Page 68 of Kill Your Darlings

“I do not.Damn.I forgot my pen.Do you have one?Preferably not red.”

“Do I have apen?Is that a serious question?Check my messenger bag.It’s by the little desk in the alcove.”

Finn moved out of the doorway.I called, “It’s all irrelevant, isn’t it?I don’t think I’ll be doing a lot of editorial work in San Quentin.Unless I’m in charge of the prison newsletter.”

He must have done a complete 360 because he stepped back into the doorway and said, “That’s a little pessimistic.”

“Just keeping it real.”

Finn’s brows drew together.“You’re not going to prison if I can help it.”He added, “What would your cats do without you?”

I got that he was joking, but I was still a long way from being able to laugh at any of it.

I said carefully, “I appreciate that.But there’s only so much you can do.”

He tilted his head, considering me.“What’s going on?”

“I’m pretty sure you were here for the grand reveal.”

“I was.And I’m still here.I plan to be here for the foreseeable future.Until such time as you decide otherwise.”

Like that was even a possibility?

“Is it up to me?”

“Hell, yes, it’s up to you.”He seemed a little perplexed.

I held his gaze.It wasn’t easy.“I kind of got the feeling this morning you’d perhaps experienced a-a change of heart.”

Finn looked taken aback.“About you?”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Keiran.”He frowned and came over to the bed, putting his arm around my shoulders.“Are you serious?You’re in doubt how I feel about you?”

“You were shocked this morning.Rightfully.Nobody expects the… Torquemada.”

Finn scoffed, “Is a panicked seventeen-year-old kid supposed to have been the Grand Inquisitor?”

Because Finn wrote bleak and bloody crime fiction and leaned into that jaded ex-cop persona—his author photos were full-color illustrations of rugged masculinity and athletic prowess—it was easy to forget that he’d graduated from USC with a B.A.in Humanities.He was a tough guy—sure as hell he was tougher than me—but he was also educated, perfectly capable of clearly communicating his thoughts and feelings, of listening to others, of laughing at himself, and making love—not just fucking—with skill, delicacy, and tenderness.

I didn’t answer, and he said calmly, “One of the things about being a cop is you learn early on that good people sometimes do bad things.Sometimes with the best intentions.”

I nodded.That was a common theme in his books.

Finn said, “It’s a horrible story and, yes, I was shocked by some of what you told me.But it’s not like I didn’t know I was going to hear some troubling things.If I didn’t care—If I didn’t plan on helping you—I wouldn’t have pushed for the truth.I’d have let you keep your secrets and I’d have moved on.One way or the other, we’re going to work this out.If you do end up doing time, well, you’ll serve out your sentence.You’ll get through it one day at a time.There are worse things.Right?”

I swallowed.“I don’t know.Maybe not for me.I’ll be a convicted felon.My career, everything I’ve worked for…”

A muscle moved in his jaw, but he said briskly, “I think you’re a hell of a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.But.The goal is to keep yououtof prison.The goal is to avoid destroying your career and the life you’ve built.We’ve got some things going for us, including your age at the time and your home life.But I’m not a lawyer.We’re going to get advice from actual experts at navigating this side of the system.People who can recognize an extenuating circumstance a mile away.”

I nodded.

Finn said firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.Believe it or not, I’m as invested in the outcome here as you are.”

Probably not, but I appreciated the thought.

“Okay.”I nodded, expelled a long breath.“Thank you.Sorry for the…wobble.”

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