He punched him.
The worst part is Finn didn’t even fight back. He remained calm and collected the whole way through. You mean to tell me that, on top of being sober, he’s found a way around his anger issues?
Whoever this guy is, it’s not Finn Richards.
It can’t be.
Chance told me he was going to get another drink earlier, but Aveena said she saw him sneak out the front door when I wasn’t looking. I wound up following him to the front yard and saw him and Finn talking, and even though I couldn’t hear what they were saying from my hiding spot, I didn’t need the audio to know it had something to do with me.
I didn’t think Chance had that kind of anger in him. But then again, I also didn’t think Finn would be the bigger person in this situation. My phone chimes with a text, and I pull it out of my pocket.
It’s Chance.
Chance:Where are you?
The bathroom door creaks open before I can type a reply, and I turn around, berating myself for forgetting to lock the door. Finn comes bursting inside the bathroom a second later, and I dig my nails into my palms at the sight of his busted lip. He has a cut on the corner of his mouth—courtesy of Chance—and a few drops of blood stain the collar of his white shirt.
Shit.
Do I actually feel bad for him right now?
He stops when he sees me standing there, his eyebrows shooting up to his forehead, and I consider dashing out of the bathroom. I hate to admit it, but I need to know if he’s really changed. This “new Finn” act seems too good to be true, and I decide to put him to the test.
“What happened to you?” I bait him.
He doesn’t answer right away, walking over to the bathroom cabinet and throwing it open.
He shrugs. “Just some wasted frat guy.”
I’m stunned. He could’ve very well tried to use Chance’s actions to his advantage. He could’ve ratted him out in order to manipulate me and gain my sympathy, but he didn’t. Why didn’t he?
I call him out. “I know it was Chance. I saw everything.”
“Then why did you ask?” He continues to search the cabinet, probably for a first aid kit.
I zoom in on his wounded lip, and worry creeps under my skin, images of a beat-up Chance flooding my mind. I was scared they’d catch me, so I went back inside after Chance threw a punch. I just assumed it ended there, but what if Finn returned the favor?
I stress my bottom lip. “You didn’t hurt him, did you?”
The corners of his lips curl upward.
“That depends. Can it hurt if he’s unconscious?”
“What?” I erupt, panic lacing my voice.
Against all odds, Finn grins. “Relax, I’m kidding. I didn’t touch your precious boyfriend.”
My entire body unwinds, but a voice in my head warns me not to fall for it. For all I know, Chance is suffering somewhere with broken ribs. It could all be bullshit.
“You’re not fooling anyone, you know?” I fold my arms over my chest, leaning against the bathroom counter and watching him dig through the cabinet.
He frowns. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I don’t buy your whole ‘changed man’ act for a second. You mean to tell me that you’re sober and a pacifist all of a sudden? Please.”
He closes the cabinet, turning his sole focus over to me.
“I’m not telling you anything…” He parks himself too close to me, his piercing gaze becoming a prison I have no hope of ever escaping. “I’m showing you that I’ve changed, Dia. And it wasn’t all of a sudden. I didn’t just wake up one morning with the tools to manage my anger. It took a whole year of therapy and self-hatred and facing my demons to get to where I am.”