I squeeze him. “I remember. I was really proud of you.”
Finn sighs. “I thought maybe he would show, too. I left the invite out for him, even got his suit laundered in case he was sober long enough to pull it together. But he didn’t.” He shrugs. “I told myself I was relieved, that he didn’t embarrass me in front of everyone, but still. I wanted him there. I wanted to show him I wasn’t the loser he said I was.”
“I had no idea,” I whisper, feeling so guilty I can barely stand it. “I had no idea it was so bad. You never said.”
Finn shrugs again, a pained, jerky motion. “It’s not your fault. I should have spoken up a hundred times. Gone to Bill, or a teacher, or your parents. They could have helped, maybe, but I was too damn proud and ashamed to reach out. It felt like it was my burden, my wretched cross to bear.” He takes another breath, and pushes on before I can say anything. It’s like the words have been bottled up inside him too long, and he just wants to get them out now. “After the celebration, we made plans to meet that night at the pier,” he continues. “And I went home. I was going to pack a bag. Take you away for the weekend, to that bed and breakfast up the coast. Remember, we had it all figured out.”
I smile, remembering. A girl from my class was having a birthday trip to their beach house up the coast, so my cover was all set up. All I had to do was meet Finn that night, and we’d have the whole weekend to ourselves. I was giddy with it, so in love I couldn’t see straight. Until six o clock turned into seven, and eight, and I was all alone in the dark crying for the boy who never showed.
“I remember,” I say sadly, and Finn places his hand over mine.
“When I got back to the house, my dad was there.” His words are slower and deliberate now, full of something ominous. “He was wasted again, but this was something worse. The way he talked, it was like a goodbye. Like he was getting it all off his chest before the end.”
I freeze. What does he mean? I don’t dare take my eyes from Finn’s face as he slowly tells me the rest of the story.
“He said the usual, about how I was fucking up your life too. That I’d get you pregnant, and ruin everything the way he ruined my mom’s life. That you’d leave me the way she left us, and I’d be left with nothing but a disappointment for a kid.”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from interrupting. How could Hank have done this to him? How could he have made the strongest, most loving man I’ve ever known feel like he was worthless and a waste of space?
“I told him to go to hell, and went to pack my things,” Finn continues, still so tense and cold beneath my hands. “I had my bag, I was on my way out, when.” he stops, like he’s watching the scene play out in front of him all over again. “He was in his chair, that fucking chair in front of the TV. But he had the shotgun in his hands, and… and…”
Finn takes a ragged breath. I hold him tight. God, what did he go through?
“He said this was my fault. That I’d never learn. And then he pulled the trigger.” Finn lifts his eyes, so full of pain. “He put the gun in his mouth and he pulled the trigger, right in front of me. And for a split-second, I was relieved. Do you hear me, Eva? I was glad, because it would all be over. I’d finally be free.”
There are tears in his eyes now, but he clenches his jaw, holding them at bay. It’s all I can do to just hold him, hold him as he relives the nightmare all over again.
“I guess the bastard didn’t even keep his own gun clean, because the damn firing mechanism jammed. I didn’t give him another chance. I got it away from him. I was yelling, and he, he was past caring.” Finn’s voice is raw. “I knocked him out, took the gun with me, and I bailed. I just got in my car and drove. I was shaking so hard, I didn’t even see where I was going. I pulled over, miles out of town. I couldn’t even keep hold of the wheel.” He gulps in another breath of air. “I was sitting there on the side of the road when I realized he was right.”
“No, Finn—”
“He was right about me,” he insists, looking at me now. “If I’d stayed, if I’d tried to build that life with you, I would have been no better than him. Holding you back, dragging you down. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. We both know the truth. I had nothing to offer, no future, no ambition. So I just kept driving—”
“You had everything to offer me!” I interrupt, suddenly spitting mad. I’ve listened to his tragedy, all the things I couldn’t fix, but I won’t have him believing this. I can’t. “You loved me, and that was all I ever wanted.”