Page 74 of Filtration Play
They sucked in a breath and opened the text.
Come home. I’m not going anywhere.
Oh fuck.
Fin’s eyes watered, and they lowered to a crouch. Fuck.
Their chest throbbed violently, a spasm like their heart had stalled and restarted. Those words. They’d been the exact ones they’d needed to hear. Their vision glossed over, and a few tears trickled down their cheeks. They swiped at them, the thump, thump, thump of their heart drowning out the buzz of the refrigerators.
Having a breakdown on a convenience store floor was a new one for them.
The simple text was a revelation.
They’d been falling deeper and deeper for Ollie with every hang, every fuck, every kiss. Yet the message cemented their feelings at last. They were in love with Oliver Hale. Not only had he shown up yesterday, but even after they’d gone through a fit of insanity and bolted, he was holding steady.
They chewed on the inside of their cheek as they read Meg’s text.
If you don’t answer your phone, Finley Williams, I will use every resource in my arsenal to hunt you down, drag you back here, andchain you to the café.
I’m fucking worried.
Their heart thumped hard. Meg wasn’t kicking them out or banning them from Whipped.
She was concerned.
Their eyes watered again, and they swiped their sleeve over their eyes to stop the tears. Fin rose from their crouch. Shit, the person at the register was gawking at them.
“Existential crisis.”
Fuck it. If they were going to have coffee, they were going to have the good shit—at their house. Fin scrubbed at their face, sucked in a sharp breath, and shook out their arms as if that might rid them from the torrent of emotion rushing through them. At least the tears weren’t leaking so much that they couldn’t get on the road.
Fin strode toward the door, tossing a hand up at the person behind the cash register. “Sorry about that.” They stepped outside into the Californian sun.
Their stomach rumbled something fierce, and it was a dumbass move to not at least get something to eat, but they sure as fuck wouldn’t be able to tolerate anything with the way their gut simmered. After the roller coaster of a morning, they were wrung out and hung to dry.
Fin hopped onto their Ducati and started the ignition. It rumbled beneath them, but this time, the sound brought them to life.
They were going home.
***
After a few hours of riding under the intense sun with no coffee and no food, Fin regretted their decision not to grab anything at the gas station. However, their sole focus remained on returning home.
They weren’t even sure of the time because they hadn’t stopped for shit, determined to get back to their apartment.
Praying Ollie was still there.
Their eyes throbbed, their throat was parched, and their body felt like they’d gone ten rounds in a ring. However, the familiar skyscrapers of San Francisco towered all around them. The closer they got, the more the zing in their chest increased. Their heart was a feeble, battered thing, but the weak thump, thump, thump belonged to one person alone.
Because out of everyone, Ollie had known the sole thing they needed to hear.
They gripped their handlebars a little tighter as they zipped down their familiar street to their apartment at the end of the block. They might be sick, but the stomach-churning was due to…well, everything. Their phone was blowing up, and they needed to contact a hell of a lot of people, but this was the first stop.
Fin pulled into a parking spot along the street and unsteadily slipped off their bike. Their legs were trembling, and not from the ride or even the lack of food in their system. They walked toward the building, even though part of them wanted to run the other way.
Except they’d tried that.
And even hours away at the ocean, they hadn’t been able to run from their problems, so it was time to face them.
