Page 32 of The Moment He Couldn’t Walk Away

Finch didn’t respond to that.

“So, it worries me that you aren’t composting,” Meadow said. “It’s nature’s way of recycling organic waste into soil rich in nutrients.” She was now in the kitchen, inspecting the trash can, which she’d pulled out from under the sink.

“Mom, we all compost, so relax,” Blue said, giving her man a hard look, which had him nodding at Meadow and pushing the trash back under the sink, then closing the cupboard door. Jay then stood in front of it.

“Do you know that composting helps combat climate change and reduces greenhouse gas emissions?” his mother added.

Jay pointed at Finch. “I don’t live here. He does.”

“We compost,” Sawyer said in a smug tone from the floor, where the children were now all using him as a jungle gym.

“Okay, glad we have that sorted. Now how about we sit down and have our coffee. Lynx has just arrived home, Mom. We need to catch up on his news,” Birdie said.

“I’m here,” their father said, running into the room in a flowing kaftan in reds and blues. He wore a knitted poncho over it and had completed the ensemble with boots.

Jay choked on air. The McAllisters didn’t blink at the outfit, however. They’d grown up with their colorful parents. Nothing could surprise them anymore.

The family drank coffee and ate cake then, catching up on any news. Their mom may be many things, and not all of them normal, but she baked like a dream and always had.

“You staying here, bro?” Finch said to Lynx when everyone had finally left with last instructions about getting fresh air and exercise, which he’d ignored.

“Yeah, I thought that would be best. I can’t see myself living with Mom and Dad anymore. We’re far too different.”

“Agreed,” Finch said.

After a shower, Lynx joined Finch in front of the woodstove, where he sat thinking about Nina. How was she? He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to lose your mom, but not only that, Shirley had been the only relative Nina had left.

“So, how are you really?” Lynx asked.

“Okay.”

“Come on, bro, spill. You’ve had your career path chosen since you were old enough to know what a career path was. You always wanted to be in the military, and now you’re not. Talk to me. I know you’re not happy, but I want you to be. So how do we achieve that?”

Happy, he thought, and wondered if he ever would be that again. The real happiness that tells you you’re in exactly the place you want to be, with your people.

“It’s hard,” he conceded. Finch didn’t like talking about himself or the hell inside his head. He’d spent hours with an army therapist who had tried to draw things out of him he wasn’t ready to share—didn’t think he’d ever want to share.

“I know you’re the McAllister who hates spilling their innermost thoughts, but you can’t keep this inside you, Finch. It’ll fester and turn poisonous.”

“I’m dealing with it my way,” he said, feeling the knot of anxiety inside him tighten again.

“No, that’s not going to work for your family. You’re not shutting us out. I still remember that phone call and Blue telling me you’d been in that accident. I couldn’t get to you⁠—”

“Lynx—”

“I was terrified, Finch. Not knowing what was going on and if you were going to be okay. Then when I heard about the diagnosis, Post Concussion Syndrome. I did all the research I could, because you wouldn’t talk to me about it.”

Finch was disciplined. He could usually control his emotions and always had. But not since the accident. “I don’t want to discuss this, Lynx.”

The hard note in his voice would have had his men snapping to attention. His brother, however, remained unfazed.

“Too bad.”

Finch got to his feet, fists clenched, and glared at him.

“If you want to fight, I’m here for it,” Lynx said calmly, still seated.

He thought about it—seriously considered planting his fist in his brother’s face, and then he felt the niggle of pain behind his eyes. Stomping into the kitchen, Finch went to the box on the second shelf where he put his meds and got it down.