Page 51 of Rake

I take a shower but keep my hair dry. When I’m done, I put on the robe and take my hair down. It’s all silky curls tonight, and I want to leave them in as long as they’ll stay.

Finn’s under the covers, his robe on a chair next to the bed. I wonder if I should join him. Is this part always so weird? I half expected him to be gone by the time I finished showering.

“Come here,” he says, moving the blanket aside. “Lose the robe.”

I do, and climb into bed next to him, and he tugs me close, playing with my hair.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

“A lot,” I admit. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

He lets out a gruff laugh. “Good.”

I want to ask him the same, but I’m too embarrassed.

I fall asleep in his arms.

14

Finn

Iwake up to Sasha screaming, but not in the good way. She’s having some kind of nightmare, crying and thrashing. I shake her shoulders, trying to snap her out of it without doing more damage.

“Sasha,” I say, my voice calm. “Sasha, wake up.”

She’s disoriented and scared when she does wake up, the panic wild in her eyes. She curls in a ball away from me. I hate that she moved away and not closer.

She pushes out of bed and into the bathroom. I want to follow her, but that might scare her more, so I don’t.

My father gave her these nightmares. And I’m sure I’ve contributed to them now.

A few minutes later, she climbs back into bed.

I tentatively slide my arm around her shoulders.

“I have nightmares,” she says. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

My stomach churns with guilt.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say, squeezing her shoulder. “We both know why you have those nightmares. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.” Though I certainly do.

I pull her closer.

She’s quiet for a moment, and then turns so she’s tucked under my arm, looking up at me with those pretty eyes, her gorgeous curves pressed against me.

“I know it’s going to get worse for me, Finn.” There’s no pleading in her voice. No expectations on me.

She’s an incredible woman. If things were different…But they’re not. I stroke the soft skin of her shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you’d been born into a different family?” she asks. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother.”

“I know you do.” She probably loves her piece of shit father, too.

“But I get tired of everything always being so damn hard.” She lets out a hollow laugh that feels like a punch to the gut. “Maybe soon I won’t have to worry about it.”

“I used to wish that a lot.” I have to move her away from the inevitability of what my father will do to her. “That I was born to another family. One that wasn’t so concerned with status and power.”

“There has to be some happy medium between our family structures,” she says, tracing a finger over my chest. “A family that’s not a constant struggle to survive. Where the challenges are things like fighting over who gets to host Christmas.”

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