a sign marking the crematorium, a bathroom on your right, a storage room, then, at the end of the hall is the final room, and that’s where he’s at.”

Simple as that. Except, I still didn’t want to go down there. I thanked Margret, and she returned to the parlor where she was working. Finnley hadn’t answered my text. Either he didn’t want me around—which, based on what he’d relayed to Margret seemed possible—or he was up to his elbows in…

I shuddered and shook away the finer points of his job I knew nothing about. Shaking myself free from unnecessary images, I took the stairs down, telling myself I was doing it for Finnley. I didn’t have to go in the room.

At the bottom, I found the display room I’d visited before. Like Margret had explained, the lights were off. I was glad, because despite the effort they’d made to make the room inviting, it was still the basement of a funeral home.

I took the corner on my left and stared down the drab, concrete-walled hallway. The carpet ended where I stood, and stark white tiling continued to the end where a door stood open to a lit room beyond. I was grateful I couldn’t see anything particularly disturbing from my vantage point. Floor to ceiling shelving and labeled boxes I couldn’t read from the end of the hall.

Music carried to my ears, but it was too far away and too soft to make out a song or artist. It was definitely not the same classical from upstairs. Noticing all other doorways were closed tight, I paced my way down the hallway toward the room at the end. It was ominous in its own way, and my mind wanted to paint grisly images worthy of a horror movie as my footfalls echoed around me. A faint scent I couldn’t identify clung to the air. Because my brain was looking for connections, the odor instantly turned my stomach even if realistically it may not have been unpleasant.

When I was outside of the open door, the gentle cadence of Pink Floyd’s, “Comfortably Numb” was much easier to define. Apart from the music, there were no other sounds. My skin crawled, and I froze a few feet from the entrance, determined to remain oblivious to what Finnley did all day around that corner.

“Finn?” I called out.

A long pause. Long enough for my heart to pick up and for me to reconsider my reasoning for seeking him out.

“What?” Moody was an understatement. The single word was practically spat at me through the wall.

I sighed. “I… I really don’t want to go in there. It’s… not really appropriate.”

A sound like the snapping of rubber gloves being removed drifted to my ears then Finnley came around the corner. He’d changed since that morning, but the baby blue button-up he’d put on was no longer neatly tucked into his slacks or buttoned to his collar. I was sure he’d been presentable for the family meeting earlier that day, but standing before me, his manner of dress was a direct reflection of the look in his eyes.

“I promise, she won’t tell a soul if you come in.”

I cringed at his poor attempt at humor, especially since he hadn’t delivered it as a joke.

His hazel eyes were shadowed and missing the spark of life I’d grown to love. If I’d thought he looked tired that morning, he was a wreck standing before me then. Pale and withdrawn. Ready to collapse at any moment.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it. It’s disturbing.”

“You get over it.”

Do you?

I clamped my mouth shut so I wouldn’t speak my thoughts. I didn’t need to be a psychologist to connect the dots. Finnley had grown up his entire life around death. It would affect anyone with half a heart. I’d been in the basement for less than five minutes, and it took all my effort not to run back upstairs just so I could breathe again.

“I’m kinda busy playing magician in here and trying to make miracles. What did you want?”

“I thought maybe you’d need a break. I brought some of the leftovers from last night. You’ve barely—”

He held up his hand and closed his eyes. “Don’t. Save your breath. Story of my life, Aven. I’m not done here, and I can’t just quit because you think I need to.”

“Okay. I get that. How much longer?”

He pressed fingers into his eyes and then passed his hand over his hair. If he’d gelled it earlier, I couldn’t tell. It was doing the cute, stubborn curl thing on top that I adored, but I knew it wasn’t the time to mention it.

“Maybe another hour or so.”

Because he stood a good two feet inside the room, I didn’t approach him even though I wanted to touch him. I reached out with a hand, hoping he’d sense my need.

“Come here,” I whispered when all he did was stare at the offering.

He hesitated but stepped forward and brushed our fingers together. I linked them and drew him outside the room. Once he let go of his stubbornness, he fell into my embrace easily. He rested his head on my shoulder, and his arms slinked around my waist, anchoring us together.

“How about I wait for you upstairs in your apartment? When you’re done, I’ll heat you up some food, then run you a warm bath so you can soak and relax.”

“Will you join me?” he mumbled, his voice lost in the curve of my neck.

“I’d love that.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t move from my arms. The heavy way he leaned against me spoke of his fatigue, and I was sure if I got him horizontal, he’d be out cold in under a minute.

“How about I run out and get something nice to drink, like wine. Would you like that?”

He shook his head. “No. Wine makes me tired.”

I chuckled and squeezed him tighter. “Then it’s settled; I’ll get two bottles.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Never. But I want to take care of you tonight. Help you feel relaxed.”

“You know what helps me relax?” I felt the sides of his cheeks rise against my neck and knew he was smiling.

I slid my hands down his back and cupped his ass, giving a light squeeze and drawing our lower extremities together. “That can be arranged, too.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I’ll try to get done soon, but like I said, maybe an hour or so.”

I lifted his face from my shoulder and kissed him tenderly. His eyes fell closed as I savored his taste, and when I pulled back, I thought they struggled to open again. “I’ll be waiting.”

I left Finnley to his less than glamorous work and returned upstairs where the air didn’t taste of death. Perhaps I was being dramatic, but I desperately needed fresh air and open space at that moment.

I stopped at the parlor where Margret was setting up for a later viewing and let her know I’d be slipping back in shortly once I ran to the store for a few things.

“If you can get him out of here when he’s done, you let him know I don’t want to see his face tomorrow. I can handle a viewing without him.”

“I’ll try.”

I made a quick pit stop at the liquor store for a couple of bottles of wine before exploring the mall for a Bath and Body Works or something similar, so I could grab some relaxing bath salts or calming oils to add to his bath later. I also secured a few scented candles and hoped he didn’t think I’d lost my mind. My goal was to help him relax so he could hopefully sleep. Besides, he was a romantic, so perhaps my efforts would paint me as the perfect boyfriend.

I’d been gone forty minutes when I returned to the home. The parking lot was full of cars, so I knew whatever service Margret had been preparing for had begun. I slipped in the front doors and veered down the hallway toward the back of the house, avoiding the gathering family and doing my best to be invisible.

Finnley wasn’t in his apartment when I arrived, so I made myself at home and went about setting up for later. I left the container of food on an empty shelf in his refrigerator and tried not to notice how the few items within lacked nutrition.

His bathroom was larger than I anticipated. It didn’t have a huge whirlpool tub or anything fancy, but it did have one of those decent-sized, clawfoot antique varieties which had a slanted back and was big enough for two people, provided they didn’t mind cuddling close. That wouldn’t be a problem.

I set a few candles around the room and left the bath salts I’d opted for beside the tub.

I had to peek behind various doors to find his bedroom. It wasn’t that I wanted to snoop around, but I hoped to set the atmosphere in that room as well. When I found it at the end of the hall, I was shocked at the bleak simplicity of the space compared to the rest of the house. Finnley wasn’t exactly a slob, but his living space looked… lived-in. The bedroom, however, was lifeless.

Apart from a few dressers, a bed, and paintings that didn’t match his personality, there were no personal touches that spoke of Finnley. I circled the large space, pulled open the drapes covering the window, and poked my head in the closet on the far side of the room. A few unpacked boxes were inside along with clothes on hangers and shoes on the floor.

The vibe of the whole room was off.

Ignoring the atmosphere, I spent a few minutes lining the dressers with the rest of the scented candles and placed a bottle of massage oil on the bedside table. As a final thought, I pulled back the blankets on the bed so it felt more inviting.

I intended to bring him to bed immediately following a long hot bath, worship every part of his body as I massaged him until he was boneless, make love to him slowly and passionately, then, wrap him in my arms and hold him while he slept.

And that time, I’d be sure he was asleep.

It was four o’clock before Finnley stumbled through the door. He leaned heavily against the frame with his eyes staring into the distance as he toed his shoes off like a drunk man after a long night at the bar. He looked terrible.

I’d been watching TV while I waited and jumped off the couch at his arrival. He squinted across the room from where he leaned and blinked at me a few times in confusion.

“What are you doing here?”

“Umm… I brought you dinner. Wine. Bath. Remember?”

He moved his eyes up as though thinking before rattling his head.

“That was tonight?”

“Yeah. We talked about it two hours ago downstairs.”

I saw the pieces fall into place as he nodded. “Right. It’s been a long day.”

He pushed off the wall and stumbled into the kitchen. I met him at the counter where he stared intently at his coffee maker as though he’d never seen the machine before in his life, either that or he was willing it to function with mind-powers.

“How about I put you together something to eat? You must be starving.”

He nodded, his gaze not shifting from the pot. “And coffee. I need a coffee.” He turned his head, and it lulled on his neck as though the effort to keep it upright was too much. His eyelids were half-shut, and the haze in his muddled mind was visible without him telling me it was there. He was a mess.

“I bought wine to go with your food. How about you go sit down, and I’ll pour you a glass and warm you a plate of enchiladas.”

I wasn’t sure he heard me. His gaze lingered on my mouth, and he reached out, making a snag for my hand but missed.

“Kiss me.” The two words blended together when he spoke, and it took me a beat to sort out what he said.

How on earth had he just worked in that state? The man could hardly make sentences, and his hand-eye coordination was shot.

I moved him so his back was against the counter and took his face between my hands. His eyes fell shut as he wet his lips in anticipation. The way he rested his hands on my hips was firm, but I sensed it was more for stability then done out of affection.

I claimed his mouth, delicately dancing around the curve of his plump bottom lip and seeking more at the seam. When he opened and allowed me that first taste, I melted against him and tried to deepen our connection. It was sloppy and uncoordinated. Finnley continually forgot to move with me, and I could have sworn I was losing him to sleep mid-kiss. Perhaps I could convince him to lay down immediately and forgo dinner and bathing altogether.

I pulled back and found his sleepy gaze. “Do you want to lie down instead? The food is in the fridge, I can warm it later.”

He rattled his head and swiped at his eyes aggressively. The effort he made to wipe away the cobwebs was distinct. My words brought his brows together, and he pushed me back, his demeanor shifting to determination. “No, I’m fine. I just need to eat.”

He took two awkward steps to the fridge and pulled it open. Leaning hard on the door, he scanned the shelves. I wasn’t sure how he could miss the only container of food sitting right in front of him, but he stared for a good few minutes without moving like the processing part of his brain was delayed. Apart from an entire shelf of energy drinks and condiments, there wasn’t much else there to puzzle over.

As though someone hit play on a paused game, Finnley snapped into action. He snagged the container and passed it to me over his shoulder. Then, he grabbed a Monster and popped the tab before I could object. With the fridge door as his leaning post, he glared in my direction, daring me to say anything before chugging it down all at once.

I sighed inwardly. Based on his lack of coordination and hazy mindset, I doubted it would help him much at that point anyhow. Biting back a comment, I searched his cupboards for a couple of plates.

The first one I opened was the one housing his coffee supply. It put a café to shame. There had to be dozens upon dozens of boxes of those individual Keurig cups in every flavor under the sun. The second cupboard was mostly boxed dinners and cans; crap food I’d eaten in college when money was tight. Finnley’s stash had nothing to do with finances and everything to do with him finding the energy to cook… or so I assumed. Maybe he honestly couldn’t cook, and I was being too judgmental, but I suspected I probably wasn’t too far off the mark.

“Here,” Finnley said, handing me two plates. “Stop rifling through my cupboards, I can hear your inner thoughts all the way over here.”

I accepted the plates and laid them on the counter. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

As I divided the food, Finnley sighed heavily making me look over my shoulder. His fingers were lodged in his eye sockets again as he bent over the counter, leaning on his elbows.

“Look, Aven, I don’t normally get close to people because I’m kinda a mess. I haven’t even had a boyfriend since college, so this,” he waved between us, “this is… I really liked the idea. I like you. A lot. But, I’m not who you thought, and you don’t have to pretend that—”

I left the food and shoved him around so his back was to the counter instead, and I trapped him there, shoving a finger to his lips.

“Stop.” I planted a lingering kiss on his mouth until I was confident he would shut up. “I like you a lot, too. So stop over analyzing everything and just let me take care of you tonight. I’m not going to lie, I’m worried about you, but I’m your boyfriend, and that’s my right. So, go sit down before you fall down while I heat this food. Don’t presume to know how I’m feeling or what I’m thinking. We can talk more about this when you aren’t a walking zombie. Tonight, we follow through with my plans, which are to pamper you and help you relax. Capeesh?”

Even through the wall of lethargy, he managed a smile. It faded fast, and his blinks came heavier each time, but he nodded. “Capeesh. Did I hear something about a bath?”

“Mm-hmm, and a massage, and some sexy loving if you make it that far.”

“A coffee would help.”

“No coffee.” I pecked his nose. “Sit. I’ll pour you wine instead.”

He found his way to the table, and as our food heated in the microwave, I poured two glasses and set one in front of him. I was grateful he was too tired to consider dissecting his meal. He ate robotically and with a faraway look in his eyes.

“They didn’t listen to me,” he said out of the blue as I cleared our empty plates.

“They who?”

He swirled his wine and gazed deep into the crimson liquid as though searching for answers. “The girl’s parents. The one I’ve been working on all day.” His brows knitted with his frown and he upended the glass and drained the contents down his throat.

“Come on.” I pulled him to stand and dragged him down the hallway. “Let me run the bath and get you in, and you can tell me about it.” In extremely vague details, please, I wanted to add because I knew enough already from him sharing that morning.

He didn’t have an ounce of strength left to resist. Once I’d leaned him against the counter in the bathroom, I set the water to a perfect temperature and added the bubble bath and scented bath salts under the flow. Then, I helped him out of his clothes. As sleepy and heavy as his eyes were, I still found a hint of lust in their glassy surface that bubbled to life when I let his slacks fall to the ground. The hairs on his legs rose under my fingers when I smoothed my hands up his thighs as I rose from a crouch. And they weren’t the only thing rising to the occasion.

He wound his fists into my shirt and yanked me forward into a crushing kiss. Our teeth clacked together since he was less than coordinated and couldn’t control the force of his movements any longer. One part of him was definitely more awake than the rest, and it pressed hard against me as he delved deeper into my mouth.

Clumsy fingers worked the button on my pants free, and they joined his on the floor. When he tore my shirt over my head, it caught on my chin, and I laughed as he tried to hang me, twisting and pulling at it, making things more awkward.

Naked, I smoothed my hands over his hips and up his chest. “You’re perfection,” I whispered in his ear.

He chuckled. “Not even close. You’re the one with muscles and definition. I’m just… soft.”

“And that’s what I love. Come on, get in the tub, I’ll be right back.”

Once he’d settled in the warm water, he leaned back and closed his eyes. It was exactly what I wanted to see. His whole body visibly relaxed, and he sighed as he sunk lower. I skipped back to the kitchen, poured two more glasses of wine, and grabbed the lighter I’d bought to light the candles. In the bathroom again, I set the glasses where they could be easily reached and lit all the candles before shutting off the lights.

Finnley cracked an eye and glanced around at the setup. A soft smile curved his mouth. “You put all those men in my books to shame. I think I’ll keep you.”

My blood warmed hearing his satisfaction.

I slipped in the tub behind him and braced my legs outside his own. He leaned back against my chest and let me trace my hands over his abdomen as I kissed his neck. “Talk to me if you need to get it out.”

He sighed before his breathing evened out. His eyes remained closed, and as I touched him and held him close, I thought he’d drifted off. It was only when he reached up and wound his fingers with mine that I realized he was only taking a minute to compose himself.

“I couldn’t talk them out of an open casket. I tried every method of persuasion I’ve learned. But nothing. Then, I spent all day doing everything in my power to make their daughter presentable.” A long pause. “I failed.”

“Did you really fail, or are you being hard on yourself?”

“Tomorrow, they’ll see. Then they’ll change their mind, right?”

I had no idea about those things. In fact, I forbid my mind to consider what details he didn’t share. “In the end, if they decide an open casket is what they want, then just remember, you did your best.”

“Did I? I could barely see straight. My eyes kept crossing, and I kept forgetting what I was doing.” His abdominal muscles tightened, and his chest shuddered. “Aven…”

“Yeah, baby.” I bit my cheek the minute the endearment slipped out, remembering he hated it.

“I’m so fucking tired.”

His chest convulsed again, and I knew he was trying hard to hide the fact he was crying. I stroked fingers through his hair and down his cheek which was damp and likely not from the bath.

“I know. Relax now, I’ve got you.”