Page 147 of Finn Rhodes Forever

“You have a therapist?”

He nodded, cheeks puffing out as he blew out a long breath. “Yep. Started seeing him this past winter. I was drinking a lot. I’vealwaysdrank a lot, but there was a night this winter I was in the bar getting loaded because then I wouldn’t think about what a fuck-up I was, and I just got tired of it.”

My gaze shot to his. He winced and turned back to the water.

“I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. It flipped my switch. I started going to AA, quit smoking—it wasn’t easy, and I fell off the wagon a few times. I’ll probably fall off a few more times, too. But my sponsor recommended I start counseling.”

“Oh,” was all I said, because my mind was reeling.

“He’s this old, weathered biker dude in his sixties. I think the guy’s been to jail. Tattoos all over his hands and neck. Had a change of heart in his fifties and went back to school for counseling. He says my attachment style is avoidant attachment, and when I’m scared or vulnerable, I find safety in pulling away.” He folded his arms over his chest and sat back against the bench. “You were so precious, so tiny and special, and you deserved everything.”

His unspoken words rang in the air—you deserved better than me. He had never grown bored with me or moved on to a better life without me in it. He had felt unwanted, and neither my mom nor I had helped with that.

My heart sank, like I was watching an accident in slow motion.

Finn had left once because he thought he wasn’t good enough, and that it was only a matter of time until I figured it out.

He was supposed to be a drunk deadbeat. He was supposed to be a reckless asshole who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, but here he was, talking about therapy and me being precious.

“You’re not supposed to be like this,” I said.

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “I’m trying to be better.”

My heart squeezed with a weird, stinging emotion, and I felt like crying.

I wished Finn was here. He’d know what to do.

Cole let out a long sigh that I felt in my bones. “I regret leaving, Olivia. I’ve regretted it every day, every minute of every day. When you called, I knew this was my last shot to make things right.” He winced like he was in pain. “I want to know you. I don’t want to regret things anymore. I can’t change the stupid stuff I did in the past. I fucked up—” His eyes widened. “Sorry. Iscrewedup but I’m taking accountability for my actions.” He said the words like he’d said them before, maybe in counseling. “You’re well within your right to tell me to leave, tell me you don’t want anything to do with me. I’ll understand and you don’t owe me shit.” His eyes widened again. “Sorry. You don’t owe me anything.” His throat bobbed again and he frowned. “But I can’t leave without telling you that. I’d move back if it made things easier.”

My heart twisted at his vulnerability, something that had always been so hard for me. I would have liked to know the guy beside me on the bench, and because he hadn’t been able to say those things when I was younger, I had never been able to.

Until now.

There was a weird shift in my head, like a door opening, light spilling in, and I finally saw myself for who I was. All these years, I thought this was strength—holding people at a distance. Keeping things locked up inside, keeping my emotions suffocated under a thick layer of eye rolls, snorts, and bitchy glares.

Last night, when Finn needed me, I had pulled away. I’d encouraged him to go. He’d been there for me all summer, and I sent him packing.

Coward, my mind whispered at me. I blinked at Cole, seeing myself in twenty years.

It was suddenly so simple. All of this could have been avoided if he had known how much I needed him. I was just a kid, though, so I didn’t know any better.

I wasn’t a kid anymore, though, and I was done standing on the sidelines, keeping everything locked up to protect myself.

“You can sayfuck,” I told him.

“What?”

“I’m twenty-nine years old and I spent the last decade working in bars. You can sayfuck.Shit, too.”

“What aboutmoist?”

“Are you making a joke?” I arched a brow, the corner of my mouth tipping up.

He winced. “Yeah. Sorry. Bad joke.”

I snorted. “No, you can’t saymoist. That’s gross.”

He saw the twitch at the corner of my mouth and some of the sadness left his eyes. “So, what do you think?”

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