Page 8 of The Moment He Couldn’t Walk Away

“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.