Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (24 page)

“Okay,” I tell her, even though it’s not.

Something happened she doesn’t want me to know. Yet based on how she shuts me out, she’s not ready to talk about it. Someone like Wren, you can’t push. She pushes back, cementing walls around herself to keep her safe.

I fill in the information and hand it to the person at the desk, mowing over what to do. The moment I’m done, she starts to walk away.

“Wren, wait,” I call, hurrying to catch up. When she turns to face me, I can practically feel those walls around her. No, now is definitely not the time to talk about what happened. But I want her to know that I care. “Look, if you ever want to talk . . . I’m here for you, okay?”

Her tough girl persona softens a little as she takes in my wounded demeanor. “Sol, you have enough going on without worrying about my shit. Just be there for yourself and my brother.  I can handle the rest on my own.”

Based on those bruises and how hurt she seems, I’m not so sure. She puts her arm around me, leading me forward. “There are a few people I can call to see if they’ve seen Finn,” she says, quickly switching the subject. “Let’s head back to my room and we’ll split up the list.”

Her voice trails as her attention cuts toward the bar. “What the fuck?” she snaps, charging forward.

With how pissed she seems, I almost think she spotted the man who attacked her. I come to an abrupt halt when I see what she sees.
Finn
is slumped across the bar, two girls hanging all over him and attempting to drag him away.

I don’t remember bolting after Wren. I’m just suddenly there. “Come on, Fury,” the blonde to Finn’s right giggles, slurring her words. “Let’s finish the party back in our room.”

She stops laughing at the sight of me and Wren. “Who the hell are you?” Wren snaps.

The brunette pushes her hair away, the humor in her face morphing into annoyance. “One of his dates for the night. Who the hell are you?”

Oh, honey, we’re so not the right women to talk to this way
. I may be nice. And I may be considered a professional. But right now, I’m the irate Philly girl whose man these skanks are touching.

Wren and I edge closer, but it’s Wren who speaks first. “I’m his sister, the same chick who’s going to knock you on your ass if you don’t get your hands off him.” She hooks her thumb my way. “And this is his girlfriend, who trust me, won’t be as nice. Get the
fuck
away from him.”

They don’t budge, but neither do we. Anger like I’ve never felt burns its way through me. Finn is wrecked out of his mind. These girls know it―in fact, they probably helped get him this way. But it’s the underlying guilt―the belief that my problems played a role in his condition―
and
the way the blonde strokes his arm possessively that sharpen my tone. “Touch him again, and I swear to God I’ll smash that beer bottle across your damn face.”

She freezes, as she should, and drops her hand away. She steps back as I move forward, and so does her friend in time for Sofia and Killian to arrive.

“What the hell is this shit?” Killian snaps.

One of the girls whispers to the other, causing her eyes to widen. They recognize Killian, just like they recognize their fun is over.

Wren shakes Finn’s shoulder. “Finnie, Finnie, can you hear me?”

He lifts his head in my direction. “Sol?” he says, stumbling forward. He pulls me to him, kissing me hard. But when I jerk my chin and break our kiss, he practically falls on top of me.

Killian snags him, lifting him off me before I topple over. “He’s wasted,” Killian mutters, hooking his arm over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get him upstairs.”

I grab his phone from the bar and follow, Sofia and Wren hot on my trail. “He wouldn’t have gone with them,” Sofia says. “Not willingly.”

“Even as drunk as he is no way would he cheat on you,” Wren adds.

They’re trying to make excuses for him, for why he was with them. They know I’m livid. But I’m not solely pissed about what I saw and who I found him with.

My eyes burn. Yet for now, I refuse to cry

We slip into the elevator, hauling ass before anyone else sees him. “Where’s Sol?” Finn mumbles, his head slumped.

“She’s here,” Sofia says, glancing my way when I don’t answer.

He starts to fall forward again when he attempts to walk, but Killian holds onto him. “We can’t leave him alone like this,” Sofia says quietly.

It’s her way of volunteering to stay with him. But that’s not her job. For now, it’s mine. “I’ll take care of him,” I say, my focus glued to the door.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“I’m sure,” I say, anger and hurt causing my voice to quiver.

Wren takes one look at my face and backs away. “Shit. You’re not going to kill him in his sleep are you?”

She’s joking, even though she knows I’m angry. But I can’t laugh then. “I would never hurt him,” I answer, that awful tremble in my voice showing how close I am to losing it.

Who am I kidding? I’ve already hurt Finn in ways I never thought possible.

The elevator door dings open and we step out. Sofia pulls out Finn’s wallet and fishes through it. “I have his key,” she says.

Killian doesn’t respond, his face shadowed with worry. He doesn’t say anything until we reach his room and he lowers him to the bed when I pull away the blankets.

“You need us, you call,” he says to me. “We’re one floor above you.”

He marches out, Sofia’s hand tight in his. Wren doesn’t appear any happier, crossing her arms as she takes in Finn’s unmoving form. “You want me to stay?”

I glance at her. In all the fuss, and with all the low lighting, Killian and Sofia didn’t see her bruises. But I noticed she kept her unaffected side to them. Yet I can’t talk to her about it now, not with the condition Finn is in.

I return my attention to him. “I’ll be okay,” I answer.

I remove Finn’s shoes and socks and cover him with a sheet. But it’s not until I fill a pitcher of water and place it and a glass on the bedside table that she speaks again.

“Sol, thanks for being here,” she tells me. “Like I said, Finn needs you.”

I walk her out and push the security lock in place, but as I return to the bedroom area and take in Finn’s draped form I realize she’s wrong.

I’m the last thing he needs.

CHAPTER 25

Sol

For a long time all I do is watch Finn sleep. He seems so peaceful. But it kills me to know he had to get wasted to achieve this kind of peace.

I slip out of my coat. I didn’t even realize I still had it on, my mind too preoccupied with how I found Finn. I know why he did what he did. “Anesthetizing”. It’s what one of my former Profs called it, a fancy way to describe drinking or drugging to numb the pain.

God, it hurts knowing I’m the cause of his relapse.

Yet it hurts more knowing what I have to do to help him recover.

I’m not being a martyr. At least, I don’t mean to be. But I can’t deny the role my family and I played in his downward spiral. We practically shoved him off the wagon. Seriously, how could he possibly stand a chance at sobriety seeing what he saw, and then dealing with me afterward?

My intuition warned me to keep my distance the first time I saw him at the clinic, reminded me that two damaged people shouldn’t get involved, shouldn’t be together― not when their wounds were still so fresh. I knew this. Every passage I’ve read about codependency reinforced these facts. And still I let him into my heart.

Yet somehow, all the facts I read weren’t always true. We were good together. We laughed, we supported each other, and we loved. We were
so
good together.

Until we weren’t.

I lower myself to the edge of the bed. As angry and upset as I am about everything that transpired, my old friend exhaustion creeps in, making it hard to remain standing. I should sleep on the couch, and not be near him. But as much as I know it’s time to walk away, the need to feel close, this one last time, lures me.

My fingers smooth his hair. He hates the slight wave to it and usually doesn’t allow it to grow long enough for the edges to curl. I don’t mind, and like the softness to it. But then I like everything about him, everything that makes him “Finn” . . . even those demons he hides because don’t we all have our share?

Yet as much as I’ve wanted to support and love him, I fed those demons instead of lulling them to sleep.

“I should have stayed away from you,” I whisper. “I should have kept my distance and left you alone.”

It’s my last comment that stirs the misery I’ve tried to beat back. But when his hand covers mine, and he moves it toward his face, I just about break down.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers against my palm, his breath soft and warm.

The gesture is my undoing. I miss him and his sweet personality. I miss that tender side he reserves solely for me. I miss how we laughed, and I miss the way we touched. But I’ve been selfish, keeping him with me and causing him trauma he could have done without.

Shit. It was bad enough that he found my mother the way he did. But then he prolonged the experience by staying to comfort me when I fell into hysterics. Some counselor I am. I couldn’t save my mother, and I worsened Finn’s depression.

I bend and kiss his cheek, my tears dripping onto the bed. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, because God knows, I truly am.

I wish I could say I don’t regret my time with Finn, but I do. If I hadn’t come along, he wouldn’t be this bad off. Mason would be helping him recover, and he’d be in a better place. “I’m sorry,” I say, again.

He mumbles something I can’t quite understand. I think he wants water. I start to rise to hand him the glass when his grip tightens over mine. “No,” he slurs. “I want you to lay with me.” 

For all I know, he thinks I’m one of the women who planned to spend the night with him. It should make me angry, but instead it makes me sadder. I lay beside him, my back against his chest. He fastens his arm around my waist as I gather the sheets around us. But when his lips pass along my neck and his hand slips beneath my shirt, I know we’re not going to sleep.

I should tell him, no, and leave the bed. Wasted or not, Finn wouldn’t force me to have sex with him. Yet as much as I know I shouldn’t be with him, I don’t stop him, allowing him to roll me onto my back and kiss me.

My arms slide around his neck when he climbs on top of me and starts to rub his groin between my legs. I don’t think he can get hard, not with how drunk he remains. But as his erection presses against me, he proves how wrong I really am.

He shouldn’t feel this good. But he does. He always has.

I tug off his long-sleeved T-shirt when he strips me out of my top and bra. His movements aren’t smooth, not like I’m used to. But that doesn’t stop me from craving his touch, nor does it stop my whimpers when he dips his head to suck on my nipples.

He swears with frustration when he tries to yank off his jeans and briefs and they tangle on his ankle. As he struggles to kick them off I realize this is my last chance to stop him―to get out of bed. But as much as he needs me then, I need him just as much.

My kisses, my wandering hands, and the way my hips instinctively mimic his rhythm are what finally incite him to pull off what’s left of our clothes. He reaches between us, sliding his thick length inside me, causing us both to moan. His eyes were closed as we teased and played. They aren’t once he begins to thrust. They take me in as they have so many times before, lustful yet loving, his hands passing along the swells of my breasts and through my hair.

It doesn’t take me long to peak, not with how fast and hard he’s ramming his hips. I’m sure he’ll take longer in his condition, and he does, repeatedly spiking my desire and making me orgasm. My fingers dig into the muscles on his shoulders as once more my core clenches tight. It’s then he finally falls forward, his release hitting him like a primal force.

As he slows his rhythm and finishes filling me, his eyes once again close. It’s just as well, I don’t want him to see me then―not the way my heart feels like it’s breaking. So when he lowers himself to my belly, stopping only to kiss the spot between my breasts, I see it as a gift.

I love Finn. Maybe I always have. That doesn’t mean I get to keep him.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I see the rays of sunlight poking through the drawn curtains, I realize we slept a long time. The phone rings, my muddled mind determining that’s what woke me the first time. Finn rolls off me to answer it, but not before muttering a few swears.

“Yeah?” he asks, rubbing his eyes as he shifts to the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, Mr. O’Brien,” the woman on the other line merrily answers. “Your checkout time was at eleven, but we haven’t heard from you. Will you be extending your stay with us today?”

“What time is it?” he asks, groaning.

“It’s twelve-thirty, sir.”

He reaches for the glass of water I’d filled for him and takes a sip. “Yeah, we’ll stay another night.”

No. We won’t.
I inch off the bed to the opposite side, searching for my discarded clothes.

“Thank you, sir,” the woman on the other line says.

Finn disconnects. “She’s entirely too peppy to be from Jersey,” he mutters. He downs his water and reaches for the pitcher as I wiggle into my panties and put on my bra.

He finishes another glass while I tug on my jeans. “Hey . . . Where are you going?”

I don’t have to turn around to know he’s frowning. But I don’t answer, pulling my shirt over my head as I struggle to gather my thoughts. This is goodbye. I know it is, and hurts so bad, I can’t even look at him. The mattress scrunches slightly as he crawls along the bed to my side.

He presses his hand against my back, trying to get me to face him when I sit on the edge to pull on my socks.

“Sol, what are you doing?” he asks.

I don’t answer.

“Look, I know I fucked up, and that you’re probably pissed at me,” he adds.