Like Gravity (25 page)

Before I
could even make a move to hop off the stretcher, Finn was once again standing in front of me. He whipped his t-shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested in the crisp autumn night air.

“Arms up,” he ordered softly.

“But you’ll get cold—” I began to protest, but stopped when I saw the look on his face. Resistance was definitely futile, and truthfully I was grateful that I wouldn’t have to walk to the parking lot while exposed and indecent, with my tattered dress on display for the crowd. Obediently, I lifted my hands toward the sky and allowed him to slip the faded grey shirt over my head and arms.

Ignoring my protests, Finn swept me up into his arms and insisted on carrying me to his truck. As soon as we moved out of the protective shield of police and paramedic vehicles,
we were surrounded by curious onlookers. Finn’s glare kept them at a distance and, for the most part, they gave us wide berth as we made our way to the parking lot where Finn had left his truck.

There was no keeping Lexi away, though.

She didn’t speak as she trailed us through the crowd, somehow keeping pace with Finn’s quick strides. I could see traces of tears on her face, her normally light blue eyes watery and rimmed
with red. She was quiet, even when our eyes locked, but I could see the apology in her gaze.

I winked at her, to let her know that I was okay and that I didn’
t blame her. If anything, I was grateful that Lexi hadn’t been in that alley with me; if she’d been hurt, I would have been devastated.

It
was
eerie, though – the strong sense of déjà vu that filled me as Finn cradled me in his arms, with a remorseful Lexi hovering by his elbow. Just like the first day we’d met, before I knew what a big part of my life he would become. He was just some random guy then – a jerky prick who’d insulted and angered me beyond measure.

And now I was in love with him.
Life was funny that way. 

The ride to Finn’s apartment was
a blur. Finn was silent, lost in his own thoughts, and I kept my forehead propped against the cool glass of the passenger window, allowing my mind to blank as I watched the hazy orbs of the streetlights speed by. In seemingly no time, we’d pulled into the driveway of a modest two-story condo.

To say that this was not what I’d been e
xpecting of Finn’s place was almost certainly the biggest understatement of the century. Semi-reformed slut that I was, I’d been in the houses, apartments, and bedrooms of more guys than I ever wanted to count. I’d been primed for the worst – beer cans littering the front lawns, overgrown hedges, chipped paint, and a stoop that was falling apart.

What I was
not
expecting was a beautifully tended front lawn, pristine whitewashed shingles, and a front porch complete with several flowerboxes – each of them overflowing with cheerful, multicolored blossoms.

This
was Finn’s house? I actually had to pinch myself because I was nearly positive that I’d stepped into a parallel universe. Or maybe I’d hit my head so hard on those cobblestones that I was actually in the hospital experiencing some kind of weird, coma-induced hallucination.

Whatever it was, though, was no match for the shock I felt stepping inside the condo itself.
Absent were the typical posters of bikini-clad girls on motorcycles and sports cars. There were no stray beer cups on the counter, nor was there a mountain of empty pizza boxes piled four feet high next to the trashcan.

“So, this is my place,” Finn
explained nonchalantly, as if it were totally unsurprising that he lived in a beautiful condo with marble countertops, a kitchen island, and a refrigerator so large I could probably fit my entire body in the freezer compartment.

I continued
to spin in slow circles, taking in his uncluttered, minimalist space. The couch was low-slung, elegantly crafted in black leather. Both the coffee table and entertainment system – which housed an unfathomably large flat-screen television and numerous game consoles – were constructed of a sleek, dark wood. The place screamed effortless wealth. Hell, it even
smelled
like cultured masculinity.

Yep, I’m definitely
lying in a coma somewhere.

“Bee?” Finn’s voice sounded uncharacteristically nervous.
“What do you think?”

“You have coasters.”

“So?” Finn asked, a baffled look crossing his face.

“
Coasters
, Finn.”

“I don’t
understand,” Finn muttered, glancing from me to the coasters with a wary look in his eyes.

“You also have copper sink faucets,” I pointed out.

“I guess?” Finn shrugged, looking at the sink like he’d never even noticed it before.

“You’re rich,” I said accusingly.

“And that’s a problem because…?” Finn asked. His eyebrows were raised so high on his forehead they’d nearly disappeared beneath his messy hair.

Abruptly, I collapsed onto his leather couch. It was obscenely comfortable.
Of course it is
, I thought bitterly.
It probably cost more than my rent.

“Bee, you’ve got this scary look in your eyes right now,” Finn said, kneeling in front of me so he could look into my eyes. “What is this about? Why does it matter that I have money?”

“It doesn’t,” I snapped.

“Is this about your father?” Finn asked quietly.

“No!” I practically yelled in his face.

Defensive much? Way to play it cool, Brooklyn.

Finn looked at me skeptically.

“
Fine. Maybe it’s a little bit about him,” I sheepishly admitted. I squeezed my eyes closed. “I’m sorry. I’m already so emotional from earlier, and then I walked in here and it was just…not what I was expecting, I guess. I felt like I was back at my Dad’s house, and that place…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s the last place I ever want to be when I’m feeling vulnerable.”

“That’s understandable,” Finn said, leaning in to brush a soft kiss across my lips. “But don’t take it out on Henry.”

“Henry?”

“My couch,” Finn said, lovingly petting the leather next to my thigh.

“You named your couch?” I snorted. “That’s sad.”

“Don’t disrespect Henry like that,” Finn glared at me with mock-indignation.

“You are way too attached to an inanimate object,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Just wait till you meet Betty,” Finn said, pulling me to my feet.

I raised one eyebrow in question.

“My bed,” he grinned, waggling
his eyebrows at me in return.

“Y
ou wish!” I smacked him playfully on the arm. “As if I’d get into bed with some weirdo who names his furniture.”

“You don’t like my jokes, you don’t like my condo…Is there anything you
do
like about me?” he said, laughing.

“Nope!”
I giggled.

With a fake-angry growl,
Finn lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom, careful not to put pressure on any of my injuries. It felt blessedly normal to simply laugh after a night like tonight. For that brief moment in time, I was free, buoyant with laughter and able to forget the fear and uncertainty. It was good to know I even still possessed the ability to laugh, after what had happened.

Our playful mood
again turned somber once Finn set me down, the bathroom tiles cool beneath my bare feet. I’d abandoned Finn’s grey t-shirt along with my stilettos earlier in his truck and I never wanted to look at the damn shoes again, if I could help it. I couldn’t decide if they’d been my salvation or my downfall in the alley, and thinking about it too much made my head spin.

I barely had time to take in the beautiful bathroom, with its rece
ssed cabinetry, pedestal sink, and sunken tub, because my eyes glided over the mirror and caught on the image of the tattered, war-worn girl reflected back at me.

The Dress w
as ruined – stripped of its intricate beading, the once-flowing skirt now a shredded rag, the bodice torn and dirty. Angry purple bruises already darkened the skin of my bare shoulders, where my attacker’s hands had gripped so tightly. The skin of my palms, elbows, knees, and thighs had been rubbed raw, leaving throbbing, gaping red wounds behind.

But it was my eyes that fixated me the most. They looked huge,
far too large for my face. Owl-like emerald orbs, glassy with shock, fear, and, worst of all, recognition.

Because I
knew this girl in the mirror – this broken-down shadow, full of terror and uncertainty. I’d been her once before, seen this look gazing back at me from her deep green eyes. Years may have gone by, but I’d know her in a heartbeat, no matter how much time passed.

Scared. Traumatized. Alone.

There was one crucial difference, now, though.

This time, there was a boy reflected in the mirror too, standing behind the girl with his hands wrapped lightly around her waist. His steadfast blue gaze held trust, protection, and something that looked a lot like love.

I wasn’t alone anymore. Not this time.

Leaning back into Finn’s chest, I closed my eyes and felt the tears finally gather in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them
; I didn’t even try. I just let Finn hold me as I wept for the horrible thing that had happened to me, and for all the other even more terrible things that so easily could have.

When the tears slowed, I opened my eyes and once again met the gaze of the girl in the mirror. Now, her face was splotchy, her makeup was running down her face in black smears, and her eyes were red-rimmed – but at least
most of that haunted look had faded from her expression.

“What are you thinking about?”
Finn asked gently, his gaze finding mine as I stared at our entwined reflection.

“How much I hate pretty criers. Seriously, those girls just release one glistening tear without ever smudging their mascara or getting all red-faced? Utter bullshit,” I
forced a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

“
Come on,” Finn said, rolling his eyes as he guided me toward his walk-in shower. It was large enough for at least four people, enclosed by a wall of opaque glass blocks. After turning on the water, Finn returned to me and carefully unzipped The Dress. Letting it fall to my feet, he knelt down in front of me and I placed my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as I stepped out of the pooled fabric. Finn tossed it into a nearby trashcan without a second glance.

Bye, bye, pretty d
ress.

Still
kneeling at my feet, Finn pressed a soft, warm kiss to my belly button. His hands moved lightly over my ravaged skin as they tugged down my underwear and unclasped my bra, leaving me naked before him. I felt ugly, exposed – bruised, broken, and laid bare in a way I’d never been.

When I moved my hands to cover m
yself, Finn stopped me. Interlocking our fingers, he began the painstaking process of kissing every scrape and bruise on my body, as he’d done with the scar on my collarbone the first time we’d slept together – as if his mouth could take away some of the hurt that had been inflicted.

He might not have been able to remove my injuries, but he did
eventually erase any insecurities I’d felt. After he’d attended to each cut, he stripped off his own clothes and guided us inside the shower. The warm water was soothing against my skin, the dirt and grime that had coated me rushing off in brown-black torrents.

Finn poured some
of his body wash onto a wet washcloth and carefully scrubbed my skin clean. He took his time, insuring that no traces of the alley were left behind on my body. Afterward, he shampooed my hair and the sensation of his strong fingers massaging my scalp was so relaxing it nearly put me to sleep. With each passing second, I could feel fatigue creeping into my bones, the weariness from my physical injuries as well as the mental strain of the night threatening to overtake me.

I was
utterly wrung out – exhausted and in need of at least a full day of rest. Finn, perceptive as usual, seemed to sense my impending collapse. Just as my knees began to buckle, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders to take most of my weight and used his other hand to shut off the water.

Grabbing two
large fluffy black towels from a rack on the wall, he wrapped me in one and looped the other around his own waist. He held my hand and led me, stumbling and bleary-eyed, from the bathroom and into his bedroom – which, under normal circumstances, I would have been beyond curious to examine.

Right now, however, I didn’t even
glance around as I followed Finn to the massive bed that dominated the room. Collapsing onto a plush grey down comforter, I vaguely registered Finn climbing in next to me and pulling the sheets up around our bodies.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Mission Accomplished

“See that star, Bee?” the boy asked, pointing at an especially bright one in the night sky above our heads. My gaze followed the direction of his finger. When I found it, I smiled; I was getting better at picking out constellations every night.

We were sitting on the stoop again, and the night was colder than usual. It was well into
November, now. I’d been here at the foster home for nearly three months, and winter was coming fast. I had to bring the thin blanket from my bed with me when I came out onto the back porch each night.

I hoped I wouldn’t still be here
at Christmas time.

“It’s pretty,” I whispered, my lips forming the words but
barely any sound escaping. The boy heard me though, looking away from his star to stare over at me. Though nearly a month had passed since that first night I’d told him my name, he still always looked happily surprised whenever I spoke to him, like he’d just opened a really awesome Christmas present or gotten a triple fudge sundae with his favorite ice cream flavors.

Maybe it was because I still wasn’t talking to anyone else.

“That star is part of a constellation called Cassiopeia,” the boy said. “See those four stars, shaped like a sloppy W?” He pointed from one star to another, tracing a map of the constellation with his finger.

I squinted, at first unable to see it. To me, the stars looked like a glowi
ng, jumbled mess – sort of like the tangled strands of Christmas lights Mommy pulled down from the boxes in the attic when it was time to decorate the tree each year. It was hard to imagine ever picking out a pattern from within the chaos.

But then, as if something clicked in my mind, I
did
see it.

Cassiopeia
: a lopsided, w-shaped mess of stars, shining so brightly I wondered how I’d never noticed it before.

“Remember the legend of Princess Andromeda?” the boy asked.

I nodded. I’d loved that story – it was the first one he’d ever told me.

“Cassiopeia was the queen – Andromeda’s mother.
All the characters from that story have their own constellation: Pegasus, Perseus, Andromeda, Cassiopeia… They’re all up there.”

I watched, fascinated, as the boy pointed out cluster after cluster of stars.

“Show me another one,” I demanded quietly, enthralled.

“Okay,” the boy said, a look of concentration crossing his face. “See that one? That’s Pisces. It’s supposed to look like two fish swimming
but I think it looks more like the letter V.”

My eyes followed the direction he was pointing and, though this one was harder, I eventually found it.
When it popped into focus I smiled a real grin for the first time in months.

“How do you know about these?” I asked, my voice filled with awe.

“My dad taught me about them.” The boy’s voice was sad.

I
decided I wouldn’t ask him to show me any more tonight, not when he sounded so upset. But I knew tomorrow night, I’d ask again. And the next. And the one after that.

I’d ask until he ran out of stars.

My fascination wasn’t exactly new– I’d always loved to look at the sky, especially after Mommy had painted stars on my ceiling. But now, they seemed enchanting, mysterious, and nearly irresistible. It was like he’d opened up a whole new world to explore, and I wanted – needed – to learn everything about the constellations floating in the darkness far above me.

“Bee, can I ask you something?”
The boy’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

I nodded, tearing my eyes f
rom the stars to look at his face.

“Why me?” he asked, his voice quiet and his eyes turned away from
mine.

“What do you mean?”

The boy swallowed roughly, his small Adam’s apple jumping in his throat like he had a gumball stuck down there. I almost giggled as I watched it bob up and down but his voice had sounded so serious, I held it in.

“Why do you talk to
me and no one else?”

I was silent for a while, thinking about his question. The truth was,
I
didn’t even fully know why I felt so comfortable with him and not the doctors or psychiatrists or the other the foster kids.

“I guess…” My voice faltered. “I guess it’s because you make me feel safe.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged my shoulders, looking up at the sky. I knew the boy was staring at me, but I couldn’t
look back at him just yet. “At first, your stories…they reminded me of my mom. She loved fairytales. She’d tell me one every night before I went to sleep.”

The boy didn’t answer. After a minute of silence, I felt his larger fingers wind through mine as he laced our hands together.

“Tell me a story,” I whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. “One with a happy ending.”

“Okay, Bee,” the boy said, returning my hand squeeze. Taking a deep breath, he began.

“Once upon a time…”

***

I woke to the sound of a guitar strumming softly. It was still nighttime and moonlight was streaming through the skylights overhead, illuminating the soft, down comforter I was wrapped in. After a brief moment of disorientation, I realized that I was in Finns’ bed.

I closed my eyes as i
t all came rushing back at once: the attack, my escape, talking to the paramedics and police officers, all the helplessness and the fear. I began to tremble, hugging the blankets closer around my body.

I forced myself to think of the good things that had happened tonight instead: the look on Finn’s face when we sang together on stage, my realization that I loved him, the way he’d cleaned me up and cared for me when we got back to his apartment.

Once I’d gotten the shaking under control, I opened my eyes and looked around the room for Finn. He wasn’t hard to find.

Dressed only
in a pair of faded, unbuttoned blue jeans, he was sitting on a chair facing a window on the other side of the room with his guitar balanced on his lap. I’m not sure he was even aware that he’d woken me, his playing was so soft. I vaguely recognized the tune he was strumming, but I couldn’t put a name to it until he began singing quietly.

The melody was haunting, the words unforgettable.

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, take me in….

As he reached the chorus, the lyrics pleading for me to take him in and give him shelter, I
finally remembered the name of the song and my eyes filled with tears.

He was playing
I and Love and You
by the Avett Brothers. And it was perfect.

When his voice trailed off with the final words, the
I love you
hanging in the air like a specter, it was utterly silent in the room except for the sound of our quiet breathing. I felt like an intruder – like I’d witnessed something he might not have wanted me to see.

Did I pretend to be asleep? Act like I hadn’t heard him, like his words hadn’t reached into my chest and grabbed me by the heart?
I wasn’t sure.

Before I could decide, his voice cut through the silence.

“How’s your head?” he asked, his shirtless back still turned to me.

Well, I guess this means he knows I’m awake.

“It’s alright,” I whispered.

He rose from the chair, setting down his guitar and turning to face me across the dark room. The sight of him
made my breath catch in my throat. His hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it over and over. Bare chested, his muscles and tattoos had never looked more prominent – and he’d never looked sexier. With half his face in shadow and the other half illuminated by an errant moonbeam, he was otherworldly gorgeous, like some kind of dark angel sent to save and destroy me all at once.

He approached the bed with his lithe, inherently graceful stride, and I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. I was entranced by the way he moved
toward me, fixated by the fluid way his muscles contracted beneath the skin. His eyes were intense on mine when he reached the side of the bed, stopping three feet away – just out of reach. I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but I could see the indecision in his eyes and I didn’t like it.

“I need to tell you something,” his voice sounded more serious than I’d ever heard it. I instantly felt a cold sweat break out across my body, my heart beginning to hammer in my chest
as my mind raced with possibilities.

“
What is it?” I asked. “Did the police call?”

Finn expelled a harsh breath through his lips and dragged his hands up through his hair; whatever it was, he
definitely didn’t want to tell me about it.

“Finn?”
I prompted.

He finally met my eyes. They were burning with frustration, anger, and sympathy.
My heart rate increased even more.

“Officer Carlson called. They checked out Gordon’s alibi,” he took a deep breath, and I watched as his hands curled into fists. “It’s airtight. They say it couldn’t have been him.”

Finn smashed his right fist angrily into the palm of his left hand, his face cloudy with rage and his eyes far away; it wasn’t hard to guess exactly whose face he was imagining that fist smashing into. In fact, part of me was worried that he was seconds away from tracking down Gordon and extracting his own vigilante version of justice.

“Come here,” I said, st
retching out a hand to him. When his fingers twined through mine, I gave his hand a sharp tug, catching him off balance and sending him stumbling forward toward me onto the bed. After regaining his balance, he settled in next to me, though his expression remained distant with thoughts of Gordon and revenge.

“Finn,” I said, snapping a finger in front of his face. His eyes flew to mine. “You can’t kill him, caveman.
Haven’t you heard?  Pretty boys like you don’t do well in prison.”

His lips turned up in a small, involuntary smile. I was getting to him.

“You’d end up with a 350 pound roommate named ‘Tiny,’ who’d totally take the top bunk and make you his bitch.”

His eyes narrowed, but I could tell he was fighting a laugh.

“Oh, hey, do you know what prisoner’s use to contact each other?” I asked him.

He raised one dark eyebrow at me skeptically.

“
Cell
phones. Get it?” I elbowed him in the stomach for emphasis.

The dimple popped out, and I knew I had him. Soon, his
small smile turned into a grin, and then to full blown laughter as he processed my pun.

“And you said
my
jokes were terrible…” he gasped out, trying to catch his breath.

“Whatever,” I shrugged. “Mission accomplished.”

“And what mission would that be?”

“Well, since you haven’t yet left to go kill Gordon, I’d
say my efforts to detain you are succeeding.”

“I don’t know about that,” he muttered, the smile fading from his expression. “That guy better pray he doesn’t cross my path.
I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“
Well, I’ll just have to take your mind off him then,” I said, abruptly sitting up fully in the bed and allowing the comforter to fall down around my waist. Finn had evidently forgotten about the fact that I was completely naked beneath the covers; his eyes immediately fixed on my breasts and I watched with more than a little satisfaction as his eyes dilated at the sight of them.

“Mission accomplished,” he echoed softly, moving closer to me on the bed.
Reaching out his hands, he gently palmed my breasts, and I nearly moaned at the sensation of his guitar-calloused fingers against my skin. Arching into his touch, I closed my eyes and felt the whisper-soft brush of Finn’s lips across my own.

When he captured my mouth with his, need flared hotly between us.
While he used his hands on me, I trailed my own down the planes of his muscular chest, delighting in the feel of his rippled abs against my fingertips. Pulling my mouth away from his, my eyes sprang open and I began to trace my fingers along the tribal whorls of ink on his bicep and shoulder. When my fingers had fully navigated the maze of his tattoo, I lowered my mouth to the design and began to follow the same path with my tongue, as I’d long wanted to do.

Finn growled low in his throat, evidently enjoying my exploration of his body art. When I’d finished with his arm, my mouth traveled up over his shoulder and collarbone, down the slope of his chest, and finally to his stomach, leaving a trail of damp, open-mouthed kisses behind.
As my lips neared the waistline of Finn’s jeans, he gently reached down and pulled me back up to eye level.

After a lingering, fierce kiss
, he stared into my eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

I knew what he meant. After what had almost happened to me tonight, it was probably odd that I felt this consuming need to be with Finn. I didn’t want to overthink it, though. I didn’t want to think
period
. I just wanted to feel.