Sucker Punch

Chapter Six

Finn

I should tell Galeria about Jay. I should tell Ivy. I should tell someone.

These thoughts have crossed my mind more than once, but it's always been easy to shove them away. It's not your problem, so don't go starting shit that has nothing to do with you.

But after my conversation with Ivy, my excuses seem to fall short and the more I try to justify not confessing Jay's infidelities, the more tangled the threads of my thoughts become.

Shouldn't someone hold Jay accountable for his actions?

For fuck's sake, Finn. You are not the Morality Police.

But how can I be a bystander to such a toxic relationship?

My father would be disappointed in me.

Ivy would be disappointed in me.

I rattle this thought inside my head for a moment. Ivy would be disappointed in me.

I'm about to step into the stairway of my apartment building when I double back and decide to tell Ivy that Jay's cheating on Galeria.

It's the middle of night, she's probably already asleep.

I pivot and head back to my place.

I dropped her off ten minutes ago, she might still be awake.

I'm standing on the sidewalk, halfway between my place and hers trying to decide what to do. I don't really owe this girl anything, but that's not an excuse to act like a dick. And am I really any better than Jay if I keep my mouth shut? My father ingrained "the Golden Rule" into us, and if I were Galeria, I'd want to know.

My father. He'd tell the truth, so I will too.

A crisp breeze pierces through my shirt, raising goosebumps on my skin. I won't tell her tonight. For now, I'll go home, with my dad and brothers, where it's warm.

It didn't matter if the furnace was busted and the frigid winters threatened to shatter our bones. Home is always warm.

I step into the kitchen of our one-story brick house and take in the scene of Sunday breakfast. I woke up at seven this morning and drove two hours to make sure I made it on time.

Every Sunday, my dad, brothers, and I wake up early to make breakfast. I think dad started this tradition right around the time my mom left us, and we never missed any Sundays until I went away to school.

"What the hell are you doing here," my father says when he finally notices me standing in the kitchen. Despite the gruffness of voice, he grabs me for bear hug.

"It's been a while since I visited, thought I'd surprise you for the day," I say and pull Declan and Liam under my arms and greet them by noogie.

"You're right on time," Liam places a stack of pancakes on the table, "we're trying lemon poppy-seed pancakes this week.

"And chocolate covered bacon," Declan adds. I widen my eyes and look at my dad.

He shrugs, "Who am I to deny my children their artistic freedom."

The four of us are sitting at the table, devouring the chocolate covered bacon, and it feels like I never left. Declan and Liam are planning the menu for next week, "Fall's coming up so we have to do some pumpkin spice shit," Liam says.

"Hey! Watch your mouth," Dad hollers.

"Don't be so basic. Let's try something with apple spice," Declan retorts.