FINN

"Are you humming?" Bo asked.

I looked up from pulling on the dingiest carpet I'd seen in months. This house I'd picked up was vile, worse than usual. Bo had suggested it was a meth factory, given the needles, rotten egg smell, and burnt patches on the walls and flooring. It could have been, or it might just have been an ordinary addict's house, but there was shit everywhere.

If I was humming, I didn't realize it, but I was in a decent mood. I figured once I got Winter to just sit and talk with me, we’d work it out. That was something worth humming about.

I just shrugged and went back to work. "Just trying to block out the god-awful music you choose to play. You've been up north here for almost a year. Can't you play anything but country songs?”

"I could." Bo paused to toss a handful of staples in the trash. "But I know it annoys the hell out of you. And that makes the music sound that much sweeter."

"Too bad you don't know shit all about constructing a house and you still have to hang on my dick until you can get it right."

"Which is why I play music you hate. It fits our dysfunctional relationship."

"I thought you were going to therapy to fix your problems."

"If by ‘therapy’ you mean having a ton of awesome sex with my girlfriend, then yes, I'm in therapy all night and random times during the day." I snorted but wisely said nothing. "But speaking of therapy," Bo continued. My response was a loud groan that I hoped would be hint enough that I didn't want to talk about whatever it was that followed. Bo ignored me. "How's your mom?"

"Well, she texted that she got up and had coffee today, so I count that as a win." I reached down to tug harder on the carpet. Did they glue it down instead of just stapling the edges?

"Mal says 'Paradise lies under the feet of your mother.'"

That made me stop. I gaped at Bo. He threw up his hands, one still holding a crowbar he was using to pull up the tacking strips, the long thin lumber pieces that held the carpet on the edges of the room.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Apparently it means if you don't make your momma happy, you ain't gonna be happy."

"If I knew what would make her happy, I'd do it," I replied.

"I suck at this comforting thing." He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. "But maybe you outta talk to someone else?"

"Like Lana?" I grunted. "No thanks. Between her and Mal, it sounds like I should be taking my mother on a date."

Lana, a friend of ours, was a psych major at Central College. She'd once said that I had an Oedipus complex but refused to elaborate. I’d looked it up the next day and learned that Oedipus had a thing for his mom that ultimately led to his demise. Thanks, Lana.

"Maybe talking to her wouldn't be such a great idea, but you should talk to someone," Bo counseled.

Ever since Bo had hooked up with AnnMarie, he enjoyed giving out advice like some on-screen dating show personality. I think I liked him better when he was screwing everything that moved and punching everything that stood still.

"I'm talking to someone," I lied. It wasn't actually a real lie. I was talking to someone. I talked to Winter, someone who knew just about as much about death, loss, and grief as anyone.

We worked in silence for a while longer when he finally said, "Sorry I ruined your morning."

"You didn't ruin anything," I said, and he didn't comment on the fact I'd stopped humming.

Henry called me a half hour later and told me to haul ass to the jobsite.

"You're in charge, Bo," I told him as I pocketed the phone. His look of terror would have been amusing if my ass weren't on the line. "Just finish up with the flooring and make sure the trim guys come in tomorrow. You'll be fine."

He had to be, because I couldn't be two places at the same time.

When I got to the jobsite downtown, Henry was pacing by the entrance.

"Is it the grading?"

"Fuck no. Grading is fine. Sewer line busted last night."

"How bad?"

"Bad." Henry looked grim.

"How many days will it take to fix it?"

"Two, at least. Grading inspector said he didn't want to come out until that was fixed."

"It's dirt. We're just moving dirt, so it's no big deal." When Henry's worry didn't ease, I rubbed my face. "What else?"

"Our concrete subcontractor never showed."

"Are they testing me? Do they want me to fail?" I dug my hands in my pockets because I was very afraid if I didn't, I was going to start picking up hammers and nail guns and going Lethal Weapon crazy. Henry wisely took a step back and to the side. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm calling the sewer sub and getting the repair done today, or we won't pay them. There's more than one concrete pourer in the city, and it's getting done today if I have to goddamn do it myself. After that, you and I are going to walk the entire property and do an inspection. Tomorrow morning we'll have a sub meeting and go from there. No delays."

Henry nodded and echoed my mantra but without any conviction. "No delays."

The call to the sewer sub was easy. The next one was much harder. I hadn't spoken with my Uncle Pat since the funeral, and even at that time, it was strained despite the fact we were burying my dad, his brother. I couldn't get past the fact he'd slept with my mom while she was still married to my dad. But I needed help, and the one man who could give it was Uncle Pat.

"O'Malley Construction, Peggy O'Malley speaking."

"Hey, Aunt Peg," I croaked. Talking with Aunt Peg was almost worse than talking to Uncle Pat, but it wasn't as if I had some control over my mother's vagina. I shuddered. A guy should never have to think of his mother's girl parts. Shit, I needed to look up that damn Oedipus wiki link again.

"Finnegan, how are you?"

It made it worse that she was always so kind. How she stayed married to Pat and still worked as his office manager was a mystery.

"Good, I'm in a bind though. I wondered if you or Uncle Pat could help me."

"Of course, I will." She sounded decisive. "What do you need? Is it the Riverside project?"

"Yup. My concrete sub never showed up today. He's probably too baked to run his mixer, but I need the footings poured today, or we can't do anything."

"You need the name of another sub," she accurately surmised. "Just a minute." I heard some clicking of keys and then a ping on my phone. "I texted you a contact. After we're done, I'll call him up and tell him he needs to get over there right away."

"Thanks, Aunt Peg." Relief washed over me. "I really appreciate it. And…I'm sorry about everything else."

"This is an O'Malley project even if my husband doesn't acknowledge it. Nothing for you to be sorry about, Finnegan. It's not your fault my husband can't keep his dick in his pants or your mother doesn't care about ruining two families. You shouldn't have to suffer because of that. Goodbye now."

That should have been comforting but wasn't, in any way. Even though my problems seemed to be solved, I felt like shit. Henry and I walked the entire property, checked every sub's work, and prepared a list of all the things wrong.

Henry was testing me. He was a competent foreman, or my dad wouldn't have put him on the job. And I knew my dad wouldn't have been here every day, all day long either. But my dad had so much experience, he could do a walk-through in an hour and know exactly what needed to be done and what wasn't up to snuff. It took me hours.

"I need to be here every day, don't I?" I asked Henry.

He nodded. "On a build this big? Yeah. I'm looking at this stuff, but the buck stops with you."

I exhaled heavily. "I'm in the middle of a flip."

There was a little disdain when he answered. "Your profits on a flip are five figures, right?" I knew where he was going with this. "The profits on a build like this are six or seven figures. What's more important to you?"

The only relief I had was looking forward to the concert tonight with Winter. Adam surprised me with lunch.

"I could kiss you," I said honestly.

"If you want." He shrugged. "But then you'll become addicted to me. All the girls do. One kiss and they're done for."

"Yeah, but I know what you look and smell like in the morning."

"A bouquet of awesome, you mean? I admit that letting that knowledge into the public will endanger me more, so let's keep that a secret between us."

"How about the knowledge that you enjoyed eating your nose crud? Is that going to drive the women into a frenzy?"

"There's a fetish for everything, man. Don't be judgmental."

I ate the rest of my sandwich and then tossed the paper and napkins in the trash. The office trailer needed cleaning. It had been a mess when I’d brought Winter here, and it was still a mess. I wondered if my dad had hired someone to clean. The weight of all I had to do made it hard to stay upright, so for the time being I thought I'd lay my head on the table.

"You okay?" Adam sounded concerned.

"Yep." Not really, but I wasn't interested in talking this out with anyone, not even Adam, who was my oldest friend.

* * *

The situation rode me hard all day, and by the time the concert rolled around, I was in a foul mood.

"You look tense," Winter observed as we settled onto the blanket I'd brought.

"I need a beer," I muttered and then grimaced. Winter not only didn't drink, but she had an understandable aversion to people close to her drinking.

"Oh, well, you should get one. I don't mind." She turned from me and faced forward, her face completely blank of emotion. Dammit. This wasn't how I wanted the date to go. Looking around, I saw Bo and AnnMarie staring at me. Actually she was wincing. My fuck-up with Winter was evident to everyone. She'd moved as far away from me as possible. Soon her ass would be off the blanket and on the grass. Hell, if I didn't get my act together, she'd find a different party altogether.

Sucking in a breath, I forced myself to exhale some of my anger. "I'm sorry I'm being shitty company. If I promise to stop being an asshole, will you sit next to me?" I patted the blanket.

"You could tell me what's wrong," she offered without moving. Since she wasn't coming to me, I was going to her—even if it meant chasing her all around the park.

"How about this? We try to enjoy the concert, and at the end of the night, if you still want to know, I'll explain everything." The last thing I wanted was to dredge up the whole mess about work, my uncle, my mom, and my screwed up home life. It just wasn't good date conversation. It wasn't good post-date conversation either, but I hoped she'd forget about it by then. I reached across the blanket and rubbed two fingers over her very sensitive inner wrist. Her mouth formed an unintentionally erotic circle as the touch did just what I hoped—distracted her. My hand curled around her wrist, and I tugged her gently toward me.

"Does the music get any better?" she asked. I took her change of subject as tacit agreement to my request.

Just us. No other people.

"Haven't you come to the Concert in the Park series before?" I asked, surprised.

"Nope. I've always meant to come but was busy."

Translation: she'd been cleaning up her sister's messes.

Wrapping my arms around her, I gently maneuvered her so she was surrounded by my knees and resting against my chest. She hesitated at first but then relaxed. And I relaxed with her.

"The good bands come later." The softness of her body actually helped ease my tension more than anything. I should have tried this before. When I’d picked her up at Atra, I should have pulled her into my arms and just held her for like ten minutes until the stress of the multi-million dollar construction project drained away. "The shitty bands play first, which is part of the payment for getting a decent spot on the grass. The better bands play later. Or at least we all think they're better, but it could be we're too high or drunk to notice their shittiness."

"What about the sober people?" She laughed, and I relaxed further. She was like a walking Zoloft. I needed her around me in regular doses. Take four hours of Winter Donovan before you go to bed and call me in the morning should be my prescription.

"They leave after the first couple of hours, having decided that getting bit by mosquitos and having drunk people spill beer on them isn't half as fun as it sounded when their friends invited them out earlier in the day."

The music improved, and so did the company. AnnMarie and Winter discovered they had a few mutual acquaintances through Central College, where AnnMarie attended and Winter had planned on going until she changed her mind suddenly and went to the local community college. After the third band exited the stage, Adam dropped onto the edge of the blanket.

"The lead singer in this next band is pretty tight," he said with an excited gleam in his eye. "His band is shit, though. The drummer plays like he's got only one stick that works, and the guitarist knows only three chords." He rubbed his hands together.

"Why is that a good thing?" Winter asked from the cocoon of my arms.

"Because I want him for myself."

"Adam's had different bands his whole life," I explained at Winter's raised eyebrows. "But members of it keep drifting away. He's been on the lookout for the perfect crew for the last year."

He scowled. "That motherfucker Larson stole my band and my music when I broke my leg. Just because I couldn't play for a few months, douchebag got another guitarist and started playing the music I composed and singing the lyrics I wrote."

"Wow. That's just wrong," Winter said, affronted. "I hope you confronted the asshole."

Nodding emphatically, he said, "Yeah I sicced my dad's lawyer on him and had a cease-and-desist letter sent saying if he played one more note of my goddamned music, he'd be paying me money until he was drawing social security. Heard he moved up by State to play the college scene."

"Good for you.” She nodded approvingly. “He kicked you while you were down. Inexcusable. Why didn't he just wait for you?"

"I know, right? Bastard." He started to say something else when two girls in tight shorts and plaid shirts unbuttoned and tied at their belly buttons came over to say hello to him.

"Adam!" the taller one cried. "I'd hoped you were here. We have a spot near the front. Want to come sit with us?" They looped their arms around each other's waists to make it clear it was a double-his-pleasure sort of invitation.

"You don't mind?" Adam turned back to Winter.

"Of course not. Have fun, and don't forget to wrap it up tonight," she joked, lowering her voice when she gave him her mock advice.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, leaning over to give her a quick peck before sliding in between the Doublemint twins.

"I haven't even kissed you tonight," I said with regret. "It seems wrong that Adam was the one to deliver your first kiss of the day."

"Is that right?" She pressed her lips together to hide a smile, but it crept out, turning up the corners of her mouth and making her look adorable and mischievous.

"I need to rectify that," I said softly. I bypassed her lips and bent my head to place my lips on her neck.

She inhaled in a rush, releasing a small shocked sound when I made contact. I sucked hard, knowing I would leave a mark and not caring. I hadn't left a hickey on a girl since I was a teenager, but I wasn't sucking hard because I wanted to leave my imprint on her skin. I was stuck on this spot because it lit her up.

At the heavy pressure of my mouth, her fingers clutched at my forearm. She strained against me until the only thing that made sense was to press her down to the ground. I braced myself over her, one forearm planted by her head and the other traveling down her side to the sweet curve of her hip.

"Finn, here?" she asked, but I answered by moving my mouth from her neck to her lips. Who cared if there were other people around? Half of the couples were probably making out anyway from the sheer boredom of listening to the band. My hand slid down her jean-clad leg, frustrated that I couldn't touch her flesh.

I broke away from her mouth and felt a flush of ego-stroking satisfaction when her lips clung to me as if she couldn't bear to part. "These bands are really terrible," I said. "We should go right now."

"What? You can't go. I want you to hear this guy sing." Adam dropped down beside us. I felt his heavy weight pull the blanket.

"You have terrible timing, man," I complained.

"Sorry, not sorry. You can't go now."

"I want to stay too," Winter chimed in.

I groaned and fell back onto the blanket and willed my hard-on to recede.