Spin

Twenty-Nine

[RORY]

I sat alone at the kitchen table, still bundled as if I was going somewhere. My only company was the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the dining room – mocking the situation with the constant reminder of passing time.

Finn's family had been patient but I understood Arthur's frustration when he eventually gave up, giving me the option to join them at Oli's school's Christmas event or stay home. I'd opted for the latter, plagued by a building concoction of concern and anger.

When Finn had finally thought to call me from Ace's phone to let me know his own had died, my worries dissipated, replaced by another emotion. Based on my tone alone, I presumed he knew what he was coming home to.

I heard the keys in the front door, staring blankly at the back of the white wood. It swung open and I didn't feel the usual sense of relief upon seeing him, overcome with deja vu as a string of apologies spewed from his stupidly perfect lips.

"I'm so sorry, Rory," he huffed out, shutting the door and tossing his backpack on the ground. He paced down the hallway towards me with a sheepish gaze, glancing around the kitchen as if needing to confirm we were alone before continuing. "Roads were a bloody nightmare."

"Your dad is going to go orbital if you blame traffic for missing this."

"We won't miss it," he muttered under his breath, lacking any sort of confidence. He pulled his phone out of his coat pocket, silently doing the math. "We can make it if we leave right now."

I responded carefully, making no move to leave – knowing the effort would be futile. We were already over an hour late.

"You promised–"

"I know. I know," he dejectedly sighed, his hand habitually knotting into his hair like it always did when he was stressed. "You know Dylan had to pull a million strings to get us studio time with Francois. Today's his last day here before heading back to France for Christmas and I just got stuck, phone died and I didn't realize. I really am sorry."

Though I wasn't pleased, I was the least of Finn's worries. He spoke again, needing my reassurance.

"It's only been 45 minutes, we can make it."

"It's been over an hour," I corrected. "Closer to an hour and half."

"No way, we said–"

"It doesn't matter, Finn," I huffed, unable to argue about something so trivial. "Every single night has been like this, every one."

I didn't mean to sound so defeated, my own selfish feelings sneaking out of me. His entire demeanor shifted as he came closer, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down.

"I know this isn't the trip we'd planned but I'm trying so hard, Rory. You have to believe me, I'm trying so hard to balance all of this."

Though I was still upset, the sincerity in his eyes didn't go unnoticed. I chewed on my cheek as he hesitantly placed his hand on my knee, rubbing it.

"I swear to you, I can see the finish line."

I had to consciously fight the urge to roll my eyes.

"I have heard that same sentence about a million and one times the past few months," I gently responded, meeting his gaze. My tone softened even more, his eyes so bloodshot. "Something has to give, Finn."

"I know. The pressure is just consuming me, Rory. You've no idea. I can barely sleep. But we made good progress this week, I think. The label seems happy with some of the new stuff. Think we've finally broken the surface and can take a breather until the new year."