I was done hoping and praying for something that would never happen. Done pining over a beautiful woman I would obviously never have. Late that night, hoping Finley was already in bed, I let myself inside quietly. I’d worked for several hours this afternoon, trying to get caught up on everything after being out on assignment the past several days. That assignment being, saving the life of the woman and child who were currently asleep under my roof.
I toed off my boots and set my keys and phone on the table beside the door. The soft glow from the lamp in the living room illuminated my path and I went to turn it off before heading upstairs. Instead, I found Finley curled up on the sofa, a glass of red wine in hand. Her hair was damp from the shower and she was dressed in a pair of yoga pants that hugged her curves, along with a tank top. No bra.
Fuck.
Having her this close was going to be torture. I’d be jacking off more than a horny teenager if she was going to prance around wearing shit like that.
“Hi,” she offered. Her voice was light, almost shy. Her anger and sadness from earlier seemed to be gone.
“Thought you’d be in bed by now.”
“I wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet. Would you like to join me for a glass of wine?”
“Uh...sure,” I stumbled over my words.
While I sat down, Finley poured wine into a second glass on the coffee table. Was she waiting for me to get home?
I accepted the glass of wine and took a sip. “Did you guys have a good day?”
Finley nodded. “We swam and played outside, and then I made us pasta for dinner.”
“Sorry.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I probably didn’t have much in the way of groceries. We can fix that tomorrow.”
She reached out and touched my hand. “You’ve done enough. Please don’t beat yourself up about the groceries. Plus, I found the good stuff.” She raised her wine glass and took a sip.
We sipped our wine in comfortable silence while I filled her in on the latest news concerning Brant. An officer would be coming over tomorrow to take her statement and I’d learned that not only would Brant be prosecuted for the kidnapping, but he was wanted for embezzling from his company, too.
“In other words, he’s going to go away for a long time,” I summed up. “You’re safe.”
Finley smiled warmly at me. “Thank you.”
“You know I’d do anything for you and Maple.”
“I’m starting to sense that.”
“I would have been there for you a lot sooner if I’d known … I didn’t know how bad things had gotten. I knew you were fiercely protective of your way of life, but I still should have come to check on you sooner. It was total blind luck that I stumbled across you in the club that night.”
“That night you admitted you got excited watching me dance.” She grinned. Apparently the wine had loosened her tongue along with her frayed nerves.
“Hell yeah, I did. I was hard as a fucking rock.” And I was getting there now, just remembering the way she'd moved.
Finley’s tongue poked out to wet her bottom lip and her pulse pumped faster in her neck. “I don’t know how to do this, Grey. Even if I wanted to.”
I moved closer to her on the couch. “The first step is for you to stop hating me. I do that enough for the both of us.” And I had come to realize just how pointless and sick that self-hatred really was. For the past two years, I'd shut myself away, denied myself any real closure, alternating between avoiding my guilt and stewing in it. No matter how much I punished myself, it wouldn't bring Marcus back from the dead—but I couldn't imagine forgiving myself, either. That would have felt like a betrayal. Like dodging my responsibility as the leader of our assault team. So I'd just kept pouring salt in my own wounds, letting them fester.
A few weeks with Finley and Maple had taught me something I couldn't learn in two whole years alone. Before I knew it, being part of their little family had started to cleanse me. Ironic, considering whose widow Finley was and how she used to feel about me. But I could tell that she had changed, too. A new softness was written in her eyes.
“I don’t hate you,” she murmured, her gaze drifting down to her wine glass.
I tipped her chin up with two fingers. “I’m sorry, can you say that a little louder?”
I expected her to roll her eyes, instead she gazed deep into mine. “How could I still hate you? After everything you’ve done for me, for my child?”
“Because of what happened with Marcus,” I said, knowing the mood needed to take a darker turn before we found the light again. Together, I hoped.
“What happened was an accident. I’ve come to accept that.”
I nodded. “I did everything I could to try and save him.”
“I know that now. I’m sorry I’ve dumped extra guilt on you.” Biting her lip, she heaved in a deep sigh through her nose. “I've been thinking about it, and I realized...a big part of the reason I hated you was because anger was easier to deal with than sadness and fear. I wanted someone to pin the blame on. Something to do, somewhere to point my feelings. I couldn't accept blind fate.”