The Moment He Couldn't Walk Away - Sneak Peek

Chapter One

Staff Sergeant Finch McAllister always rose early. Having joined the army at eighteen, his body was long accustomed to waking before his alarm each day.
The barracks were stirring with the sounds soldiers waking, and shuddering of old pipes somewhere behind the walls. He liked this slice of peace before the base came really alive and the day filled with orders, noise, and the press of bodies moving through the narrow hallways. This was his quiet time.
Finch rose, showered, and pulled on his army combat uniform. After lacing his feet into his boots, he tided his room. 
His daily life had become predictable because the core habits he’d developed had remained consistent. He liked the familiarity of what came next, and the discipline of doing it well was something else that was now second nature to him.
Looking at his watch, he noted it was 5:00 a.m. His phone buzzed, signaling a call. Looking at his screen, he saw Blue Jay’s face. She was the oldest of his sisters. 
“You know I work for a living, right? Unlike you,” he said by way of a greeting.
Looking at the latest framed picture on the small shelf opposite of everyone in his family but Finch and his younger brother Lynx, all of them smiling, he felt it again. A small tug of longing, but he wouldn’t give into that yet.
“Okay, so let me educate you,” his sister said. “I rise before the sun because your nephew is a vampire, clearly. Then there’s all the food I prepare for my children and that loser I’m married to—”
“I heard that,” Jay roared from somewhere in their house.
“Then I have to—”
“Got it, your job is way harder than mine,” Finch cut her off. “Was there a reason for this call, other than to insult me?”
“No, I just wanted to annoy you at five in the morning.”
“Job done, then. Now, if you’re finished annoying me, can I get ready to do some actual work?” Finch said.
“Because I don’t know what actual work is?” Blue’s tone was not happy.
“Go back to bed, and get out the right side, and tell your man I’m real sorry because clearly he married a crazy woman.”
“Love you, big brother,” she said.
“Love you, too, little sister. Now go nap.”
He cut the call, shaking his head. She’d always called him randomly—it was their thing—and usually just so they could throw insults at each other.
One day he’d have a family of his own with a woman he loved, and maybe they’d call Lyntacky home, but that was a few years away. Finch had things he wanted to achieve in the army first.
Looking at his phone as it signaled a message, he saw it was from Blue.
I managed to slip out to girls’ night, and Birdie may or may not have drunk too much and danced on the bar singing “It’s Raining Men.” But you didn’t hear any of this from me. Her backup singers were pretty good though.
The picture was of Birdie, his little sister, who had her head thrown back and was belting out a tune. It was the woman next to her that caught and held his attention. Nina Winters. Blond, lush, and distracting. She wore a pair of shorts that showed off plenty of her lovely legs. The T-shirt was tight and had him enlarging the picture. Hot, sexy, and plenty of other words he wasn’t proud of thinking at 5:00 a.m.
She’d been throwing him looks that said she was interested the last few times he’d gone home. Maybe next time he’d let her know he returned that interest.
He turned off his phone, left it on his bed, and walked out, thinking about the woman in the picture and what he’d say to her when he got home.
How about dinner, Nina? It wasn’t original, but to the point.
The hallway outside his room was just beginning to stir with the thud of boots on linoleum and the smell of bad coffee brewing in the common room. 
Corporal Diaz, already kitted for the same exercise, nodded at him as Finch approached. “Briefing’s pushed up twenty, Sarge. Command wants us out before the fog burns off.”
Finch checked his watch again and did the math. Fog meant visibility was already going to be shit on the back roads, and pushing the timeline up twenty minutes meant less daylight margin if anything went sideways. Not that anything ever did. He’d run that route more times than he could count, and he knew every rut and bend of it the way he knew the inside of his own boots.
“Copy that,” he said. “We’ll grab some food and head out.”
Stepping outside into the pre-dawn darkness thirty minutes later, now with a full stomach, both men headed for the Humvee parked a few feet away. The air had a bite of cold to it, and a low fog still clung to the ground between the buildings. He had tactical maneuvers this morning, so he made his way to the vehicle he was driving. It sat low on its suspension, loaded down with heavy equipment.
Corporal Diaz climbed into the passenger’s side the vehicle, while Finch did a slow circuit of it before climbing in, an old habit Drill Sergeant Okafor had beaten into him a lifetime ago and one he’d never managed to shake. Tires. Undercarriage. The security of the load strapped down in the back. Everything had to be squared away the way it should be. Satisfied, Finch swung up into the driver’s seat.
He felt the simmer of excitement that never really faded, no matter how many mornings like this one he’d had. He fucking loved his job.
Corporal Diaz yawned loudly. Some soldiers never got a handle on the early mornings. Finch loved them.
His thoughts circled back to Nina Winters as he started the Humvee moving. There had always been something about her that intrigued him. She didn’t take any BS from anyone—not even Blue Jay, and his sister could be fierce. He liked a woman who didn’t take anyone’s crap and knew her own mind. There was no getting around the fact that she was definitely his type. Pulling his mind back to the dark track ahead of him, Finch refocused.
Not the time, bud. He clearly hadn’t been with a woman in far too long if his brain was wandering like this on a training run.
Finch kept his speed steady, while beside him Corporal Diaz dozed, and pushed Nina and her body out of his head as he worked through the day’s itinerary.
The fog hadn’t burned off the way command had hoped. If anything, it had thickened and was pooling low in the hollows where the track dipped between the tree lines. It swallowed his headlights ten feet out and threw the light back at him in a flat gray wall. Finch eased off the accelerator without really thinking about it, an automatic correction built from many drives down this exact stretch of dirt and gravel. The radio in his ear stayed quiet, relaying only static and the occasional clipped check-in from the convoy somewhere ahead of him. 
The deer came from nowhere, a pale shape exploding out of the fog and into the wash of his headlights, and it was directly in front of him before Finch had even finished processing what he was looking at. 
“Fuck!” his passenger snapped.
Instinct took over, and his hands wrenched the wheel hard right, his foot already coming off the gas, his brain screaming at him not to hit it, to swerve. He felt the Humvee weight loaded on top shifting hard with the turn.
For one suspended second, nothing happened. The vehicle stayed upright, and the tires dug into the gravel road. Finch thought maybe everything was okay—and then the Humvee tipped. Slowly at first, and then all at once everything sped up. He heard the scrape of metal against rock, and the vehicle rolled once and then twice. The gear broke loose from its ties. His head slammed into the side door.
“Sarge!”
He heard the panic in Corporal Diaz’s voice but didn’t seem able to focus on anything. His head felt odd. 
“Hold on, I’ll get you out!”
Those were the last words he heard, and then there was only darkness.

 
Chapter Two

One year later
Finch woke in a sweat like he often did after the nightmare. Pushing himself upright, he got out of bed, not wanting to risk slipping back into the hell. It was always the same—the deer came out of nowhere and then the Humvee was rolling. After that his life had changed beyond recognition.
Pulling on his clothes, he went to the bathroom and plunged his face into ice-cold water.
“Get it together, Finch,” he muttered when he was done, and headed to the kitchen. Looking out the windows, he saw the sun was well up. Just another thing he’d let slip since he’d left the army. There was no longer a need to rise early, because the days were long enough without making them more so.
Self-loathing wasn’t something he’d dealt with before in his life, but Finch was more than making up for that now.
Opening the wood burner, he threw in a few more logs, then headed for the coffeemaker. He got down a mug and dumped in a large spoonful of sugar. When it was full of black liquid goodness, he headed for the back door.
Opening it, he gazed out at the land that was part of his parents’ farm.
Trees of some evergreen variety, with leaves, others naked, hunkered down for winter. There were beds of earth ready for planting when the weather was warmer and various structures that no doubt had their uses, Finch just wasn’t sure what. 
Turning, he studied the interior of the cottage, which was the secondary dwelling on the land, and tried to feel what he always did when he was here. Warm, comfortable, and familiar. But there was only numbness, icy and cold, filling all the spaces inside him.
A therapist had told Finch it was his brain’s way of protecting itself from the overwhelming emotion of loss and trauma, which sounded about right.
Finch and Lynx, his famous rock star brother, had painted the walls a soft butter color a while ago. His mother hadn’t been impressed. She liked bright colors. 
Cradling his mug, he thought about going back to bed, where he’d spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling since he’d come home. The sound of voices stopped him. All women by the tones, which suggested his father was busy doing something or happy to leave him alone to deal with the hell that his life had plunged into.
The women in his family, however, were not. They’d fuss over him, trying to help him move on with his life.
Finch wasn’t sure he would ever do that. You didn’t plan your career as a child, knowing it would be the one for you until you hit your sixties and possibly older, depending on advancement, then simply move on when it was taken from you. 
Now he had nothing. No direction, no goals, no plan B. He was a civilian and had no clue how to deal with what life had thrown him.
He’d failed at the one thing he’d built his life around and couldn’t blame anyone for that but himself.
The bark of laughter drawing closer told Finch he should have followed his gut and left the country after the army discharged him. 
“He needs our help because he’s home for ages and rarely leaves the property.” 
That was Blue Jay speaking, the older of his two sisters. Recently a mother of twins, she’d moved back to Lyntacky to be with her man. 
“It’s winter, and he’s allowed to hibernate. Finch needs to do things in his own time, Blue. We can’t force him.” 
“He’s not that Finch anymore, Birdie. He’s more like Sawyer used to be.”
Finch interpreted that to mean grumpy and openly hostile, which his brother-in-law had been before he’d fallen in love with Birdie.
She was the youngest and gentlest of the four McAllister siblings, which begged the question of why she’d married the grumpiest man in Lyntacky.
The humming came from his mom, Meadow McAllister. Hippy, eco warrior, and a woman with firm beliefs and morals who was a champion to everyone.
I can’t do this today.
Grabbing his old trainers that were by the back door, he didn’t take the time to pull on a sweater, just moved right and stepped out of sight of the living area.
After pulling on the shoes, he ran along the side of the house toward the driveway, ducking under the next window.
“Finch, we’re coming in!” Blue Jay called to him.
He ran to the drive and down it. His muscles protested, and he coughed, muffling it with his hand, as the cold air hit the back of his throat. Finch knew this was the first exercise he’d done in months, so it was possible his head would hurt and his vision blur in minutes if he wasn’t careful.
Reaching the end of the drive, he glanced at the stand his parents sold all kinds of produce and homemade herbal remedies from. Repurposed ribbons had been used to wrap a few items, making them appeal to Christmas gift buyers. Nothing displayed there would help the oldest McAllister sibling. Nothing could.
Finch had prided himself on his fitness, but he’d lost most of it after the accident. He would do something about that soon. 
“Small steps,” his therapist had said.
Slowing to a walk minutes later, disgusted, he watched the puffs of white air his harsh breathing created. The dark glasses helped keep out the light, as his eyes had become more sensitive since the accident, but they didn’t help the headaches. 
His mother made him do yoga most mornings, and he’d caved in to the relentless pressure, but only if she didn’t talk at him the entire time. So he was improving physically, but the mental stuff would take longer.
Post-concussion syndrome. Three simple words, and his life had changed beyond recognition. 
Walking down the roads he’d biked as a kid with his siblings, he reached the main street and then headed into Lyntacky. 
Since he’d been home, he’d barely come into town unless one of his family members forced him. Everyone knew him here, and they would ask how he was doing, and Finch knew their concern would be well-meaning, but he didn’t want it or their pity. What he wanted was to be back in the army.
But even Santa wasn’t capable of making that happen.
Lyntacky came alive at Christmas. Yards of twinkling fairy lights were strung across the main street and in shop windows, along with colorful decorations and gifts. The scent of cinnamon and spiced fruit wafted up his nostrils as he passed the waffle place.
The small town of Lyntacky was growing. Houses had gone up fast, and there were more cars and people on the streets these days. Finch used to know most of the locals, but not anymore, which suited him just fine. Anonymity and solitude were two things he craved now.
Keeping his eyes down, he headed along the left-hand side of the main street. Shops and eateries lined both sides, and he had spent time in most of them over the years. 
Finch nodded at the statue of Shelly Lyntacky, aunt to the current mayor Tripp and the entire reason for the town’s obsession with square dancing. Behind her was a huge tree that would have the lights turned on soon by whoever’s name was drawn. He had a bad feeling his family would put him on the list, but he’d deal with that if it arose.
“Morning, Finch.”
“Bart,” he grunted, hoping the man running up the street wouldn’t stop. He was out of luck, as the elderly local turned to jog at his side.
The octogenarians in this town were harmless and usually meant well, even if they spent most of their time handing out opinions like cookies.
Bart wore a pale blue woolen cap pulled low to his eyebrows and a matching scarf. The locals had tried—tactfully—to tell him to get rid of his shorts, as they revealed way more than anyone wanted to see with their high-cut sides. As yet there had been no success. Winter forced him to put long thermal leggings underneath, which let the town collectively exhale with relief during the colder months.
“It’s freezing out here, Finch, and you’re in a thin long-sleeved T-shirt.”
“I don’t feel the cold, Bart,” he lied. In fact, now that he’d stopped moving, Finch could feel the bite of winter. He’d need to head back soon or risk another headache.
“How are you, really, Finch?”
“Good,” Finch lied, the word coming out as a grunt that should discourage anyone from continuing the conversation.
“Haven’t seen much of you, but now you’re out and about, you can join the walking club. Exercise in small doses is good for post-concussion syndrome, Finch. But take it easy and don’t overdo it.”
He would rather wear one of his mother’s kaftans in a military parade than join the walking group.
“Socializing is important too. Being alone with those thoughts is not healthy,” Bart continued, undeterred by Finch’s lack of response. 
I should have stayed home and braved my mother and sisters.
“I’m doing what I need to,” he said, not surprised Bart knew what Finch was dealing with. It was the way in this town; everyone was involved in everyone else’s business.
“I’ll let you know when we are walking next. Now, lots of rest, good food, and water for you until then,” Bart added, ignoring Finch’s general air of pissedoffness.
It wouldn’t take much to trip the man and make it look like an accident, but even at his worst, Finch couldn’t do that to someone he’d known since childhood.
“Bart!”
They both looked toward the Rollaway, the local bar in town, and the large bear of a man approaching.
“Dee needs your help for a minute,” Red Heckler, the owner, called.
“Be right there, Red. You take care now, Finch, and make sure you have good shoes for the walking.”
Bart ran into the Rollaway, and Finch knew why. It took a brave person to refuse Red’s wife, Dee, anything and walk away unscathed.
“Hey, man.” Red wandered up in that slow, easy way he had, and they slapped hands.
The exact opposite of his firebrand of a wife, Red took things in his stride and could hurl a patron out of his bar with one hand and help an old lady across the road with the other. “Colder than my mother-in-law’s heart out here today, and you’re not dressed for the conditions, Finch. Got some mulled wine, if you need it?”
“I’m good, but thanks, Red.”
“Okay, well, offer’s there anytime. Now, I just saved you from a lecture from Bart, so you owe me,” Red said. 
His face looked thinner, and now that he was noticing the man and not dwelling on his own problems, Finch could see Red had lost weight under that thick black sweater and jeans.
“You well, Red?” 
“Dandy. Been working out and walking because Dee said she wants to keep me around a bit longer, as the kids are too much for her to handle alone, so I have to get fit and eat better.”
“Always good to feel loved,” Finch said.
“Amen. How you doing?” Red asked.
“As you’d expect.”
“So, shitty, then?”
Finch nodded. 
“Well, snap out of it because you owe me for luring Bart away, and Dee will blister my ears for lying.”
“Seems harsh, but okay,” Finch said.
“You’re working bar on girls’ night because, apparently, you’re good-looking, though I can’t see it myself. Be here by 7:00 p.m. on Wednesday the 15th, and if you want to wear a Christmas-themed getup, all good, but if not, we’ll sort you out when you arrive.”
Before he could speak the roar of motorcycles had Finch turning on his heel to watch three bikes roll into town. They then parked in front of The Do Si Do Diner. All three leather-clad riders dismounted and went inside.
“What the fuck are they doing here? I thought we hated Bandits after all that shit went down with Leah Reynolds,” Finch said.
“I don’t like it, but some locals say that since their leader, Grill, was put inside, they’re nice—more community friendly. I call BS, and they’re still not entering my bar with their leathers on. That one in the lead is Walker Luke, and he rolled Clover, who stepped up when Grill left. Deputy Dan and his uncle don’t like him, but they can’t do shit until he messes up.”
“Sounds like trouble to me,” Finch said.
“Amen,” Red said. “There’s a whole lot of shit that I don’t get in this town at the moment that we’ve never had before.”
“Like what?” Finch didn’t really care but thought he’d better ask. After all, this was where the people he called family lived, so he should make the effort.
“Someone broke into Nina’s house and went through it, making one hell of a mess. They took cash and left,” Red said, looking pissed.
“Did anyone else get hit?”
“Nah, just her, so maybe they were disturbed or something?”
“Then some cars got broken into outside the Rollaway too, and Nina’s was one of them, so she had a double load of crap happen, which considering she’s dealing with enough shit in her life, is not cool.”
“Has to be hard,” Finch said instead of “What other shit?”
“Has to be. Anyway, gotta go. Don’t forget girls’ night, and wear something tight. They like that.”
“Isn’t that objectifying men? I mean, women hate it when we do that to them.”
“Oh please, men deserve it because some of us are shitheads to women constantly,” Red said. 
“I really don’t think I can do girls’ night, Red.”
“Sure you can. Now I have to go.”
“Red….” Finch’s words fell away as the man left. There was no way in hell he was working behind a bar on girls’ night—no way, even if he did owe Red for the interference.
Finch thought about walking down the middle of the street then, so no one else approached him, but as there was plenty of traffic, that wouldn’t work. He kept close to the road so he could make a run for it to the other side if someone wanted a conversation.
“Hello, dear.”
Damn, he hadn’t noticed Bart’s sister, June, standing outside the thrift store, washing windows. Didn’t she know it was freezing?
“Hi, June.”
“Can you help me with something, Finch?”
He thought about saying no—everyone knew he wasn’t the same Finch—but before he had a chance to open his mouth, she’d gone inside.
“Fuck.” He followed. 
The heat hit him first, and he saw a heater with all bars blazing red. An old Christmas carol about letting it snow was playing. Shelves were filled with household goods and racks of clothes and shoes. Ordered chaos, he thought.
“Can you open this jar for me?” June said, holding out a large glass jar with a metal lid that had nothing inside.
He took it and twisted. The lid came off easily. Finch looked at June with a raised brow.
“Thank you, that’s wonderful. My grip is weaker than it used to be,” she said, taking the jar back, unrepentant for the obvious lure to get him into her store. What he didn’t know was why she had done it. 
“Now, this should fit you nicely.” She picked a dark green jacket up off the counter. “I’ve googled it, and it’s called a Sherpa-lined hooded jacket,” she said, holding it open as if he was going to try it on. “You’re not wearing anything warm, Finch, and it’s cold enough to freeze the hinges off a barn door out there.”
He took a step back as she advanced on him. 
“Now put your arms in these sleeves and let me look at the fit.”
“I don’t need a jacket, June.”
“Everyone needs a jacket in this weather, Finch, and it upsets me to see you walking about without one. Especially considering you’re going through a rough patch at the moment.”
He almost laughed at that. His life was more of a crisis than a rough patch.
She grabbed his hand and stuffed it into the sleeve, then pulled it up his arm. “Next one,” June urged. “Your fingers are freezing. Honestly, what were you thinking, going about with no clothes on?”
He could fight her, but had been raised to respect his elders, so he slid his arm into the other sleeve. The warmth felt good, and Finch realized he was an idiot for leaving the cottage without extra layers.
Just another thing to add to how he had changed. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been an idiot before the accident, but he could be wrong there.
“Even though it’s not wool, but a blend of polyester and cotton, it’ll still keep you warm, Finch,” June said, moving around the front to zip him up. 
Finch could honestly say no one had zipped him into a piece of clothing since kindergarten.
She patted his chest and smiled. “Good, now off you go and get about your day.” June kissed his cheek. “You’re going to be okay, Finch. We’ll make sure of it.”
The words had a sudden surge of emotion choking him. He quickly pulled out his phone, which had his cards in the back. 
“No,” June shook her head. “It’s on me, dear. Now off you go.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice raspy. 
She waved him away, and Finch left, because if he stayed, he might just end up crying all over her shoulder.
 

Chapter Three

Not ready to return home yet, Finch jammed his cold fingers into the pockets of the jacket and kept walking through town until he reached a road that took him into the residential areas of Lyntacky.
He passed homes he’d had playdates in when he was a kid. Some had chimneys belching smoke, while others had humming heat pumps to ward off the cold. He admired the inflatable Santas and outdoor Christmas decorations and thought about the decorations he should put up for his nieces and nephews.
“Nice buns, McAllister!”
Caleb Stanway was another old school friend, and with him was his partner, Jonathan. 
“You doing okay there, Jonathan?” Finch asked. 
The man’s face was beet red, and he was wheezing like a steam train. He wore a balaclava so only his eyes were showing, and sweatpants with a long sleeved thermal.
“Fuck all of you,” he muttered, jogging away from Finch.
“He’s testy because his jeans are tight, and I said he needed to exercise more,” Caleb said. “Now that you’re out of hibernation, I’ll drop by soon. We’ll drink beer, and I’ll offer you lots of advice, which I’m sure no one has given you already.”
“We both know that’s not true,” Finch called after him as he jogged away.
“I’m glad my jacket fits you!”
“I didn’t want it. June forced it on me!” Finch replied to the fast retreating back of his friend. Of course it would have belonged to someone he knew.
He inhaled a deep lungful of icy air. Socializing and being around people, rather than the hermit life he preferred, was good for him, he knew.
Letting thoughts come and go, Finch reached Circle Left, where you could get accommodation, dine in the restaurant, or drink at the bar, but right now he wanted coffee.
He ran his eyes over the exterior, which was now painted raspberry with lemon trim. It shouldn’t work, but it did, even if he preferred the pink of before. More fairy lights had been strung on the façade, and some decals of Santa and his sleigh were stuck to windows. Finch stopped when he saw the large sign tacked to the side of the building.
“No fucking way,” he muttered, taking the stairs up and going in through the front door.
Touches of the old days remained in the wood paneling and bar, and the modernization successfully preserved that character. Reaching the restaurant area, where he was greeted with more Christmas carols, Finch found Nancy, the owner, who, along with her usual bright red hair and skin like orange peel left out in the sun too long, was dressed as an elf today. 
“You’re selling? What the hell, Nancy?” The words had come out angry, and he had no right to that, but he’d had enough shocks in his life, and this wasn’t one he’d ever expected. Nancy and Hank and Circle Left were part of Lyntacky’s fabric. He didn’t want that to change.
She didn’t look angry, just patted his cheek with a soft palm. “It’s time, Finch. I’m tired, and me and Hank want to do some traveling now.”
“But you said you’d never leave,” Finch protested.
“Honey, I’ve said a lot of things, but these old bones are creaky now, and I want to go visit with some of my family for a while. It’s time to let someone else make memories here.”
Her eyes were kind, and he saw the sympathy. Sympathy for a man who had suffered. Finch hated pity in any form.
“It’s good to see you out and about. How are you feeling, Finch?”
“Good.” He fought back the need to snarl at the pity in her eyes.
He’d had enough change in his life and come back to his hometown because things usually stood still here. Seemed like he’d been wrong if Nancy and Hank were selling.
“Not actually so good, though, I don’t think, but I understand why you don’t want to talk about it. But you need to soon, Finch, or it will destroy you.”
He sighed. “I know, and I talk to a therapist.”
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, then said, “Like I told Nina when she came at me like you just did, maybe seeing as you’re so bent out of shape that we’re selling, you should buy it, Finch, because I’d rather it went to a local.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. He could barely look after himself these days. A place like this was completely beyond him.
“We can’t keep up with the maintenance, so it needs a younger person. Someone to modernize and make it better while keeping the old charm.”
He wanted to argue further, but knew it wasn’t his decision to make. 
“Go on outside now. I have the sides down in the conservatory, and the heater’s on. I’ll bring you coffee and cake.”
Opening the door that led out, he stepped through and turned right, taking the stairs down to the gardens. Yes, it was cold, but he had Caleb’s jacket, and he’d always loved exploring out here. 
He’d only taken a few steps when a loud sniff told him he wasn’t alone. Stepping to the right, he saw her. Even with her back to him, Finch knew that hair. Shoulder-length, blond with highlights, and always styled perfectly. She had on a long beige overcoat and a black scarf was wrapped around her neck.
“Some days are hard, N-Nancy. Today is one of those. I just don’t want her to suffer, but I don’t think she’s got long.”
She’d clearly heard his footsteps but had mistaken who they belonged to.
“Who don’t you want to suffer?” 
Nina Winters spun at his words, her eyes going wide as she saw who stood behind her.
“What are you doing here, Finch?”
He took in the black smudges beneath her eyes where mascara had run and the damp cheeks from her tears. 
“I live here.”
She frowned. “At Circle Left?”
“In Lyntacky.”
His hometown wasn’t short on beautiful women, but this one had always made him feel a little something more. 
He thought of her as exotic and could put most of that down to those hazel eyes, which tilted up slightly at the corners in a way that made her look like she had a secret and wasn’t willing to share. Then there was that perfect Cupid’s bow of her upper lip that Finch had always wanted to taste.
Nina was also loud like Blue. She was always the one talking, always the one with an opinion, joke, or story. She was also his sisters’ friend, which was another reason why he hadn’t dated her.
“I know you live in Lyntacky,” she said, and there was a bite to her words that told him she was embarrassed he’d caught her crying.
“Why are you crying?” he asked. He hated the sight of her tears and what they made him feel. But then, maybe it was good he was actually feeling something for once. 
“Allergies,” she said quickly.
“Bullshit. Who don’t you want to suffer, Nina?”
“None of your business.” She recovered fast, lifting her chin, daring him to continue questioning her. “Why are you wearing sunglasses in winter at”—she made a show of turning her wrist to check her watch—“9:45 a.m.”
“The sun is up, so I wear glasses.” The words came out harder than he intended, more like a growl, and Finch watched her face change.
She went still, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry.” Her voice dropped. “I forgot what happened to you and that you have vision trouble now.” She gripped her hands together, the knuckles turning white. “I’m really sorry, Finch.”
She always looked so certain of herself, so composed, and seeing her like this unsettled him.
He waved her words away with a flick of his hand. He didn’t need her apology, and he didn’t want to think about what her concern was doing to the cold inside him. “Back to why you’re out here alone at 9:45 a.m., crying and not wanting someone to suffer.”
“It’s none of your business.” She straightened, color riding her cheekbones, and not from the cold air. “And seeing as you’ve been in hibernation since you returned, I don’t know why you’d care.”
He wondered that too. Since his discharge, Finch had barely spoken to his own family, so he had no business caring about Nina Winters or her early morning tears.
“That’s not how this town works, Nina, because I know you and everyone else talk about me and what happened.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure there’s plenty of gossip about poor Finch McAllister.”
“Are you saying I’m a gossip?” Her hands went to her hips, and the devastation was gone, replaced with annoyance. He liked that expression a lot better than the tears. “And I’ve got better things to do with my time than talk about you.”
He folded his arms and said nothing. Just looked at her from behind the lenses of his glasses and waited.
“I don’t need you judging me, Finch, so you can just fuck right off.”
“Now, now.” He heard something that might have been amusement working its way up through him, rusty from disuse. “Is that any way for a lady to talk? Especially as you were just apologizing to me for being mean.” He was deliberately needling her, and it felt good, like blood moving through his veins that had been blocked for months. Even if he was being an asshole, at least he was being something.
“To think I thought you were hot once,” she hissed, and the words had real heat in them now. “But you’re just like all the other good-looking guys who rely on their faces and have zero personality.”
“You think I’m hot, Nina?”
“I think you’re an asshole,” she snapped. Then she stopped, exhaling loudly. “Look, I know you’re going through some things, and I’m sure that’s making you an asshole but there’s stuff I’m dealing with, too, so maybe we should just stop this conversation now.”
“I don’t need a lecture or sympathy from you, Nina. I get plenty of that from my family.”
He’d always been the strong McAllister, but people didn’t see him that way now, and that was something else he had to adjust to.
Her eyes locked on to his then, and he felt the weight of her gaze, direct and unflinching in that Nina Winters way.
“At least you have someone who cares about you,” she said quietly. “Plenty of people don’t.”
The words sat between them. They didn’t sound bitter. They’d sounded defeated.
Finch’s moods had always been steady, but not now. Now he could change in a heartbeat. Nina was here, and while he knew it wasn’t rational and that it wasn’t her fault he was no longer in uniform, there was a part of him that wanted to blame someone. She was just close enough to be convenient. 
The levelheaded Finch McAllister was gone.
“You need a hug or something?” The words were mocking, and she didn’t deserve them from him, but they came out just the same.
Red’s words came back to him then. Nina had been robbed, and her car broken into, and he was treating her like this. You’re an asshole, McAllister.
“Coffee’s here!” Nancy’s voice broke through the tension.
“Thanks!” Nina called back, but her eyes stayed locked on his.
“Look, Nina, I’m s—”
She cut him off. “Like I said, I know you’re going through shit.” Her words were cold and hard. “But then so are lots of people, and they’re not behaving like shitheads.”
He felt shame then. This wasn’t him; he’d always been one of the good guys, but before he could speak, she continued.
“So I’m not drinking my coffee with you.” She turned and stalked back the way he’d come.
Finch stood where she’d left him.
He never intentionally insulted or hurt people. He’d grown up in a family where peace, love, and understanding were important. McAllisters were decent folk, and he’d carried that value system into service for his country, but despite it, he had just spent the past few minutes insulting a woman who was clearly already having a bad morning.
He turned and followed her back toward the veranda because he owed her an apology, and some part of him that had been asleep for months had apparently decided to wake up and deliver it.
Nancy was there when he rounded the corner. She had Nina pulled in against her side, one arm around her shoulders, and was murmuring something low that Finch couldn’t catch.
God, had he made her cry again? He didn’t approach.
“How’s she doing, honey?”
“Not good, Nancy,” Nina’s voice was quiet now. “She doesn’t know me anymore.”
Who were they discussing?
“I saw her last week, and it was the same.” Nancy’s voice was sad. “It’s hard on you, Nina, but you know I’m always here for you.”
“I do. And thanks.” Nina took a slow breath. “Mom always loved working here. Loved you and Hank.”
Her mother. Now he really felt bad.
“She’s my friend,” Nancy said.
“Nancy!”
“Coming Hank! You sit under the heater out here for a while and drink your coffee. Finch McAllister is about somewhere. He might join you.”
“Thanks, Nancy.”
“I have to go, but never forget Hank and I are always there for you, okay?”
“Okay.”
After another hug, Nancy went back inside, leaving two mugs of coffee on the table along with two wedges of cake.
Finch tried and failed to picture Nina’s mother. He had some vague memory of a woman who laughed the way Nina did, but it wasn’t clear.
For a moment the only the sounds came from inside Circle Left. Voices, a Christmas carol playing, and the clink of cutlery.
He watched as Nina pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Nina.” 
She spun to face him, and he saw she was crying again. Tears ran down her cheeks, and it made his chest burn. 
“Go away.” She then picked up her coffee and walked inside, and he let her go.
He deserved that. Picking up his own mug, Finch drank it down too fast, because apparently he couldn’t do anything right this morning, and burned his mouth enough that his eyes watered. His siblings would have said that was payment for being a shithead, and they wouldn’t have been wrong.
The cake was good, and it took a lot more than his life imploding to rob him of his appetite, so he ate it, but left Nina’s piece because eating that didn’t feel right considering his behavior. When he was done, Finch walked inside, looking around for Nina, but there was no sign of her. If he spoke to her again, he’d just mess it up anyway, so it was better he left.
“Hey, Finch.” The voice came from a dark-haired woman he’d never seen before. She was middle-aged, he thought, but then, he wasn’t good at guessing ages—and rarely tried with women. “I’m Amber.” She was folding napkins as she spoke.
He nodded.
“Amber came to Lyntacky looking for work,” Nancy said from behind the counter, “and is staying for a while. She’s cleaning for me while Sally’s away on vacation visiting her sister, who just had her first child.”
That was another thing about the people in this town. They were always oversharing information he didn’t need or want.
“Nice,” Finch said, because nothing else came to mind. He nodded at Nancy, and the woman called Amber who he would never speak to again, and reached for his wallet. “I’ll settle up, Nancy.”
Minutes later he was heading outside feeling worse than he had when he’d arrived. Maybe not worse, because he’d felt things he hadn’t in ages. But what he did feel was shame for the way he’d treated Nina when she’d done nothing to deserve it. She’d just been there and triggered him, and he’d spoken without thought.
“So there’s an apology in your near future,” he muttered. Fuck, he hated admitting he was in the wrong, which was most often the case these days.