“Have we met before?”
That fucking asshole.
I force down the sickening churn of nausea, trying to purge the toxic animosity clawing its way up my throat.
I need to get myself under control.
But God… I didn’t think he could hurt me more than he already had.Turns out, I was so fucking wrong.
I kick off my heels, sending them skittering across the room, and make my way to the bathroom.My palms press into the cold marble as I lean over the sink, staring hard at my reflection in the mirror.The lovesick teenager stares back—older now, her edges sharpened by time, yet still haunted by that same face and those old scars.Nose.Lips.Cheeks.Chin.The beautiful shell, nothing but a winning DNA lottery ticket.Maturity has reshaped me, but not enough to erase the girl I used to be.
The lovesick teenager who grew the hell up.
I remind myself that he’d just lost his father.He needed comfort, someone to bear the weight of his grief with him.And then he’d stumbled upon me, in my own dire straits—a damsel that a soldier like him probably felt compelled to help.Sure, we’d connected.We were both going through heavy shit, probably some of the darkest moments of our lives.But I’d always been too young for him, something he’d insisted over and over, keeping me at a safe distance for as long as his willpower held out.
Still, none of those reasons explained why he hadn’t taken the time to write a letter, why he couldn’t spare a few measly minutes to make a phone call.Why make promises and ask me to wait, tell me we’d run together as soon as his service date ended, only to cut off all contact?Why leave me in that dangerous situation, the onehe’dstirred up, and then completely disappear?
The Finn I knew could never be that callous.That heartless.
I used to tell myself there had to be a reason.But the more I learned about him through Deeds, the more my mind ran wild with the possibilities.
Our last days together flutter through my mind.Finn standing in front of me, his thumb brushing the soft skin just under my ear, his gaze intense and unwavering.The look in his eyes—I’ll never forget it.Like he ached to kiss me, but his morals wouldn’t let him.
At first, I couldn’t stand to be touched.I flinched at even the slightest brush of his skin against mine, recoiled from any physical contact.But months later, when I wanted his hands on me—after he’d earned my trust and every part of me craved him—he kept holding himself back.
He blamed it on the age gap.Said it waswrongfor him to want someone so young.
Most people would see it that way, but I didn’t.
To me, age had nothing to do with love.The way he watched over me, protected me at the risk of his own life, made me feel safe in a way I’d never known before.He loved me without words.Loved me in the face of death.
Or so I’d thought.
In the end, none of it mattered.Time dwindled, and the end of his leave loomed on the horizon.The pull between us grew stronger with each passing day.The clocktick, tick, ticking, and hanging over our heads.The uncertainty, the danger we were both facing, and the fact that I might never see him again, drove everything higher.
So, if he wouldn’t cross that line, then I would.
I knew he only had so much control, and I admit, I pushed him over that line.I wanted him.His love.His hands on my body.I wanted to touch him, kiss him, to know how good we could be together.I wanted his skin imprinted on mine.I wanted the memory of it to carry me forward into the unknown days ahead.
So, in the dead of night, I went to him when I knew his willpower would be at its lowest.
I tore down his walls, threw his objections aside, and told him, point blank, that I wanted him to make love to me.That I needed him to love me in a way that would wash away the bad memories.
“Please touch me.I never feel more real, more alive, than when you do.Please, Finn.Show me what real love looks like, help me replace these bad memories with good ones.”
He crumpled like a pyramid of stacked poker cards.
What followed was the most magical moment of my life.Transcendent.Fucking life-altering.He’d cherished and devoured me in equal measure, with such intensity that I’d nearly glimpsed white lights and pearly gates.I’d died a small death at the peak of the orgasm he’d wrung from me, my lungs momentarily incapable of drawing air from the pleasure of it all.
A panic attack in reverse.Something I was all too familiar with.Instead of terror starving my body of air, it was bliss.
When it was over, I thought we’d spend his last two days in New Mexico tangled in his bed, losing ourselves in each other until reality tore us apart.But Finn had done a one-eighty.He’d acted like he’d committed some unforgivable sin, a grievous crime, like what we’d shared had been a mistake.He bore the weight of that guilt and used it to build a wall between us that I couldn’t breach.
He’d hold my hand like it meant everything, but look at me with an expression riddled with love and shame.
Like I was his entire world and his biggest regret.
I can’t help but wonder if pushing his boundaries was what ultimately drove him away.I’d feared as much, but I had no way of knowing for sure.
