Marshall's Park, The Complete Series . 01-2014 Page 30

  When they reached him, Finn bent down to kiss Kaylee on the cheek, and then she kissed Aiden before running to sit with Finn’s mother on one side and Patti on the other. Finn took Aiden’s hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the knuckles tenderly. He wanted to tell Aiden how beautiful he looked, but didn’t know if he was allowed to speak before the ceremony started. Fuck it! Finn leaned in and pressed his lips to the shell of Aiden’s ear, then murmured softly, “You look amazing.”

  Aiden smiled and turned his head to reply, his breath warm on Finn’s lobe, “Bob! Stop that!”

  Finn pulled back, confused. Who’s Bob?

  Aiden looked down at Finn’s feet and shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “Bob! Stop it. You can’t pee there!”

  Finn blinked a few times and tried to focus. Which proved difficult as it was pitch black and he appeared to be sitting on damp sand. What the fu—? Where was the gazebo? Where was Aiden? And, more importantly, where were his pants? “Hey!” he said indignantly, swatting at the Yorkie peeing on his sneaker.

  “What do you expect if you sleep on the beach?” replied Bob’s owner, equally indignant. “Get a job, ya bum!” He tugged on Bob’s lead and strode away, pausing to toss over his shoulder, “And for God’s sake find some pants!”

  Finn pushed his hair from his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. He was obviously on the beach—that much he’d figured out with his amazing powers of deduction, and the sand in his ass—but which beach, he had no idea. He gasped as a sudden thought skittered across the surface of his mind, and his hands flew to his dick. His chin dropped onto his chest, and the breath he’d been holding hissed through his teeth. Although he was sans pants, at least his modesty was intact—for now anyway.

  Finn swallowed against the dryness of his mouth and grimaced as he tasted the acidic remnants of his last tequila shot in the back of his throat. His stomach rolled unpleasantly. Jesus, did I drink the entire bar? He struggled to his feet, gritting his teeth as he realized sand had worked its way into places where you definitely didn’t want it. Thankfully it was a mild night, but the sand was damp and cold on his bare legs. “I’m gonna frickin’ kill ‘em,” he mumbled beneath his breath. “Just before Aiden kills me.”

  The evening had started off great. Finn’s friends and family had flown in for the wedding tomorrow, and AJ and Chris had wanted to take him out for a few beers on his last night of freedom. The fact that the two of them were the masterminds of the evening’s activities should have been reason enough to stay home—but no. Off he went with a spring in his step amidst promises of no strip joints, no spiked drinks and definitely no pranks. Fuckin’ idiot! Now Aiden was going to hand him his balls, still in their bag—and his mother—he shuddered. The thought of what his mother would do to him just didn’t bear thinking about.

  “I don’t suppose you left me a phone, AJ?” Finn said out loud. He scoured the ground where he’d been left, and tried to ignore the sarcasm of his inner voice when he came up empty.

  He left you pant-less, man. Do you seriously think the doofus left you a phone?

  Finn growled in frustration. “He is so dead.” He ran his hands through his hair. First things first. Where the fuck am I? They’d hit a couple of bars first, then he remembered they stood in line to get into a club. There was dancing and more drinking, of that he was certain. But after that things were a little fuzzy. Finn frowned, hoping the movement would suddenly have memories shooting to the fore—without success. He couldn’t remember leaving the club, and he had absolutely no clue where he was now. Although he had an idea that AJ and Chris were discussing how fucking hilarious they were right about now, over a joint and a six-pack.

  Finn heaved a sigh and pressed a hand to his stomach, which threatened to evacuate its contents. He took a couple of deep breaths and, when his insides had stopped crashing into each other, he tried to take his bearings. He needed to get to the road. Then he might be able to figure out where he was. Or at least hail a cab.

  You have no pants!

  “I know that!” Finn grumbled aloud, his voice echoing in the stillness around him. His subconscious was beginning to be a bigger pain in the ass than usual. “But I’m getting married at eleven-thirty, so unless you have a better idea, just shut the fuck up—I’m thinking!”

  Finn trudged across the sand, which wasn’t easy when he seemed to take two steps forward and then two to the side. He had a feeling he may still be a little inebriated. Finn took a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest as the cool ocean breeze lifted his shirt. He could do this. He’d been walking since… well… forever. Even if he couldn’t manage it in a straight line right now—but he could do it. He had to get back to Aiden.

  As he walked—in the manner of a very large hermit crab—he plotted Chris and AJ’s demise. How could he do it without his mother knowing it was him? She may object to number two son killing number one, but she’d get over it. It’s not like he was going to kill Ben. A smug smile curved his lips—his mother. He didn’t need to kill anyone. His mother would do it for him. Of course. Finn’s grin widened and a sense of satisfaction uncurled in his belly. When he told his mother on AJ, he’d be laughing on the other side of his face and, at the very least, grounded for the rest of his life. Knowing Molly Thomas as he did, no amount of pleading about him being a grown man would make any difference to AJ’s sentence. As for Chris, he’d set Patti on him.

  Finn grunted to himself as he strode along. Although the night was mild enough, the cool breeze raised goosebumps on his legs. Something rustled in the shadows and he quickened his stride. The last thing he was in the mood for was to be carried off by rabid seagulls. Can seagulls get rabies? Would they be able to pick me up? He shook the thought away. Nah, it’d take like a gazillion of ‘em. He paused mid-step and looked around him. But… what if every seagull in America… in the world… is circling me right now? Finn stared up at the night sky, open-mouthed. What if they’re waiting for a signal to divebo—?

  Focus, asshat!

  Finn blinked owlishly at the shout from the little Finn who lived in his head and instructed his feet to move, one in front of the other. After a few moments of concentrated effort didn’t get him anywhere, he gave up and let his feet do what they wanted. He was moving, that was the important thing. And he appeared to be moving away from the sea—which was even better.

  The twinkling lights in the distance seemed to mock him, and he was sure he heard them call his name once or twice—although that may have been the tequila—but Finn trudged on. He did his best to avoid the homeless who were bedding down for the night, hoping they wouldn’t take a liking to any of his remaining items of clothing. He really couldn’t afford to lose anymore.

  He had no idea how long he’d been walking. It could’ve been minutes. It could’ve been hours. But when he rounded the bend and saw the fully lit windows of a restaurant, his heart soared. Then his stomach rolled and his hand flew to his mouth. Finn scrambled up the sand to lean against some rocks just in time to empty the night’s alcoholic consumption onto the sand.

  “Dude! That’s my bedroom!”

  “I am so—” Finn would have apologized immediately, but he wasn’t finished making his call on the metaphorical porcelain telephone, and he continued to heave until there was nothing left. When he was sure he was done, Finn wiped a shaking sleeve over his mouth, straightened, then turned to face the owner of the ‘bedroom’ he’d just christened. His stomach rolled again, but it wasn’t due to nausea this time.

  The man staring up at him from the rock he sat against, sheltering from the breeze blowing off the sea, looked more suited to a hairy biker bar than Las Tunas. He wore jeans, T-shirt and a heavy overcoat—all covered in substances Finn did not want to think about. A woolen beanie was pulled down low on his forehead and all Finn could see were dark eyes peeking out from beneath heavy black eyebrows. He couldn’t really see much of the rest of his face, due to the darkness and the fact that it was covered by the b
iggest beard and moustache outside of ZZ Top he’d ever seen.

  “You look like shit,” the man said solemnly.

  “Thanks,” Finn replied, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about,” he waved a hand in the general vicinity of the ‘bedroom’, “you know.”

  “Shit happens.” The man shrugged and nodded to a nearby rock. “Sit down before you fall down.” Finn did as he was bid and sat uncomfortably under the weight of the man’s gaze for a few minutes. “I’m Jeb.” He held out a dirty hand, half covered by fingerless gloves.

  Finn considered if he’d tossed his cookies where the guy was supposed to sleep, the least he could do was shake his hand, which he did. “Finn.”

  “Nice to meet you, Finn,” Jeb said. “This may be a stupid question, but you do realize you’re not wearing any pants?”

  “Yeah,” Finn huffed out a joyless laugh, swallowing against the taste of bile. “I had noticed.”

  “College hazing?”

  Finn shook his head. “Nope. Getting married tomorrow.”

  “Ah,” Jeb nodded succinctly. “Bachelor party prank. I confess to having participated in a few of those in my time. Best friend?”

  “And brother. Who used to be my best man.”

  “Really?” Jeb raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a prank.”

  “He left me in the middle of nowhere without pants,” Finn glared at him. “Please don’t defend him.”

  “You’ll feel differently in the mornin’.” Jeb waved a hand toward the restaurant. “And it’s not exactly the middle of nowhere. Where do you live?”

  “North of Montana.”

  “Nice,” Jeb smiled, showing a row of less than pearly whites. “Good neighborhood, good schools. Lived there for about four years myself, once-upon-a-time.”

  Before Finn could stop himself, he let his gaze wander over the man in front of him. “You did?” The words were out of his mouth before he could swallow them down.

  Luckily, Jeb didn’t seem to take offence and he chuckled softly. “Yes, I did. You don’t get born into this life you know. A couple of missing paychecks and it could be you—believe me.” He held out a bottle of water to Finn and motioned for him to take it. “Don’t worry, it ain’t been opened yet. Bought it today. You got a ways to travel yet.”

  “That’s Gladstones up on the ridge, right?” Finn asked, unscrewing the cap and swilling the first chug around his mouth before spitting it out onto the sand. After he’d cleared his tongue of the vile taste of vomit, he drank half the bottle. Moaning as the cool water hit the back of his throat.

  “Yeah,” Jeb replied. “So you’re about six miles from home.”

  Finn sighed heavily. Six miles? He couldn’t walk for six minutes in this state. “Maybe I can get the restaurant to let me use their phone. Then I can call home and get a ride.”

  “They probably would if they were open,” Jeb said on a yawn. “It’s nearly two am. The lights are only on because the cleaners are finishing up.”

  “Dammit!” Finn’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “But there is a pay phone in the parking lot.” Jeb held out his hand. “Here, take this.”

  Finn stared at the change in Jeb’s palm. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Dude, your needs are greater than mine right now. Just take the money and get yourself home.” Jeb’s smile was warm, but his tone brooked no argument.

  Finn took the coins and nodded. “Thank you,” he said firmly. “I’ll get it back to you, I promise.”

  “No worries.” Jeb pulled his beanie further down on his forehead. “Now get out of here. I gotta find a new place to sleep.”

  Finn smiled and pushed himself to his feet. He gave a mock-salute and headed toward the beckoning lights of the restaurant. He was still a little uncoordinated, but at least he appeared to be able to manage what slightly resembled a straight line now. Hopefully he was sobering up a little. He climbed the steps to the restaurant and peered through the window. There was no one inside, so he made his way around the building to the parking lot, his gaze searching for the pay-phone. He spotted it in the corner and instructed his feet to carry him across the asphalt—whether they liked it or not.

  Finn picked up the receiver and banged it against his forehead until his tequila soaked brain came up with Aiden’s cell. He punched in the numbers and then fed the coins into the slot, and then watched them all fall into the returns chamber. “Aww, come on,” he grumbled, repeating the action. “Don’t do this to me, you piece of shit.” Finn shoved the coins in for a third time. “I’m cold, I’m tired and I’m getting married in the mornin’. Take my fuckin’ money, damn you!”

  Half a dozen tries later, Finn began to seethe, his blood rushing in his ears as he became more and more agitated. He was about to give the pay-phone one more go before he tore it off the wall, when movement caught the corner of his eye. Finn gasped in delight. A woman was locking the entrance to the restaurant. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Finn dropped the receiver and trotted toward her. “Miss, excuse me, Miss!” He called out to her to give her fair warning he was there, he didn’t want to scare the poor woman half to death. If, of course, Finn had been wearing suitable attire and didn’t look as though he’d been put through a mangle, she may have stopped, smiled and waited for him to catch up to her—but he wasn’t and she didn’t. “No, no, please wait,” Finn picked up his speed as the woman scrambled in her purse and yelled something in Russian as she activated the central locking on her car.

  On his ass in the parking lot a few minutes later, Finn watched the tail lights of the woman’s car disappear into the night. What he could see of them, that is. Thinking about it now, his mistake was grabbing her by the shoulder as she tried to get into the car. He sighed heavily and rubbed his fingers into his stinging eyes. What had he thought she was going to do when she saw a pant-less, vomit-splattered, wild-haired drunk come running toward her in the middle of the night? Kiss his boo-boos and give him some Tylenol before driving him home? Not quite. If he’d been in her shoes he’d have done exactly the same thing she did. Sprayed him with whatever the hell it was she’d sprayed him with, throw herself behind the wheel and speed out of there like her ass was on fire.

  Finn grabbed the hem of his shirt and rubbed it across his eyes, blinking against the sting. What the hell did she spray me with? He could still see, sort of. And wasn’t curled in the fetal position, so he didn’t think it was pepper spray. Finn brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed gingerly. “You have got to be joking,” he mumbled. “She ‘Chanel’d’ me?” He scrambled to his feet. “Perfect, just fucking perfect.”

  As he gazed around the parking lot, Finn sighed heavily. Only one plan of action remained open to him. But who the hell was going to pick up a sand-covered, half-drunk, crazy person with no pants? He closed his eyes in defeat. I’m walking home, aren’t I. It wasn’t a question. Finn heaved another sigh. One that reminded him of the petulant sighs Kaylee had perfected so well. Not that he cared, because right then that’s exactly how he felt, like a petulant five year old. He didn’t really have any choice. The only option was to walk along the highway and hope to God he could flag down a cab, or someone would take pity on him. He wiped at his eyes again, eternally grateful it hadn’t been pepper spray—even if he did smell like the perfume counter at Bloomingdales—and headed in the direction of the highway.

  Finn stifled another yawn. He’d been walking for what felt like forever, but was probably only about forty minutes when he saw the approach of the fourth set of headlights. The first two had increased their speed as he waved them down and the third set, a car full of girls obviously on the way home from some club or something, slowed down enough to issue catcalls that made him blush, before driving off. He stopped and stuck out his thumb, mentally crossing his fingers. The car slowed, but he wasn’t home free yet—they could still drive by.

  “Come on,” Finn mumbled aloud. “Please. You know you want to. I’m a
nice guy, honest.”

  The car pulled up onto the shoulder and the window descended into its housing with a whirr. “What on earth are you doing out here with no strides on, son?” The British accent belonged to a man who looked to be in his sixties, although Finn couldn’t be sure as he was still looking through a mist of Chanel. Finn squinted into the car. Beside the man sat a woman, who Finn assumed was his wife, an amused smile on her face.

  “I’m sorry?” Finn asked. “Strides?”

  “Trousers, boy,” the man turned to his wife. “What do they call ‘em out here, Shirl?”

  “Pants, Bern.”

  “That’s right, that’s right.” Bern turned back to stare at Finn through the window. “Pants, son. Where are your pants? It’s brass monkeys out here.”

  Finn blinked owlishly, completely bemused. Strides and brass monkeys? He was lost. But the no pants thing he understood. “Um… my friends thought it would be funny to steal my pants and leave me on the beach.”

  “Not as funny for you as it is for them,” Bern said solemnly.

  “Not so much,” Finn replied, shaking his head.

  “Well, you’d better hop in the back then, hadn’t you, son?” Bern said with a wide grin. “It’s too bloody cold out here.”

  “Really?” The relief was almost overwhelming. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I thought I was go—”

  “Could you do your suckin’ up after you get in the car?” Bern asked, his tone still nothing but friendly. “It’ll be warmer for all of us.”

  “Yes, God, I’m sorry, of course.” Finn mentally slapped a hand over his mouth and all but dived into the back of the saloon, half-leaning out again to close the door behind him. “Again, thank you so much,” Finn gushed as Bern pulled back onto the highway.