Sarah’s heart skipped a beat—and not in the good kind of fairytale way, but more like a train sliding off the tracks and bursting into flames as it hurtled toward a bottomless sea.

Yup, that was exactly how she felt right about then. Her heart hammering an unsteady beat, her mind reeling, her world spinning off its axis…

Why didn’t Finch kiss me?

The moment was perfect, both physically and metaphorically. He’d literally caught her when she’d fallen. Their faces were so close she’d been able to taste his salty skin with each bated breath.

But then he set her down and moved away so fast Sarah had to question what she’d eaten that day and whether any of it might still be lingering on her breath or in her teeth.

Mortified didn’t even begin to cover it, especially since Finch seemed unaware of the disappointment that now stung every nerve ending in her body.

“Want to go again?” he asked after shoving both hands deep into his pockets and taking a step to the side.

Sarah shook her head, worried that if she tried to speak she might yell or cry or both. For just the briefest of periods she’d bought into his act, into the pretty picture he painted of putting fears aside and living in the moment.

What a crock.

At the end of the day, Finch would always be a businessman. He knew how to say what others wanted to hear whether or not he meant the words. Was he being honest when he told Sarah he liked her? When he flirted with her at the Go Carts? Or was he just trying to distract her from the whole mess with Eleanor?

And if he did want to distract her, then why? Were he and Eleanor in on some big joke together? Was there even a mystery, or did they both find enjoyment in messing with her brain and her heart?

Too many questions, and each of them hurt to ask—never mind the answers.

“Let’s go grab some lunch,” Finch said, reaching a hand toward her.

But she refused to take it. Instead, she forced a smile and followed a step behind as he led her over to the small outdoor eatery within the adventure center complex. She needed to figure out a way out of there before she could embarrass herself any further or let Finch cut her any deeper.

“Do you like fish tacos?” he asked, fiddling with his wallet as he studied the menu board.

“I guess.” She pulled out her phone and pretended to check email. It would have been nice to mindlessly scroll through her Reel Life feed to help distract her thoughts, but no… she’d deleted it… and for him.

Finch finished ordering their food and sat down next to her on the picnic table bench.

When she looked up from her phone, she found him staring at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. What’s there to be confused about? You led me on. Or maybe I led myself on.

He pushed the tray toward her and attempted a smile. “Is everything okay?”

She shrugged, hating herself for acting like a pouty teenager but unable to form coherent, level-headed sentences until she sorted through her feelings.

“Is it about my aunt? The suspension?” he asked in a way that seemed to suggest he knew it wasn’t—but perhaps hoped it was.

Sarah was let off the hook from answering his questions when Finch’s phone trilled in his pocket. He slapped his hands against each other to brush off any stray crumbs, then pulled the device from his pocket.

“I don’t recognize the number,” he told her before clicking over to answer the call. “Hello?” His eyes widened as he listened, then he held his hand over the speaker and whispered, “Well, speak of the devil.”

Sarah could only hear muffled whispered on the other end of the conversation. As Finch attempted to rush through his call, Sarah fiddled with her own phone, trying to think up an excuse that would get her out of there.

Finch nodded and rolled his eyes as the other speaker dominated the conversation. “Yes… Yes… Okay… Today?… Is it really that urgent?… Uh-huh… Yeah… Yes, I get it… Bye.”

“Everything okay?” she asked once he’d hung up.

He frowned. “No, it’s Eleanor. She needs me at the hospital for some reason…” He paused to let out an exhausted, dramatic sigh. “But I’m not going,” he assured her, not knowing that she desperately wanted him to go—or at least to leave her.

Sarah immediately latched onto this. “Finch, you have to go. She needs you.”

“How could you be so kind to her when she’s only made trouble for you?”

Because I’m a catch, whether or not you realize it. Sarah shocked herself with this realization. She’d never thought of herself as worthy before. So why now?

She shrugged. Finch could think whatever he wanted about her. She just needed him gone. “It’s just, she doesn’t have anyone else,” she explained. “And… And I got a text from work, asking me to come in, so—yeah.”

“Okay, I mean, if you’re sure. We can head over there after lunch.”

“It sounded really urgent, and I’m not all that hungry. Why don’t we go now?” Sarah stood before Finch had a chance to weigh in, and by the time he’d taken their trays to the waiting trash cans, she’d already made it halfway back to the parking lot.

He should have kissed her. Sarah’s reaction made that much obvious.

Why did he have to go and try to be a gentleman? How had he managed to overread the situation and still reach the wrong conclusion?

The worst part was seeing how Sarah couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He wanted to explain—or to grab her and kiss her right then—but he just couldn’t do that. He needed to fix what had broken between the two of them before he could even dream of taking such a big leap forward in their relationship.

And then the hospital had called, practically pleading with him to visit his aunt.

Oh, he had hated her in that moment.

In fact, he hated her in most moments. Oh, the joy of having a family!

Sarah so quickly latched onto that escape hatch that he had little choice than to comply with the old bat’s wishes. He knew she hadn’t actually received a text calling her into work, but pointing that out would only mortify them both.

So he watched sadly as Sarah bounded out of his car with Lucky at her heels, his tail swinging along with the beat of their steps. This was it—time for the visit no one wanted to happen. Whether or not Eleanor had requested him, he already knew she wouldn’t be happy to see him. Nothing ever made that woman happy.

Gold Coast General Hospital appeared practically vacant when he arrived. Maybe nobody got sick or had accidents this time of year, or maybe they all went somewhere else. Had this place also had a scandal he knew nothing about?

Finch charged through the halls toward the room number the nurse had given him. Before he could reach Eleanor, though, a lanky young man intercepted him.

“Hi, Mr. Jameson. It is Mr. Jameson, right? I recognized you from… Yeah, so thank you for coming. We need you to sign some paperwork for your aunt, if you’ll just come with me.”

Finch followed the squeaky voiced intern—he had to be an intern, because he couldn’t have possibly been older than twenty-five—over to a nearby standing station and listened as he flipped through various items in a hastily assembled file folder.

“So this is the advance directive,” he explained, pointing to the place where Finch needed to sign below Eleanor’s signature. “It means if she stops breathing we won’t implement life-saving measures.”

Finch dropped the pen in surprise. “Is that what she really wants?”

“She already signed,” the young man pointed out.

Finch shook his head and signed where instructed—first the advance directive and then a myriad of other forms, all of which seemed far less momentous after that one.

“Okey dokey, that oughta do it!” the intern sang, clicking the pen closed. “I won’t keep you any longer.”

Finch thought about leaving from there, his commitment met, but the watchful eyes of the hospital staffer bore into his back, judging before there was even anything to judge. Rather than escaping as he’d hoped, he skulked into Eleanor’s room.

He found his great aunt seated in the bed near the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. A little plush Golden Retriever lounged comfortably at her side. The toy seemed far too sweet for her, and he wondered briefly where she’d gotten it or why she would have kept it.

He cleared his throat, lingering in the doorway in hopes of escaping her overwhelming and often hostile gravitational pull.

“What are you doing here?” she asked with a rasp.

“The hospital called me. Wanted me to sign some forms.”

“And you did?” She looked tired—far more tired than before. Her smooth complexion was now marred by deep, dark circles around her eyes, and her hair hadn’t been curled—possibly also not brushed.

Finch nodded and ventured a step deeper into the room. Maybe this weakened version of Eleanor would play nice. Maybe she finally realized she needed him, after all. Maybe…

“Good.” Eleanor turned her head back toward the window, but he could tell her attention was still focused on him despite how she wanted things to appear. A moment later, she sighed and snapped back his way. “Well, what do you want?”

So much for his theory about having a kind encounter that day. “You know what I want,” he said, staring her down while she did the same to him.

His great aunt laughed bitterly. “Yes, you’ve become rather predictable.”

“Maybe I have, but not you…” The rage came flooding back. If he wasn’t careful, he might drown in it one day. It took everything he had to keep from yelling at the frail, old woman right there in the middle of the hospital. “Do you know you cost Sarah her job?”

She shrugged and examined her nails. Did she really believe her chipped manicure was more important than Sarah’s livelihood? “It was a means to an end,” she replied coldly.

If Eleanor was ice, then Finch was definitely fire. He knew which of those elements came out on top when the two were forced together. He just had to stay strong—keep demanding justice, answers, respect. “What? Listen to you! How could you say that? All she has ever done is help you.”

His words did nothing to melt her icy exterior. Perhaps her heart had died prior to the rest of her body. “And now she’s helping me now by staying away.”

“You’re messing with people’s lives, and you don’t even care,” Finch spat.

“I care plenty,” she insisted, but her words held little passion and likely no truth, either.

“Could have fooled me.” Finch was done playing her game. He still didn’t understand her end goals, but he no longer cared.

“Believe what you want for now.” Eleanor settled into her bed, pulling her blanket up higher on her chest. “The truth will come out eventually.”

“Will it? Because I’m done with you and your stupid mystery. The more any of us tries to help you, the more merciless you become. I’m ending it here.” Enough with the cryptic hints and the words that said nothing, the heart that felt nothing. He was nobody’s pawn, least of all Eleanor Barton’s.

“No, you’re not,” she insisted without hesitation. Apparently she still thought of herself as a queen. This only angered Finch more.

He turned to leave and even made it the length of a few rooms, but then something ignited inside of him. He couldn’t let her have the last word. Couldn’t let her think any of this was okay.

“Go ahead and believe whatever you want,” he said with a raised voice, charging back into the room. He needed her to understand that they were really, really through. “Here’s what I believe: you’re sending Sarah and I all across the coast in search of answers when you know good and well you’re the one behind that murder. You probably even liked watching him die, but now you’re dying, so you’re looking for some kind of divine forgiveness. Guess what? No one will ever forgive you. Especially not me. You’re going to die guilty and alone, and it’s going to be all your fault.”

His piece said, Finch walked away from the only family he had left.

He was definitely better off alone.