Page 91 of Player
Clarissa
Iwake up to Finn standing at the foot of my bed, with one blackened eye and one a yellowish hue, a swollen cheek and matching lower lip, bruises all over his arms and chest, and a smirk on his face.
He redefines the term hot mess.
“Get up. We’re going for a run.”
“What?” I sit up but he’s already striding toward the door. A run? He can hardly walk. I quickly change into workout clothing and brush my teeth. I snatch my phone from where it’s charging on the table by the window and head off to meet him.
By the time we’re racing up our third hill, I’m beginning to wonder if CIA training is as rigorous as the Marines.
“Where are we headed?” I gasp.
“Thought we’d hit Kinsale Port.”
I stumble but quickly right myself.
“Thought maybe O’Brien might have docked there instead of Cork Port, being that there’s less traffic and fewer prying eyes.”
Heknows.
“They say Kinsale is very picturesque.” If he hadn’t ghosted me ...
“Especially by the water, wouldn’t you say?”
Words from last night flicker through my mind. Smarter. Tougher.Masterfully manipulative.
“You weren’t straightforward with me. So, I did what I had to do to continue my investigation.”
He slows to a stop, and I halt beside him.
He doesn’t say anything. No excuses. No apology. And I feel guilty. But I shouldn’t. No, he acted independently without consulting me and I followed suite.
“Who told you?” I ask.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters. I suppose this is the perfect time to clear the air. Because we have a problem, you and I.”
His head turns and our eyes meet.
“Trust issues.”
Something flashes across his expression. Surprise? Regret? Hard to say, but it’s gone quicker than it came.
“Can I trust you, Finn?”
He looks away and off into the green pastures surrounding us. “Trust is a big word.”
My eyes widen. He didn’t answer me. “Trust ranks right up there with love. And I value both.”
He’s quiet. My growing outrage, not so much. So, when he does answer me, I almost miss it.
“You trust me to do what’s right by you?”
Half statement, half question. Should I trust him?
“Is that a yes?” he prompts, his gaze shifting back onto me. He seems honest, genuine. Like my answer matters.
