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The problem was no matter what she said no words were going to convince him he wasn’t to blame.
Frustration ate at her.
Leaving her angry aching heart indoors, she followed him onto the balcony. A crazy notion stirred up a hornets’ nest inside her even as she winced at the risk, at how he’d react, and wondered if she could even manage it without shattering.
Easy, she came up behind him. ‘Don’t get a fright,’ she said softly, echoing his sentiment from the cabaret at Montreal. A night from her dreams... With deft speed she slammed the door on her reminiscing. Focus.
His honed frame tensed.
‘Finn, it’s okay.’ She laid her hands on his back, as gentle and calming as if he were a skittish colt. She smoothed them around his waist, wrapped her arms about him and pressed her cheek to the soft, freshly laundered fabric of his T-shirt.
‘Serena,’ he choked out, muscles flexing as his grip tightened on the rail.
After a ‘Shh...’ that ripped her soul, his shoulders dropped and he began to ease.
‘Let me?’ she asked, tiptoeing her fingers beneath the hem of his T and tentatively inching the material upwards before she pulled back.
One look at the deep white criss-cross lines that marred the centre of his back, the puckered skin between his shoulder blades, and her chest ached viciously. Tears pooled, brimmed once more, and this time she let them fall. Unable to stop the rain. Surely she owed Tom nothing less.
Boys don’t cry, Serena.
Well, this girl did.
Silent tears seared her swollen throat—for him, for Tom—as she leaned forward and tenderly kissed his back once, twice, before she rubbed her cheek against him gingerly, affectionately.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her voice as raw as her heart. ‘Thank you for making his last days bearable. For protecting him for me. For trying to save his life.’
‘Serena...’ he breathed, almost longingly, as his big body trembled.
‘Please don’t let his death be for nothing. You have your entire life ahead of you. He’d want you to live it.’
Torso convulsing, he hung his head.
Enough. No more. It was all over now.
Serena let the fabric fall and trailed her fingers down his sides in goodbye. Then she turned and walked away with her head held high. Ready to fight another day.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SILVERSTONE CIRCUIT was an almighty roar and the chant of Finn’s name from his fiercest homeland supporters rang in his ears as he stepped off the winner’s podium with a farewell wave and shot through the crowd. He hadn’t seen Serena since dawn, and the perpetual torment from his heart and conscience had him hurtling towards insanity.
He had to see her. Check she was okay. In truth he’d swear he could feel her pain, and his arms ached to hold her—hell, his entire body ached for her. Had done since the moment she’d vanished from his suite. Since she’d ripped his heart out by pleading with him to live his life. The way she’d touched him so affectionately, forgivingly, would stay with him always.
It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to keep his hands fisted on the iron rail, not to turn around and reach for her. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t believe for one second that she could forgive him. He was convinced the only reason she hadn’t looked at him with hate in her eyes was because of the incredible night they’d shared. Or maybe he’d taken Tom’s place in her world. A rebounding kind of need.
Eventually, when she realised that, she’d walk away—and he’d be in so deep it would kill him. He’d lose her. Just as he lost everyone he cared for. It was inevitable.
So, while it had torn him apart to sever their connection, he knew it was for the best. For both of them.
In and out of the Scott Lansing garage he went—his guts twisting at the barren space—before he jogged round to the back of the pits, where a myriad of luxurious motor homes were parked.
Smooth tarmac gave way to the crunch of gravel beneath his boots and dark shadows crawled eerily over the dirt, up over the high-gloss black paintwork of the fleet, as if thick, ominous clouds slowly usurped the sun. He shuddered...
Then crashed to a halt.
There stood Michael Scott, at the bottom of the steps to Finn’s motor home, wearing an expression that weakened his knees.
Skin clammy, he clutched at his chest, felt the thrash of his heart against his palm. ‘Wha...what’s happened?’ No, please God no. Please let her be okay.
‘What you’ve got to understand about Serena, my boy, is that when her emotions get too big for her she runs. Always has, since she was a little girl.’ Regret deepened his voice. ‘Don’t suppose it helped that she never had a mother in her life. I take it you told her everything?’
