Now And Always (Crown Creek) Page 13

  The old Finn, pre-Sky Finn, would have done exactly that. He would have sworn under his breath, called me a pain in his ass, and declared he didn't have time for this.

  But this new Finn, the one I still wasn't that familiar with, stayed right where he was. “I was around long enough to recognize what kind of crying this is,” he said gently, but firmly. He turned to face me. “You're not sad. You're mad.”

  “Why the hell…?” I caught myself and trailed off. He had no idea that I was crying over Ethan. For all he knew, I’d just come home from the Crown. Come back home to a family still angry at me for getting myself knocked up. “Yeah,” I snapped. “That could have gone…a wee bit better.”

  “But it could have gone a lot worse too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Take it from someone who knows.”

  I snorted. “You comparing accidental pregnancy with family abandonment?”

  “I left a note,” he snapped. Then composed himself. “And yeah. We’ve both had to stand up in front of the people we love and tell them something that was really hard to say.” He lifted his chin. “And just like they did with me, they’ll rally back around you again. Because we’re family.”

  I licked my lips. This was all wonderful to hear, but the timing could not be worse. I waved my hand like his words were a fly buzzing around my face. “Great. Thanks.”

  He regarded me steadily. Then reached out and wiped a tear away from my cheek with his thumb. “Tell me that didn’t feel familiar.”

  “Huh?” I blinked. The warmth of his thumb on my cheek reverberated like an echo. And suddenly, I remembered. “Prom.”

  He nodded.

  I looked down at my hands. Prom night, I’d cried into my pillow over Ethan. Just like this.

  “This isn’t the same thing,” I grumped.

  “Uh-huh,” my brother deadpanned.

  I blinked and looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “How did you know?”

  “The familiarity. I told you.”

  “But it’s been like six years. No, seven.”

  “Has anything changed?” he asked with a steady gaze.

  I opened my mouth to insist that yes, of course things had changed since that night. I was a grown woman now. I was strong and capable, and not at all heartbroken that I was in love with the one guy I needed to keep.

  “As I recall,” Finn continued, picking at the fabric of his jeans, “my advice that night was, ‘Fuck it. Go have fun with your friends.’ Does that apply tonight as well?”

  I laughed ruefully. “Well, that's advice that applies in just about every situation.”

  “I know.” Finn laughed. “And if you were crying about another guy, I’d say the same thing. Well, after I made sure I didn’t need to bash his head in, but then I don’t think I need to do that with Ethan, right? He’s still a good dude, right?”

  “He is,” I sniffed.

  “Claire, I don’t know what to tell you and I wish I did. I've always been pretty terrible at giving advice.” He rubbed his scruffy chin. “Pretty terrible at taking it, too, if I'm being perfectly honest.”

  Another rubber band in my chest snapped. I lunged at him, throwing my arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a hard embrace. “No, you're great at it,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

  He stiffened, startled, but then eagerly returned my awkward hug. He patted my head affectionately, and I felt his question before he asked it. “Claire?”

  “Yes.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah.”

  His voice got small and happy. “I’m really going to be an uncle?”

  I pulled back, startled to see just how excited his smile was. “Yeah, Finn,” I joked. “That's how family positions work. Your sister's having a baby, so that makes you an uncle.”

  “Wow,” he said tenderly. “That's really awesome.”

  His excitement melted my heart, and all of a sudden I was crying again for an entirely different reason. “Thanks,” I said in that same small, tender voice that showed me just how related we were.

  He patted my head again. “You're going to be such an amazing mom. That kid is so damn lucky.”

  I looked down at my hands. “Thanks,” I said. I hugged him again, but this time in apology. “Fuck, Finn, I'm so sorry I've been shutting you out. Every time I see you, I have to physically restrain myself from smiling and punching you in the shoulder or making some dumb joke about your name.”

  “Doll-Finn,” he grumbled.

  “Fee-fi-fo-Finn,” I shot back. Then shook my head. “See? It’s so much work remembering to hate you.”

  He laughed and turned his body to face me dead-on. We hugged for real this time, and it felt better than anything else could. “I’m going to teach your kid the worst shit,” he promised as he patted my back. “You think Uncle Gid was a bad influence? Just you wait.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re a puppy dog,” I scoffed. “It’s going to be Gabe that I’ll have to worry about. Once he's done having his little macho testosterone fit over me getting pregnant, I mean.”

  Finn scowled and shook his head. “You don't worry about that. Okay? Let me deal with Gabe. This family's only allowed to have one hot-headed fuckup who goes off half-cocked at the slightest provocation.” He jammed his thumb into his chest. “That's my job. He needs to stay in his damn lane.”

  I burst out laughing. “That's the weirdest and yet best thing you could have possibly said.” I tucked my hands around my stomach. “But honestly? I think I stole your position as family fuckup. Do you think Dad will ever speak to me again?”

  At that, my brother stood up. “Claire. He's speaking to me. Remember?”

  I bit my lip and nodded. Finn went to the doorway and held on to the door. “Do you want this open or closed?” he asked. I hesitated a moment, then lay back down on my bed.

  “Open,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Claire

  Prom.

  I’d thought about that night so many times, the memories had taken on a ragged sort of translucency. Like a child’s well-loved toy or a pair of perfectly faded jeans, they were so comforting and easy to slip into, it was like they held no emotion anymore.

  Or at least that's how they used to be. But right now, as I stared at my ceiling, my eyes closing with the fatigue of having shed too many tears, I could feel everything about that night as keenly as if it had just happened. How I'd finally gotten up the courage to break it off with my boyfriend right beforehand. How the only reason I’d done it was to ask Ethan. How counting on Ethan came so naturally, even back then, that I never considered he'd say no.

  I’d even made a vision board about how perfect prom would be because I’d spend it with the only guy I ever loved.

  "Ethan?" I'd asked him, all brash and faux-casual. "Want to go to prom with me?"

  When he'd hesitated and looked away from me, I died a little, but quickly laughed. I punched his shoulder just to touch him, and yelled, "Just kidding! I mean as friends, of course."

  "Claire. I have a girlfriend."

  Of course he did. I'd fixed them up.

  Humiliated, I’d lashed out. I’d twisted it around so that it was his fault, not mine. I’d put my ass on the line for him, I told myself, and he’d failed me.

  The night of prom, I’d straightened my hair along with my spine. Then I’d added a slick of red lipstick for good measure before dancing all night with Ruby and Sadie. I refused to pay any attention to how Ethan slumped half-dejectedly in the corner.

  Did it thrill me how little attention he paid to his date? No, I wouldn't admit that to myself. Not back then.

  But now I remembered every look he sent my way. Every burning, yearning glance.

  And the memory tore my heart out because he loved me too.

  He’d loved me then.

  Goddammit, he still loved me now. I could see it in every look he gave me at the diner. He’d come right up to the very edge of saying how he felt before
backing away again. He was such a coward.

  And so was I.

  “Fuck,” I said to the ceiling. “I love you."

  It was so easy. Just three words. “I love you,” I said again. Rolling my tongue around my mouth, I tasted them the way a sommelier would a fine wine. Chewing them. Inhaling deeply. “I love you, Ethan.”

  Slowly, like the rusted tumblers of an ancient lock, something inside of me clicked into place. With equal parts wonder and terror, I realized that this was it. If I loved him, then I was done. There was no coming back from this. No more protecting myself.

  I loved him, and I had no idea what happened next.

  And if there was one thing I hated the most, it was not knowing what came next.

  The tears in my eyes dried as clarity took hold. I knew he loved me. I knew I loved him. But until one of us was ready to say it aloud, we were stuck.

  I closed my eyes, suddenly weary to the bone. I was just slipping into a peaceful, numb blankness when the doorbell rang.

  “I’m sorry to be stopping by so late, Mr. King.”

  My eyes flew open. Ethan. I shot up from the bed and scrambled to the top of the stairway, only catching myself on the railing at the last second before I tumbled headfirst down the stairs.

  Why was Ethan in my house this late? And why was he shaking my father’s hand?

  I let out a little squeak of surprise. Ethan glanced up the stairway.

  The second our eyes locked, my stomach dropped. I gripped the railing tighter to keep my balance, weak in the knees as his eyes raked shamelessly up and down my body. I could feel the heat in his gaze from all the way up here, and my throat went as dry as a desert. “Hello, Claire,” he said, his voice stiff and formal.

  What else was there to say but, “Hi?”

  He turned back to my father. “I just finished, Mr. King, and wanted to run it by Claire.” He met my eyes again. “It's the miniature.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “The miniature,” I echoed. It didn’t sound like a word I’d ever heard before. I was focused on the shape his lips made when he said it. "Min-ee-uh-chure."

  He nodded. “For the pergola. I finished it and wanted to get your thoughts, if that's okay.”

  “Uh? Sure.” I gave my Dad an “I have no idea either” smile as I came down the stairs.

  “It's out in my truck,” Ethan said meaningfully. “If you want to help me carry the pieces in, we can assemble it.”

  “Uh? Sure.” Had I lost my mind? Or had he?

  Without knowing the answer to either of these questions, I followed him out onto the porch and down into the drive. “Ethan, what the hell is—?”

  He stopped short. Whirling around, he caught my arm and yanked me to him. He crushed me to his chest, squeezing a gasp of surprise from my lips. “Claire,” he growled. He reached up, brushing my hair away from my face. I held my breath.

  And then his lips crashed into mine. My stomach dropped out, and I fell against him, completely boneless.

  I wasn't stuck anymore.

  A sound rumbled up from deep within him as his tongue invaded my mouth in a kiss that was hard and desperate, yet strangely sweet and cherishing, too.

  He kissed like himself.

  He kissed like this was the most important thing in his life. We weren't our past, or all the false starts and missed opportunities that made up our shared history.

  No, this snowy December night, with the dancing snowflakes brushing my heated cheeks before melting instantly, we were something brand new.

  When he finally pulled back, I was both freezing cold and burning up. Our breath steamed as we panted, mingling in a wreath over our heads. He looked up at the sky, with snowflakes trapped in his ludicrously long eyelashes. “It's snowing,” he said.

  “Good job, Captain Obvious,” I tried to say, but my tongue tripped around itself and the only thing that came out of my mouth was a series of unintelligible sounds.

  Was that all he was going to say after a kiss like that?

  “It's snowing,” he repeated. “So the roads will be bad tonight. You should sleep over.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ethan

  At the turn for Highway 12, I glanced in my rearview mirror.

  There was nothing behind me but the fuzzy, staticky darkness of a snow-covered New York night.

  But then, far back in the distance, the bright flash of LED headlights winked into view. And my heart leapt into my throat because those were Claire's headlights. She was following me back to my house, where tonight I had every intention of fucking her.

  In the span of an hour, I’d gone from knowing I loved her, to knowing I wanted her, to knowing that tonight I was going to have her.

  I had gone back to the diner, but she was already gone. So I swung by the Crown and drove slowly through the lot. When I didn't see her Jeep, I realized there was only one other place she could be. And I wasn't too keen on rolling up to her parents' house in the middle of the night to announce my intention of fucking their daughter, so I'd concocted a bullshit story about the pergola on the fly.

  And somehow it worked.

  The glowing circles grew larger as she closed the distance between us. I stomped on the accelerator, nervous adrenaline making me reckless. My tires squealed on the wet pavement as a million thoughts rocketed through my brain. How would she sound? What did she like? Would she want me to take it slow? To cherish her? To use my tongue and my fingers for hours? Or did she want it hard and fast? Would she want to ride me with her head flung back as she took her pleasure on her terms?

  I gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my arms trembled. I’d dreamed of this moment my whole life. I’d fantasized about it so many times, but I had no idea what it would actually be like having Claire in my bed. Or what she'd want. I’d imagined her as a wild thing, just shy of completely feral, but she was just as likely to be careful in bed as she was everywhere else in life. I’d imagined taking her up against a wall, but maybe she’d prefer missionary with the lights off. Shit, would she want me to shower first? Should I shave? I ran my hand along my stubbly jaw and then surreptitiously smelled my pits. Nervous sweat was not a good look on me. And Claire deserved me at my very best. I wondered if she'd mind me hopping in the shower first. Should I call her?

  “Fuck,” I said aloud, slamming the heel of my palm against the steering wheel. With the way my mind was racing at the prospect of sex, you'd think I was a horny high schooler, not a grown-ass man. But this was Claire. Claire, who I'd spent close to a lifetime loving.

  Everything had to be perfect.

  I checked my rearview mirror again. Was she still behind me? Had she turned around? Lost her nerve? I wouldn't blame her. I was acting like a crazy person.

  I studied my rearview mirror so carefully that I almost missed a curve, fishtailing at the last minute. Heart pounding, I steadied the wheel. What if I'd read this all wrong? What if this was like all the other times? Why did I think this time would be different?

  Was I about to get my heart broken so soon after finally understanding it?

  I checked my rearview mirror again.

  Was she coming?

  What was she doing?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Claire

  "What am I doing?” I chanted. “What am I doing? Oh, God, what am I doing?”

  I’d been so sure in the moment. He’d finally looked at me the way I wanted him to look at me, so I'd followed him, without even changing out of my pajamas, like a little lost puppy right to his doorstep.

  But as I pulled into his driveway cold rationality seized me in its icy grip. “What am I doing?” I moaned.

  Because this was insane. This would break us. And I couldn't break what Ethan and I had. I could cut off anyone else in the world, but I couldn't lose him.

  Just the thought of losing him sent raw, blinding panic down my spine. I threw my Jeep into reverse, hell bent on getting out of his driveway, gunning it back home again, flinging
the covers over my head and pretending this was all a strange dream. We could still stop this. We could still go back. We weren't at the point of no return yet. There was still time to keep things the way they should be.

  The curtains in his living room fluttered, then slipped to the side. And there he was, silhouetted in the front window.

  I slowly moved my gear shift back to park. My phone rang. I looked from it back to the window and then held it to my ear.

  “Are you coming in?” he asked, gentle as always.

  “I don't know,” I moaned. “I’m not sure I can.”

  “Sure you can. You've done it before.”

  “I know. But I always knew what to expect. Now I don’t.”

  “Claire. It's me.”

  “That's the problem.” My voice wobbled.

  He exhaled a small sigh. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  “Fear of the unknown is perfectly rational.”

  “The unknown, huh?” His voice swooped low, half teasing, half dead serious. “You mean, you’d come in if you knew what to expect?”

  I licked my lips. “Well, yes. Actually, I'd like to know what I'm walking into. You know I don't do well with surprises.”

  His shadow shifted in the window and knew he was rocking back on his heels. Settling in. And it made me feel a little less like a mouse shivering under a cat's gaze. “Well, Claire, I'll tell you exactly what I had in mind. I thought maybe you could first walk through the door.”

  “Yeah, that would be a good start.” I laughed weakly.

  “Claire.” The way he said my name made goose bumps break out over my body. “I thought I would take your hand and maybe I'd kiss it.”

  “How very chivalrous of you.”

  “I’m actually a pretty chivalrous guy when I'm in the mood.”

  “How have I never seen this mood before?”

  “You have. Maybe you haven't noticed it. But that's not your fault. I'll have to be more obvious about it next time. That's what you want, Claire, right? For me to show you exactly how I feel?”