When The Rain Falls

15. 2am Friend

15 2AM FRIEND

FINN

I swear the fucking shoes have it out for me.

I grumble as I bend down to grab the pink sneaker laying carelessly in the middle of the bottom step. I nearly tripped on the goddamn thing.

My gaze sweeps the entryway and I curse at the sea of sneakers littering my floor. Not just sneakers. Flats. Flip flops. Slippers.

Where the fuck do they all come from?

I collect the mess of footwear and begin to organize it in the shoe cubby by the front door. The shoe cubby I bought. For this very purpose.

"Egyptian night is such a lame theme." I hear Ruby's voice on the stairs.

"They should have let us vote instead of letting the class president pick it," Julie agrees. "Ezekiel has no taste."

"What even is Egyptian nights? Mummies? Dead people? Gross," Ruby adds.

"Did you do your homework?" I spin around and point a black flip flop at Ruby like it's a stick up.

"Yeah, Dad,” she says in a tone that very much suggests that I should shut up and go to hell. Joke's on her, because I'm already there. I think about the way Aimee swung her long leg over that damn motorcycle. I swear I caught a glimpse of light blue panties as she did. I should not be thinking about Aimee's panties. I should not be thinking about anyone's panties. I bet she did it on purpose. To torture me. Then there was the milky white of her thighs as she slid down the wall. Right in front of where I was growing embarrassingly and obscenely hard for her.

Like I said. I'm in hell. Because no matter how loudly my body screams for more of Aimee, I know it’s lying. That if I act on it, my body will betray me all over again. I’m not going to let that happen.

I study Ruby sternly. The older she gets, the less affect my Dad eyes have on her. I’m nearly out of parenting hacks. When she needed me for things I had so much more power.

“Really?” I ask. Judging by the way she and Julie have been talking about homecoming for the past three hours, I smell bullshit about the homework.

"Well, yeah, mostly.” She gives me the most apathetic shrug imaginable.

"Ruby, I don’t monitor your phone use anymore. Don’t make me have to change that.” I put my hands on my hips. It’s a gesture that makes me feel in control. Even though my life is actually spinning into a chaotic, black abyss.

"We're barely on our phones." Ruby rolls her eyes just as Julie's phone vibrates in her hand. Julie looks sheepish.

"Yeah, I can see that,” I mutter. I turn to walk down the hallway. Until I hear Julie's voice cut across the room.

"Hi, Aimee." I stop walking and pause. What is the little devil up to now? The devil in the light blue panties. Stop it, Finn. Stop thinking about panties.

"I don't know." Julie glances out the window. "All the lights are off. He's probably asleep. But Mom will be done with work soon." I turn around and study Julie. I bite the inside of my cheek. Is something wrong?

"What's going on?" I ask.

"I don't know. Uber?" Julie offers into her phone.

"Julie," I say louder, to get her attention. "What's going on?"

"She wants a ride." Julie shrugs.

"Where is she?"

"Where are you?" Julie asks into her phone before looking back up at me. "Some bar.”

"Hand me the phone." I stretch out my hand and wiggle my fingers at her.

Julie tilts her head to listen into her phone again. "Aimee says not to listen to you."

"Julie." My voice comes out like a crack of thunder. Where exactly was that voice when I was scolding Ruby about her phone? "Now."

Julie pauses as she holds her ear up to her phone. I can make out the faint shrill of Aimee talking rapidly. "I'm not saying that!" Julie protests, her eyes growing wide as she looks at me in horror. For fuck’s sake.

Julie finally holds out the phone to me and I take it firmly in my grip. It has a pink and purple tie-dye case. It's also sparkly. I feel weird pressing it against my face.

"What's going on?" I ask softly. Fuck. I should sound a little more scathing. But I’m not going to lie, I’m worried. Why would Aimee call Julie in the middle of her date, unless something went wrong? I tuck my free hand under my elbow. The muffled sound of country music plays in the background.

"Nothing," she says.

"Oh really?" I growl at her. There it is. The scathing. Aimee sighs, or is it a huff?

"I was going to ask Greg for a ride, but he's not answering and he's probably asleep already since he's as useful as a dancing sandwich," she continues. I try not to laugh at the phrase dancing sandwich .

I’m used to Aimee being chatty, but right now, her tone and pace seem different . "It's fine because Alicia will get off work soon," she says. "So I'm fine. Forget I called. I was never here. Well there. Or, on the phone. You know."

"Send me the address," I say sternly. She needs a ride. I have a ride. It's common sense. That's how I do things. And she has blue panties. Fuck, Finn. No.

"I told you to forget it."

"Address. Now." My tone doesn’t waver.

She sighs loudly. "Fine.” Her tone tells me it's absolutely not fine. And that reminds me of Rebecca telling me that I'm fine is the most common lie in the English language. I hear typing and then an address appears on Julie's screen. I pull up the text and study it. I know the place without even Googling it. "You're at Mike's Tavern? The one with the skeleton riding a motorcycle on the roof?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah," she says.

" Fucking Jack . That's not a place to take a lady."

Aimee just snorts. "Did you just call me a lady? You know you're talking to me, right?"

"I'll be there in twenty," is all I say.

Aimee

The light in Mike's Tavern is dim. It reeks of smoke and I'm the only female in the entire place. Well, except for a large woman with greasy hair and several missing teeth sitting at the bar, staring blankly into a glass of beer. The other patrons are an odd array of tattoos, leather, and beards. Literally everything inside is made of wood. The floors, the tables, the barstools, the counter, the walls. The floorboards creak as you walk over them, giving away every step. It looks like a poorly maintained saloon straight from a western movie set. It even has a decorative swinging saloon door at the entrance. I keep expecting a cowboy to appear and silhouette the door frame, hand on a pistol at his hip.

My skin itches under the sensation of everyone's eyes crawling over me. My skimpy black dress makes me stand out. Not in a good way. The dress, the one I was convinced was perfect for a first date and which I insisted to Finn was not a nightie, suddenly feels a little too short. I keep tugging the hemline down, but it just exposes more skin on my chest. A little too late for modesty. Also, I’m actually starting to get cold. I don’t know why I didn’t think to bring a sweater or something.

In summary, I feel like an idiot.

I'm sitting alone at a table while Jack and his friend are throwing darts. They're loud and drunk even though we've only been here an hour. Jack keeps laughing loudly at the vulgar comments being made by his friend, Toby. Not only do I hate this place, but I'm bored out of my mind. And there's no way I'm letting Jack drive me home. His dart game was strong thirty minutes ago, but now he's just sloppy, barely hitting the board most of the time. He's definitely too tanked to drive.

I keep checking my phone. But I never gave Finn my number so I can’t ask how far away he is. I should have given him my number. That way he could text when he arrived and I could sneak out under Jack’s nose. If he comes in here and Jack sees me leave with him, I'm afraid there’s going to be a scene. While it was fun fighting for their attention earlier, right now I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and nurse my wounds.

Tate was right. I shouldn’t have just gone on a date with a rando from the mall. Jack was not who I wanted him to be. And Finn is taken. Two fishing lines and not one fish.

The date started out perfectly. My ideal date. Fun, thrilling, exciting. Jack took me for a ride down a winding scenic rural road on his bike. The wind whipped playfully against my skin as we leaned into the turns together. We stopped at a lookout and Jack showed me views of the Puget Sound with the Tacoma Narrows Bridge in the background. I made a mental note to plot a course over it during one of my next runs. We kissed at the lookout. Under the shade cast by tall pine trees, with the sound of waves lapping the shore below us. And yet, it did nothing for me. Because all I could think about was what Finn's large body would feel like. Hard, and muscular, and large.

Then Jack got a call from Toby and the date went from meh to worse . He brought me to Mike’s and I don’t know for sure, but I think Jack might have bought drugs off Toby in the parking lot. Unless Jack just really likes spices.

The saloon doors suddenly burst open and a broad male silhouette fills the doorway. There it is. The dramatic gunslinger entrance I had been waiting all night for. But my blood freezes when I realize who it is. Finn. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the way his body slinks dangerously across the bar. But, like I said, I don't want a scene. And I'm still annoyed at him for having a girlfriend. It's irrational. I know. He did nothing wrong. But tell my sad, pathetic heart that. Or the uncontrollable heat spreading between my thighs.

Finn walks in slowly. His fists are clenched. He looks like a bull, surveying the room looking for a target. A strong bull. A dangerous one. A bull that I would like to take for a ride, even for only eight seconds. A bull that is currently seeing red. Shit. Remember that scene I didn't want? Well, it's here.

"Hey, Jack," I call out as I grab my clutch from the table. I've got to dash out of here as fast as possible. But I also have to look casual, chill. Unsuspicious. "I've got a ride home, so I'm..." Jack turns at my voice. His blue eyes narrow. They’re so chilly. And it makes me realize how warm Finn’s stormy grey eyes are.

"What's he doing here?" Jack asks, eyes focused on the menacing creature over my shoulder. "You're going home with him ? After I bought all your drinks?"

"No," I say quickly. "He's just giving me a ride. I'm tired." I turn, but Jack steps in and grabs my wrist. He grabs it hard.

"What's the problem, sugar? Not having fun?" His words are drawn out and unusually slow. His breath is hot and reeks of beer. I twist and pry myself free.

"As fun as it’s been to watch you drunkenly throw pointy objects at the wall, I'm ready to leave.” I turn and Jack grabs my other wrist. I pull against him, but this time I can’t get escape.

“Let go, Jack,” I warn. Do I have to kick him in the balls? I might have to kick him in the balls. I’ve always wanted to do that.

"Let her go, asshole," Finn says, looming beside us. I swear there’s steam coming out his nostrils. I shoot Finn an angry look as I continue trying to yank free from Jack's grip. Great. Now Finn is going to get all manly and protective on me. I don’t want his protection. I don’t want a knight in shining armor. I just want a dragon to ride away on.

"Stay out of it, dick.” Jack practically spits out the words. “Maybe she likes it rough. Maybe I’m just giving her what she wants.” Jack’s whole face is puckered in a snarl. He finally drops my wrist so he can saddle up to match Finn’s stance. I rub a spot where my wrist feels tender and possibly bruised.

Finn shifts his weight and the two of them face each other. I hate every second of this. Being treated like garbage by my date who’s supposed to be a fresh start. And being protected by the man who’s relationship status is searing my stupid, smitten heart.

“I’m not staying out of anything." Finn's voice sounds almost manic as he juts a thick finger into Jack's chest. "Not as long as you’re within forty feet of her.” As they face off, I realize Jack is taller by several inches. But Finn is a wall of well-aged muscle. And he looks like he knows how to use every inch of his hard body. I remember the sight of him doing pullups in his garage, shirtless, sweaty, and grunting. I will my panties to stay dry. I'm angry, damn it. Not hot and bothered by Finn's protective body.

I’m about to step in and tell Finn to knock it off when he continues. "If I have to throw a punch and bloody my godamn knuckles over your pathetic ass, I’ll be taking as many of your fucking teeth down with me." He jabs into Jack again and Jack’s eyes begin to burn with fiery rage. "So the smart thing to do would be to back off." Um, what? Who is this man? My jaw drops. But I quickly set it back into place.

Jack laughs in Finn’s face. A menacing, crazy sort of laugh that sends drops of spit into the air. Finn calmly swipes his face with the back of his hand. Then Jack takes a step forward, dropping his right shoulder in a bladed stance.

That’s all it takes. Before Jack can swing, Finn slams him in the chest with an open palm. It doesn’t do much damage, just catches Jack unaware. Jack tumbles backward and lands against a barstool. Jack looks dazed as he tries to scramble to his feet.

“Stay down, bastard,” Finn mutters. Then Toby is on Jack, holding him back and talking him down.

Finn turns, grabs my elbow, and marches me towards the saloon door. I immediately wriggle and pry free from his grip. Finn immediately spins to me, his eyes growing soft at the edges. “You ok?”

I’m not ok. I’m seething. I’m pissed. I’m embarrassed. I want to both punch Finn and kiss him right on the mouth at the same time. I hate that I just had to be rescued. But I love that it was him who did it. And, meanwhile, he has a stupid girlfriend that he hasn’t even mentioned once.

“I don’t need your help,” I growl as I walk past him and head straight for the saloon doors. I push through them, letting them swing wildly behind me. And then I’m outside, where the air is fresh and cool. A stark contrast to the heavy smoke-filled air of the tavern. I suck it in hungrily and enjoy how it fills my lungs. The air here always carries the faint hint of sea salt. And I can never seem to get enough.

The moon is out and starting to bask the ground in its milky glow. I use it to search out Finn’s van and march straight towards it.

"I can't believe he took you to this dump," Finn mutters behind me. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Listen to him. Fawning all over me like he actually cares. When I know that he really doesn’t. Not after he rejected me this afternoon. Not when he’s got someone named Rebecca.

"I don’t need people to fight for me. I didn’t need you. I had it handled!" I yell at him as I stomp onwards.

"It didn't look like you had it handled.” His tone is almost apologetic. “It looked like you were being handled." Finn falls into step beside me. I can’t help but notice that his long, easy strides sync up with my shorter, more furious ones.

I storm towards the van door and tug it aggressively. But it’s locked. So I end up just standing there stupidly, jamming the handle back and forth. I push away from the van, fold my arms, and tip my chin angrily to the sky. As soon as I hear the locks click, I tug the handle and slump into the front passenger seat.

Finn climbs in next to me. I ignore the sexy way his broad frame fills the seat. Stupid man. Looking sexy in the world’s most hideous minivan. He throws an arm behind my seat as he rummages for something in the back. I steal a glance at his big, rough hand and the large, muscular arm attached to it. Stupid. Stupid man. Making me admire his objective beauty while I’m angry at him.

He pulls out a piece of fabric of some kind and tosses it in my lap. "Here," he says. "Thought you might want that."

I uncross my arms to lift up the fabric and inspect it. It's a grey zip-up hoodie. He brought me a hoodie? His hoodie? I hold it up to my nose. And it smells like him. That familiar scent of pine and fabric softener.

"You're supposed to wear it." He tosses me a sarcastic look as he puts the key in the ignition and turns it.

He packed a hoodie in case I might be cold? It's a sweet gesture. And I decide that I'll wear it. But only because I feel ridiculous wearing this strappy, lacy atrocity while sitting in a minivan. Not because he's forgiven. I slip my arms into the hoodie and then buckle my seatbelt. As soon as I do that, Finn throws the van into reverse and backs out of his parking stall. But then he keeps going. And keeps going. Suddenly, I hear a loud crunch. My eyes go wide.

"Oops," Finn says flatly. I look out the back window as Finn switches to drive and pulls out of the lot. Jack's motorcycle is lying flat against the ground. Finn studies it in the rear-view mirror. And I swear there is the tiniest glint of joy in his eyes. The tiniest. But I can't be sure. Because I'm not sure I've seen anything in his eyes other than anger and annoyance. Except for the glint of hot fire earlier today.

“Great,” I mutter. “Real classy.” He points the van down the long, rural highway.

“Classy? I nearly took a punch in the state’s grimiest tavern. Nothing classy happened here tonight,” he mumbles. I cross my arms as I look out the side window. We pass several intersections in silence before I rest my head on the cool glass. The condensation kisses my skin.

"You aren't talking,” Finn finally says, casting quick glances in my direction. "Are you mad at me?" I sigh and press my forehead deeper into the window.

"Ok then," he says. "Just ignore me. After I came all the way out here.”

"Thanks,” I huff out. The air in the car is still. Finn’s hands are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Now that I'm processing things, I'm starting to realize I'm not actually mad at him. I'm mad at myself and he's just an easy target. Because I did it again. Acted stupid, and reckless, and made a fool out of myself.

Why did I go on a date with someone I met for five minutes at the mall? And why did I parade around in this stupid outfit? God, I'm such an idiot. I never think things through. I just jump in blindly with both feet. And I actually thought a date with Jack was going to be a new start.

"For the record, I know you can take care of yourself.” Finn interrupts my personal self-scolding.

"You do?" My voice sounds so sullen that I want to become my seat.

"Yeah,” he says, studying the road beyond the dash. “I just didn’t want you to have to.”

I look out my window at the dark silhouette of trees passing by. Why is he being so nice? I slink into the passenger seat and blink back tears.

"I can turn on the radio?” Finn suggests. But I continue to ignore him. “Honestly, quiet Aimee is freaking me out," he admits. "There’s something else isn’t there? Something bothering you.” Great, he can defend your honor in a bar fight and he’s intuitive, too? Of course, he has a girlfriend. A guy like him totally would.

“It’s nothing,” I protest.

But as I say the words, tears are gathering in my eyes. Because there is something wrong. And it’s not just how stupid I am. It’s more. It’s the fact that, tonight, when I needed a ride, I had no one to call. Literally no one I could rely on to come and help me out. I look down at my ridiculous excuse for a dress. My tattoo peeking below the hem. A sense of deep and isolating sadness churns my stomach. A tear pools from my eye and runs down my cheek. It feels warm compared to the chilly beads of water on the window.

“Clearly,” he huffs. “I don’t know who you’re used to fooling. But I’m an asshole. Not an idiot.” That pries an unwelcome smile from my lips. He continues. “You know, I’m fine is the most frequently told lie in the English language.”

God. He just won’t leave me alone. I take a deep breath and wipe my face.

"What's not wrong?" I finally answer. "I wore this stupid nightie to a biker bar. I’m pretty sure my date did drugs in the bathroom. Everyone in there looked like they literally wanted to eat me. I was completely stranded in some rural part of the city where apparently Uber doesn’t exist. Alicia’s right about me. Everyone is. I’m just reckless, and stupid, and I’ll never learn.”

“Hey. Stop that,” Finn says sternly. His face puckered in a scowl, darting between me and the road. I turn my head away from him because I don’t want another lecture. I’m barely holding it together as it is. “Aimee, look at me.” I can’t help but obey. His voice commands it. “Don’t let anyone make you feel that way. We all make mistakes. And this one was on that asshole. For not seeing your worth. You’re a goddamn breath of fresh air, Aimee. And don’t change that. No matter how many fucking Jacks you meet.”

I’m a breath of fresh air? What does that mean? His words feel like a soft touch, brushing away my tears. I look up at the ceiling, waiting for the water to recede back into my eyes.

“I’ve met a lot of Jacks.” I sigh. “Like, a lot.”

“A lot?” Finn asks.

“Too many. I can’t even count them all. I feel like a girl should be able to count the number of guys she’s slept with.”

“Ok.” Finn shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I think we’re bordering on too much information now.” I don’t miss how his knuckles are turning white against the steering wheel.

“When I was sitting in that bar, alone, I had no one to call. I don’t have one of those 2:00 a.m. friends. Not anymore.” I don’t know why I’m telling him all this. Probably because, who else can I tell? And in a couple minutes, after he drops me off, I’ll just curl into a ball on my bed and let the loneliness consume me. This feels like my only chance to get things off my chest. Things that are so heavy they threaten to suffocate me. Tears sting my eyes and my vision starts to blur.

Finn’s quiet for a minute, his eyes never straying from the dark and rural road. An occasional, giant fir tree creeps into the orbit of our headlights. But other than that, there’s nothing but darkness.

"What's a 2:00 a.m. friend?" he asks. His quiet voice breaks the silence hanging heavy around us.

“A 2:00 a.m. friend. You know," I explain, "a friend you can call at two in the morning when you need someone to talk to. For any reason whatsoever. One that will drop everything for you."

"What about Alicia?"

"She's busy. She's got so much on her plate and she works all the time And my best friend, well, she's got her boyfriend now. Soon to be fiancé." I see Finn nod in understanding. My hands twist nervously in my lap. "When Greg didn't answer, I scrolled through my contact list at the bar. The only person I had to call was the psychic who gave me her number and said she took calls 24/7. I was actually tempted to call her. Pathetic."

Finn darts his eyes off the road to study me for a moment. His head swivels back in front of him.

"Give me your phone," he says. He opens his palm between us, his other hand on the wheel.

"Why?" I ask suspiciously, wiping a tear from my face.

He sighs. He shifts his hand to massage the back of his scalp. I'm clearly annoying him. "Do you always have to be difficult?" he asks. "Aimee, give me your phone." He holds out his open palm to me again. I gingerly place my phone in it. For a second, I’m concerned he’s going to chuck it out the window.

One hand on the steering wheel, he uses the other to hold my phone up to his chest. His thumb moves quickly across the keypad. His eyes flicking between the road and the phone.

"What are you doing?" I find it odd that he, of all people, would be so careless about driving distracted. Especially at night.

"There." He hands it back to me. The phone is open to my contact list. I look down at the screen and laugh. As I laugh, another tear springs free and rolls down my cheek.

"Finn Hugson?" The laugh keeps pouring from my mouth. "Your last name is Hugson ?"

"Shit," he says. "Fat fingers. The g should be a d ."

"I'm leaving it like that. It's perfect." I laugh. "But, why? Why give me your number?"

With one hand still on the steering wheel, he rests the other casually on his thigh. "If you need to call someone at 2:00 a.m., you can call me," he says. "For emergencies. If you're desperate, I guess."

How? How is he also sweet, too? On top of everything else?

"Would you answer?" I ask tentatively.

"50-50." He glances at me. "Maybe 60-40."

"60, you'd answer?" I ask him. "Or 60, you wouldn't answer?"

"Let's leave some things a mystery."

"Ha." This is weird. For Finn to not be scowling or brooding.

"Other than needing appropriate clothing. You ok?" he asks. I think for a moment. Am I ok? No. Will I be ok tomorrow? I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe the loneliness will evaporate with the promise of a new day. Feelings always seem bigger at night.

Just then, my stomach grumbles. "Since you’re asking,” I say. “I am starving."

“I know a place.”