Page 17 of Persuaded

“Night, Newt!” Kylee called, raising her drink in salute.

“Kylee,” he said. “Dee.” And he couldn’t just ignore Finn, even if they hadn’t spoken a single word all night. He risked a quick glance and muttered “Finn” as he started walking away.

After a couple steps he heard “Josh” in Finn’s gruff voice and the shock sent him stumbling into one of the myriad chairs dotting the patio. Embarrassed, he disentangled himself and hoped his klutziness explained the heat in his cheeks.

Glancing around, he saw Finn talking to Sean, too quiet for Joshua to make out, and then Sean called, “Hey! You good to drive?”

“Yes. I, um...”

Finn stood next to his brother, his back turned as he gazed at something on the dark horizon.

Sean said, “You want me to call a cab, man?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine. I was going to walk. If it’s okay, I’ll pick up my car in the morning?”

“Sure, no problem.”

And with another nod, Joshua was out of there. His head spun, and not just from the beer. Finn had spoken to him, he’d said his name. And if Joshua wasn’t mistaken, he’d asked Sean to check that he wasn’t driving home.

When he reached the front of the house he stopped and leaned back against the wall. His heart beat loud against his ribs and he felt something knot in his throat. He got it now. Finn was still angry, he hadn’t forgiven him, but something must linger—some residue of what they once were—because he cared enough to want to make sure he was okay.

Joshua sniffed, wiped at his stupid eyes, and cleared his throat. His heart yawned wide but he told himself it was okay. It was okay because Finn was still the good man he’d always been—Joshua’s mistake hadn’t taken that from him.

And that was enough. It had to be, because it was the only comfort he could find.

* * *

Goddamn sonofabitch.

It was too dark to go far along the cliff-top path, but Finn walked a little way from the house before he stopped and glared out over the black ocean. The night had grown cold, a nor’easter blowing down the coast and chasing clouds across a waning moon. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing there, but he’d just had to get out of the house. That fuckinghouse. Tonight had been too much, worse than he’d feared, with Josh and that goddamn leather jacket and his fucked-up beautiful hair. And those eyes that just—

“Sonofabitch.” He hurled the curse into the face of the wind, felt it rip raw from his throat. “Sonofabitch, Josh.”

I will not want you again. You hear me? I will not want you, you asshole!

Eight years he’d spent locking down the memories of that summer. Eight long fucking years when he’d built a life, a career, had gotten everything he wanted—

Almost everything.

“Fuck it.” The words choked out on the back end of a sob, all knotted up in his chest. The booze was to blame, probably—he should’ve known better than to drink tonight. But he hadn’t expected this. He’d thought he was over Joshua Newton. He’d thought he was past all this crap. So past it.

But then he’d seen Josh standing uncertainly in the shadows of the house, the slender lines of him that Finn had tried to forget, the intent focus and distracted confusion that had drawn him in all those years ago. And suddenly no time had passed since they were up on the cliffs that sultry summer’s night, alone together with the house standing dark behind them.

Here,Josh had said with a wicked curl of his lips.Right here, under the stars.

The daring of it had left Finn breathless—and hard as a rock as Josh tugged his T-shirt over his head and drew Finn down into the cool grass. Above them, the house had loomed black against the night sky.What about your dad...?

But Josh had only smiled.Screw him. I don’t care. Just fuck me, Finn. Right now.

And so he had, with the waves booming at the base of the cliff and Josh’s head thrown back, his skin glistening pale and sweaty in the moonlight, the beautiful arc of his back flexing with every thrust until he came with a wild cry.

Oh,God, Finn. I love you.

With a shout of his own, Finn had followed, collapsing into the long grass with Josh in his arms. They’d lain there together for a long time, wrapped up in each other and kissing with such reverence Finn had felt tears prick his eyes.

Fuck.

He hadn’t thought about that night in years, not outside the dreams he couldn’t control. But even eight years on, the memory was powerful enough to leave him taut with want and frustration.

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