Finally Finn (Los Rancheros #4) (4 page)

“They did. We might do that this weekend, I
don’t know.”

“Well, the girls can bait a mean hook, so if
you’re squeamish they can probably do it for you.” I smirk,
remembering the days of sitting at the little river by our trailer
and catching fish instead of being at home with my brother’s grabby
friends.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Batty’s voice is noticeably lower when he
asks, “Where are you at right now?”

I breathe deep before answering. “In your
bed. I love your smell, it’s all over this room but stronger
against your sheets. Where are you?” He groans.

“In a shitty hotel room that definitely
doesn’t smell like you,” he complains.

“Aww, poor Finnigan. Do you want me to spray
my perfume on a pillowcase and send it to you?” I ask jokingly.

“Would that make me a total pussy?”

“Are you serious?” I ask in surprise.

“Never mind, it was a joke. I’m fine,” he
grumbles. Aww!

“It’s not if you don’t want it to be. It’s
kind of cute, actually.”

“Really, I’m just fucking horny and seeing
you in my clothes, knowing you’re in my bed is doing things to me.”
I roll my eyes and bite my lip.

“It’s not messing with your head?”

“What do you mean?”

“You aren’t freaking out that I’m all over
your shit?”

“Baby, I wish you were all over my shit right
now,” he growls.

“You are horny. Does your phone not get the
internet? What’s your favorite porn site?”

“I’m thirty fucking one years old. I don’t
look at porn to get off,” he scoffs.

“I don’t think the age for that expires,
Finn,” I tell him.

“Whatever.” He sighs. “I usually just think
about our Sundays, but talking to you every day is messing me up.”
I shiver.

“Where do you jack off when you’re here?”

His voice is incredulous when he asks, “You
really want to know that?” I nod and start breathing faster,
thinking about him getting off to the memories of our time
together.

“Oh yeah,” I breathe.

“Mmm, I love your voice. You could make me
come just by talking, baby. You have no idea.”

“Where,” I demand. I hear him swallow loudly
and take a breath swiftly.

“Sometimes in the shower, sometimes in the
bed,” he says quietly and I think he’s touching himself.

“Which side of the bed?”

“Left.” That’s the side I’ve been sleeping on
because it smells the strongest of his spicy scent.

“What do you use?”

“I— Christ, Sadie. It’s in the nightstand.”
His breathing is picking up and I double check to make sure the
door to the bedroom is closed before reaching for the drawer.
Inside is a pad of paper, a pen, some receipts, and a half-empty
bottle of lube. I smile as I grab it and pop the top. “What are you
doing?” he asks.

I bite my lip as I use what he uses, smear it
across my fingers down to my mound and slip inside. Maybe it’s
totally fucked up to think it’s hot, but shit we’ve been having sex
on Sunday’s only for over five months. Knowing that he wanted me
when he was away has me shaking with need. I gasp.

“I’m using what you use, Batty.” I add
another finger on a moan and close my eyes.

“There’s my girl. You haven’t called me Batty
in forever. Is your pussy all slippery, baby?” His breath hitches
and I imagine him picking up the pace.

“I’m so wet, Batty.”

“You didn’t need the lube, did you?”

“No.”

“But it makes you hot thinking about me
getting off to you doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whimper, moving my fingers faster. I
put the phone in between my cheek and shoulder so that I can use my
other hand to work my clit.

“God, I wish you were coming all over my
dick, Sadie. Only you can squeeze me that tight.”

“Ah!” I squeak as I explode and hear from a
distance that Batty is groaning, doing the same. The line is quiet
except for our panted breathing. I grab tissues from a box on the
table and clean up, then burrow back under the covers and close my
eyes.

“Goodnight, baby,” he says into the
quiet.

“Goodnight, Finnigan,” I mumble. I hear him
sigh before he ends the call and I dream of Sundays.

FRIDAY

We’ve made it an entire week and all three of
us are still alive! I choose to celebrate. Batty’s dad is
recuperating, but still extremely tired and in a lot of pain. Batty
works from his room, or the hotel room, and calls at what feels
like the most inconvenient times possible. Well, except for
bedtime, my bedtime, that is. He actually sent me a dick picture
last night and it had me spiraling out of control in no time.

The kids are enrolled in jazz and archery in
addition to ballet and soccer. After each lesson, we go to the YMCA
where I got a monthly membership and swim until they can’t stand it
anymore. By the time we get home to a magically cooked meal in the
crockpot, everyone is too exhausted and starving to fight.

Today is different, though. Batty’s office
has been calling me to set up an appointment to go over papers in
my lawsuit against my brother and sister for embezzling all of my
money. Because I’m two hours away, I have no choice but to bring
the kids with me. After talking to Batty’s secretary, as well as my
assistant Jacque, they coordinate a flight to Los Angeles that cuts
the commute down to twenty minutes without killing my bank
account.

As soon as I pick the kids up, they notice
their bumblebee and ladybug suitcases in the passenger seat.

“What is that?”

“Are we going somewhere?”

“Where are we going?”

“Are we flying?”

“I bet we’re driving.”

“Nuh uh! We’re gonna fly.” I decide to
interrupt.

“Hey! We’re flying to L.A. Now how was
school?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” I roll my eyes. I sure hope they
teach them something, because I would never know it. At the
airport, the kids want to pull their luggage themselves, so we go
at a snail’s pace and it takes ten minutes to get out to the plane,
but their smiles are contagious, so I decide not to be annoyed.
Things have been getting slowly better between us.

A seemingly easy twenty-minute flight turns
into twenty minutes of pure hell. Apparently, Hannah has sensitive
ears that never pop. Trying to comfort her screaming her head off
and sobbing the whole time has me about to jump out with her just
to get her on the ground again. Eating ice seems to take the pain
from excruciating sobs to big fat silent tears. Too bad we figured
that out in the last five minutes of the trip.

When I stagger down the stairs with her hand
held firmly in mine, I decide we’re driving home. Fuck that. At the
rental car kiosk, I pick up the keys reserved for me and find a
Dodge Charger in the lot. After the booster seats are installed
again, I secure the kids and wipe the hair sticking to Hannah’s
forehead from where she sweated on the flight.

I think we’re both startled when I kiss her
temple, but I quickly shut the door and get in the driver’s seat.
I’m pleasantly surprised at the rumble of the engine after I turn
the key, and how fast it accelerates out of the parking lot. I make
the decision to rent the car for the rest of my stay in Farmville
and that I’m driving back.

I call Jacque on the way to In-N-Out, since I
know the kids will be hungry soon, and I don’t know how long my
meeting will run.

“Natasha from the
Triple Threat
team
keeps calling. They need to set up Fandy’s home auditions and I
guess they have a new idea for the show that they need to add to
your contract. Where are you?” he asks.

“I’m in L.A. for the weekend.”

“And you have the . . .” he trails off.

“Yes,” I say shortly.

“Okay. I’ll see if they can get you in
tonight after your meeting at Brennick Records. I’ll let you
know.”

“Thanks. Later.” A glance in the rearview
mirror, which shows ketchup covered faces, and I pass out more
napkins. At least this is a rental.

When we get to the studio, I guide the girls
into an elevator.

“Is this where you work?” Bridgette asks. I
look at the sign on the back wall with her last name and shake my
head.

“Sometimes. I just have to sign some papers
then we can go. If you two are super good, I’ll take you for ice
cream.” Their eyes light up and they start to bounce in excitement.
I’m relieved that Hannah looks to be feeling better. In reception,
I’m directed straight back to a conference room, since we’re
late.

I get the kids some paper and look around for
something to write with.

“Do you have some crayons or something?” I
ask the lawyer shuffling paper at the other end of the table. She
looks at me blankly until I give up waiting for an answer and she
goes back to shuffling. I find pens on a side table.

“Here. Draw me a pretty picture and we’ll
hang it up on the fridge, okay?”

“What should we draw?” Hannah asks.

“Draw me your favorite animal in the whole
world.”

“Okay,” they respond in unison.

I move down the table and sit across from a
middle-aged woman in a pantsuit that looks as uncomfortable as
hell.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were
bringing children. I would have been better prepared had I known.”
I wave that away.

“It’s fine, but I don’t know how long they’ll
stay still.”

She eyes the kids and turns back to me,
asking hesitantly, “Are they Mr. Brennick’s . . .” My eyes
narrow.

“I can’t say.” She obviously knows that there
are children in the picture, but her curiosity is uncomfortable
since Batty has obviously kept them away from here.

“Right, well. I wanted to let you know how
the case was going against Brian and Patricia Dinah. They are being
wholly unresponsive, not returning calls, and not returning any
documents that are sent to them or their lawyers. We’ve taken
action in regard to the documents, sort of how a subpoena is
verified as delivered. We use an exclusive messenger service that
will hold up in court and have sufficient evidence that they at
least received the documents.”

“Is that normal for a lawyer to turn
information away? I thought they always wanted to know as much as
possible.” The woman nods. I never did get her name.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen this tact in a
case. It only set us back a few weeks, so you don’t need to worry
about that. They’re lack of cooperation, however, is what is
concerning.” She sighs and leans back in her leather rolly chair.
“Should they choose to be difficult, they can drag this out for
years. Have you been in contact with them at all?” I shake my
head.

“No.”

“That’s good. Any he said she said isn’t
going to go in your favor.”

“What do you mean? They stole from me.”

“You have a record of drug abuse, alcohol
addiction, several arrests, a history of violence documented by the
world. They can say anything and hardly anyone would believe you at
this point.”

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget your
past when your present is so overwhelming. I sit back in my leather
chair and look at the girls drawing silently and think about the
damage it would cause Batty if it got out I’m taking care of his
kids. I’m not a person a lot of people want to be associated
with.

I nod my head slightly since she seems to
require some response.

“Alright.” She pushes a stack of papers
toward me. “These are the statements we got from your bank, your
cell phone company that paid for Mr. and Ms. Dinah’s work cell
phones showing incriminating text messages. Since the phones were
in your name, we are able to get the specific messages and not just
times and dates. This helps your case exponentially.”

“Is there any question that they took the
money?” I ask shortly.

She shakes her head. “No, but to get
restitution above the monetary value they stole, we have to prove
malicious intent. It’s not just skimming the books, but wiping you
out. If we prove this, it can mean you getting more than they took
to start, but to do this to a minor is an even bigger offense.”

“Right.” My phone is vibrating in my pocket,
the girls are fidgeting in their seats looking bored and about to
bolt. I can’t blame them. “Is there anything else I need to
do?”

The woman raises her eyebrows in surprise but
shakes her head. “No. I just needed you to sign these and warn you
to have no contact with the Dinahs.”

“The other Dinahs,” I point out.

“What?”

“I’m a Dinah, too.”

“Oh, of course.”

I sigh and stand. “Come on, minions.”

“Oh my gosh, is this your house?”

“You live by the beach?”

“Can we stay here forever?”

“Can I hang up my picture on your
refrigerator instead of the one at home?” I put my purse on the
island of my house in Malibu to the tune of the inquisition.

“Sure, we can hang your pictures up here if
you want. Let me see what you drew.” Bridgette hands me a piece of
paper with a rectangle on stilts. “Wow, this looks great. What is
it?”

“It’s a horse because I just love horses.
They eat apples and carrots, and run as fast as the wind, and their
hair is so soft. I want to braid it and ride them forever and ever
and ever,” she says all in one breath. I blink at her.

“You like horses, huh?”

“Only more than anything else in the entire
world. More than Barbies and puppies and Dora.”

“That’s a lot. So why am I taking you to jazz
and gymnastics instead of riding?” I ask her.

Her face immediately scrunches up. “Uncle
Finn hates horses. He said they should be glue and he would never
own one, so we can’t have any.” Hold the cheese. Uncle?

“Hmm.” I’m distracted by the warring emotions
running through my head. I’m relieved that he hadn’t been keeping
his children a secret, though he is obviously a big part of their
life. I’m relieved that though he barely sees the kids, it seems
like that they aren’t his kids to raise. I’m also weirdly
disappointed that they aren’t a part of him.