A.N.: Please review!
Rose Amongst Thorns
Chapter Eighteen
Contrition
Singing along to Def Leppard, her foot jigging uncontrollably, Rose uncapped her favourite Montblanc nib pen, smoothed her notebook, and started writing. She had decided to work on her Helena-Hermia comparison essay after all, energised by her music. Hard rock always put her in a productive mood. Tom Jones music, too, but that was just random. She grabbed her A Midsummer Night's Dream book from her bookcase and flipped through the pages for her earmarks, where she had marked her favourite passages and highlighted her favourite quotes, and used mini Post-Its to mark passages that showed different themes. She figured if it was immoral to hand in essays she'd already received A's on, using the notes and quotes wasn't.
As 'Two Steps Behind' came on, there was a soft knock on the door, and she glanced away from her essay, which she had written in stream-of-conscience, to edit later. Finn stood in the doorway, shoulders hunched, hands in his jeans pockets, looking the very picture of a naughty boy who'd received a sharp spanking. She stilled, and licked her lips nervously.
"Hey," she said quietly. His mouth twitched.
"Hey," he replied, toeing the line separating her soft carpet from the natural wood floor of the hallway.
"Do you…want to come in?" Rose asked quietly. Finn glanced up at her and shrugged awkwardly, came into her room, closed the door, and quietly locked it before walking over to her desk. He perched against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. Rose glanced up at him, flushing nervously. She capped and uncapped her pen out of nervous habit, and her foot wouldn't stop jigging.
"Okay, so…I guess we both know I owe you an apology," Finn said quietly, sighing. He caught her eye, and she saw the depth of regret in his eyes. "Rose, I'm really sorry that I was so selfish and insensitive this afternoon." Her heart ached, and she glanced up at him. He reached out and tenderly touched one fingertip to her cheek. "Did I hurt your feelings real bad?" She shifted one shoulder, and Finn sank to a squat, one knee resting on the floor, looking up at her. Those grey-blue eyes were burning with intensity. That one fingertip trailed to her lips and he licked his own when he ran his fingertip across her lower-lip.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, earnestly. "I…realised after you left that you've done a lot of stuff around here that no one's properly thanked you for, like cleaning the bathroom, and picking up Caleb from a game—stuff you don't have to do, and you've done it all without complaining once about the way we've all been treating you." Rose shifted her shoulders, flushing.
She just wasn't the type of person to complain. Her dad used to say she was dynamite with a really long fuse; it took a long time for things to build up and make her explode. She got that from her mother; when her mom got upset, before Lucia died, she used to hide in her closet next to her designer shoes with a bottle of champagne and talk on the phone to her sister in Manhattan; she used to be highly emotional and prone to overreacting. Rose's dad was the opposite; he was where she got the slow-fuse from. He was very mellow, but deathly sweet. Rose got her dad's mellow temper, but when something upset her enough, she could pull one over even her mother's crying fits.
"I've only been here less than two weeks; your mom's been doing this nearly twenty years; imagine how she feels," Rose mumbled.
"Sorely underappreciated, I'd guess," Finn said sadly. He reached out and took her hand in his, sighing softly.
"You cleaned up the kitchen," she said quietly. Finn glanced up at her and smiled softly.
"You're a real Southern woman when you're angry," he said, his eyes roving covetously over her face, and then he grinned. "Frightened everyone half to good-manners. Who'd have thought a five-foot-five little blonde could put football and hockey players in line!"
"I get that from my grandma," Rose blushed hotly. "She was a real Southern debutante, like Scarlett O'Hara."
"I could see that in you," Finn chuckled, and his eyes glittered. "Your accent gets thicker when you're angry. I like it."
"You do?" Rose asked timidly. Sometimes her Manhattan-bred mother claimed she sounded like a Southern hick when she was angry. Rose called her a Yank in return, so it didn't matter so much what her mom thought of her accent.
"Mm-hmm," Finn said, nodding, and drawing closer, so they were almost nose to nose. "And I'll show you how much, too!" With the softest, most delicious pressure, Finn pressed his lips against hers. Her insides exploded at the sensation of kissing him again, the heady scent of warm laundry and tangy paint, and a tiny hint of cologne and candle-smoke; he tasted of Hot Tamales candy and 'Cool Blue' Gatorade, and he made her feel like she never had before, like she had at once run three marathons in a row and as if she had spent hours lying on a tropical beach, completely and utterly relaxed and so hot she might melt out of her own skin at the same time. Tingles swept up and down her body in great waves and she shivered as the sensation reached the most sensitive parts of her body and flushed her with heat. Never had kissing anyone else felt like this.
Unwillingly, it seemed, Finn broke away from her, licking his lips subtly. His eyes were on fire.
"You've had a Jim's Diner chocolate-chip milkshake!" he accused, gasping. Rose blushed and smiled coyly. "I can't believe I missed out on Jim's!"
"Well, it was your own fault," Rose reminded him. He sighed heavily, pouting.
"True. We'll have to go there for lunch one day," Finn said, and his eyes sparkling. Was he…asking her out on a date? Her chest tightened hopefully.
"I'd like that," she admitted, flicking her eyes over his. "If—if you're gonna kiss me like that every time I get mad and yell, maybe I should do it more often," Rose half-whispered, breathless and flushed with heat and those strange tingles that screamed in protest when Finn stopped touching her. He smiled, and the tingles buzzed with delight.
"I'll say," Finn managed to say, sounding as breathless as she felt.
A soft knock on the door, and someone trying to turn the handle, made Finn spring away from Rose so fast he actually fell flat on his back tripping over his own feet. Rose couldn't help blurting a laugh, even as Finn scrabbled off the floor, wiping his mouth with his t-shirt; Rose wiped her lips, sure anyone could see them throbbing, and Finn unlocked the door.
"Hi Dad," he said.
"Hey buddy," John said, when Rose glanced up. "What're you doing in Rose's room?"
"Hm? Oh, just… I was apologising," Finn said honestly. He caught Rose's eye and smiled. "And I was just gonna start begging her to help me with my French grammar homework." Rose raised her eyebrows. He was? Well, she was the best in the class…which was why Monsieur Gilliard hated her so much.
"Glad to hear it," John said, flicking his eyes over Rose's bedroom, landing on the Vault CD. "I thought I heard Def Leppard up here. I didn't realise it was your music, Rose."
"Dad's stuck in the Eighties," Finn said flatly, glancing at Rose. She laughed.
"What! It wasn't a bad place to be! I was still in college—I'd just met your mom—and I didn't have seven little moochers sucking my bank account dry," John replied flatly, and Rose smiled when he caught her eye and winked. "D'you mind if I come in?"
"Sure," Rose smiled. She and John hadn't really talked—not like she and Regina talked, almost every night. He was definitely a man's man, perfect for the head of a huge family of boys.
"I'm gonna…be back in a sec," Finn said, sensing some kind of purpose in John's visit to Rose's room. He closed the door on them, and Rose glanced at John, nervous. Could he tell that the air crackled between her and his third-born son?
John took the stack of CDs by her stereo and sat down on the bench at the foot of her bed, going through them.
"Whitesnake, AC/DC, Aerosmith—Deep Purple! I didn't know you liked this kind of music," John chuckled.
"Dad used to play it all the time when I was growing up," Rose shrugged, smiling.
"I'll bet," John chuckled. "I remember your favourite song when you were five was 'Black Night' by Deep Purple. Very weird for a little girl."
"I don't remember that," Rose smiled. John laughed.
"You even had your own little rock-star leather jacket," he grinned. "I think it might've belonged to Sean originally." Rose laughed, flushing. She couldn't imagine Sean handing down something as precious to a biker as his leather jacket. John tutted softly and put the CDs back, and paused when he caught sight of a photograph of Rose with her parents before her sophomore homecoming-dance, when she had been crowned Princess on the Homecoming Court.
"I am gonna miss your dad," John said, and he sounded kind of choked up. Rose looked down at her notebook, the feeling Finn gave her leaving her body quickly as sorrow laced every cell of her body. "He was the one, you know, who got me into rock music."
"I can believe that," Rose smiled. John chuckled.
"Yup. We went to every single concert in college together. Aerosmith, AC/DC, Mötley Crüe, Guns N' Roses, Whitesnake—we even had our own sets of spandex," John laughed, and Rose wrinkled her nose in amusement.
"I can't—and don't really want to—imagine my dad in spandex," she laughed softly. John laughed too.
"It was only for very special occasions," John said. "We'd get our hair permed specially for concerts, too." Rose burst out laughing.
"You had a perm?" she asked incredulously.
"Well, no, I had a mullet," John said, shaking his head at the ghosts of haircuts past. "Your dad, he had permed hair. It was bigger than Regina's was back in the Eighties. Her and your mom had huge hair back then." Rose laughed, and John's eyes lit up. "Actually, I think Regina and I still have a ton of pictures from college." He glanced at her. "I'll try and find 'em, if you want." Rose smiled, liking the idea of seeing what her parents had looked like in college.
"I'd like that," Rose smiled. "How did you and my daddy first meet?"
"The first day I met him?" John repeated, and then laughed, shaking his head. "He was on a date with Regina," John said, and Rose glanced up, shocked. He laughed. "Your dad never told you about that?"
"No, he didn't."
"It was right at the start of our freshman year at college," John grinned. "He and Regina were on their first date, and she ended up coming home with me."
"I take it the date didn't go so well," Rose smirked.
"No," John laughed. "And the next time I saw your dad, he gave me a fat lip."
"So how come you got to be such great friends?" Rose asked. John's smile was soft and reminiscent.
"I dragged Regina and your mom to a party," he said, his smile widening till it was a grin. "Your dad was there, I introduced him to Lil, and all was forgiven. And here we are. Regina and me, and your parents—we've all been married twenty-five years." Rose smiled, and shook her head. That sounded like her dad. Her smile saddened, and hope and something else blossomed in her chest, the same feeling Finn gave her when he kissed her, and looked at her that way, the way Pearl said he looked at her, like she was the only girl in the universe.
"I want something like that," she said softly, and it was true. She didn't care about college or a career. She had always thought she had been born in the wrong century; she should have been married off at sixteen to someone who loved her unrestrainedly and had ten children. All she wanted out of life was people who loved her without boundaries.
John sighed. "And now here comes the reason for me being in your room."
"What's that?" Rose asked, flushing slightly.
"Well, Regina told me you're going to your first Baker High dance tomorrow, and there's rumours that Christian Todd's having his annual rager," John said. "And Regina wanted me to have a talk with you. I told her your dad had probably already taken care of that, but you know Regina enough to know you don't waste time arguing and you just do what she says; it's a lot easier."
Rose tried not to smirk. It seemed like only John was under that curse. Their sons certainly had no trouble going against her word or just ignoring it altogether.
"So…How's your guy situation going?" John asked.
"My guy situation?" Rose asked.
"You know…crushes, dates…that sorta thing," John said, and Rose actually thought she detected a blush. She shrugged. I KISSED FINN! Was she caught?
"Good," she said.
"I take it by that limited response, you don't really think it's any of my business," John said astutely. Rose blushed. John just smiled.
"Alright, listen up," John said heavily, sighing. "Dads are supposed to give you some fatherly and wise advice at this time in your life." Rose flushed. Oh no. The Talk again. Her parents had never really sat her down and given her the Birds and Bees talk; they figured, with a male best-friend, she'd pretty much figure out a lot of stuff on her own before they even realised there might be a possibility she'd need the Talk. They'd been right. And with a six-foot-eight best-friend who rode a Harley, her dad hadn't thought it very pressing that she receive warnings from him about the male species; he had figured Pogue knew all the guys at their school and would know who was worthy of her, and knew if someone hurt Rose, her dad would have to get in line behind Pogue with a baseball bat because he'd get to the guy first, and there wouldn't be that much left for him to work with after Pogue got through with him.
"Listen up," John sighed, frowning. Then he fixed her with a sharp look. "If you're wondering if a boy is thinking about you, he's not. He's thinking about sex, or he's hungry; those are the only two options." Rose couldn't help it; she laughed. John rolled his eyes and hid a grin.
"Are you trying to be funny?" Rose asked, smiling. John grinned.
"Hang on—I'm not finished," he said seriously, but there was a playful glint in his eyes not unlike the one Finn and Caleb and even Miller got sometimes. "Just listen to me—boys think about sex every single minute of the day. That's what they do—that is why they lie. They're gonna leave you waiting around for them to call and they won't call. They're gonna be cruel and they're gonna be misleading. And Regina wanted me to add this, that, by and large, popular high school athletes are the worst culprits for this behaviour, however, I think it pretty much crosses all the lines."
Rose smiled at him, but beneath the smile she was thinking. John and Regina hadn't just opened their home to her. They had really taken to heart that their best-friends had left the last treasure they had in the world to them, to take care of, to watch out for, to love and to protect. Regina was worried she would be taken advantage of at a party, and John had come to her to warn her about high-school boys and how they treated girls. Her chest suddenly ached, and she really wanted her own daddy to be giving her these warnings, and looking at her like John was doing, as if she was some fragile, priceless gift that he never really wanted to let out of his sight. Rose knew John and Regina were her godparents, but up until this moment she had never known the true extent of their affection and love for her. She had always received a birthday card and present from them, no matter where in the world they were living; they had opened their home to her for months at a time when she was little, had hugged and kissed her better when she hurt herself or the boys bullied her or excluded her from games…
"How long have you been thinking about what to say to me?" Rose asked quietly, a tiny smile niggling at the corners of her lips.
"All week," John exhaled, and then chuckled. He fixed her with another of those looks again, the one that told her he was aware that she was someone else's most priceless treasure entrusted to him to protect, and the smile slowly slid of his face. "I just wanna add this one last thing, too." He sighed and exhaled. "You are beautiful, you are sweet, and you are very sensitive, and I don't wanna see you get hurt." Heat choked her throat and burned her eyes, but Rose managed a smile.
She blinked tears away. She had always loved John and Regina. They were like a second set of parents to her—parents who let her eat as many cookies as she wanted and as much soda as she wanted and stay up as long as she wanted and watch whatever she wanted on TV. John's smile was warm and soft, and he sighed and went to his feet, brushing his hands on his thighs the same way Finn did.
"Well…I think this has been sufficiently embarrassing enough for both of us, don't you think?" he asked, and Rose smiled.
"Daddy would have appreciated the sacrifice," Rose said quietly, and John nodded, smiling sadly.
"He would… Well, I'll let you get back to your homework," John said, smiling. "What're you working on?"
"Oh. An essay for English—A Midsummer Night's Dream," Rose said, glancing at her notebook.
"Ah; 'I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile. When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile, neighing in likeness of a filly foal. Sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl, in very likeness of a roasted crab. And when she drinks, against her lips I bob, and on her withered dewlaps pours the ale,'" John said, and then grinned. "That was my favourite play. I was a Shakespearean Literature major at college."
"I didn't know you could major in Shakespearean Literature," Rose said, interest flaring. She loved Shakespeare.
"Oh, yeah," John grinned. "Well, I'll let you get back to it." He had almost reached the door when Rose made herself speak.
"John?" He paused, and glanced over his shoulder at her. She licked her lips nervously and flushed. "Thanks. For the talk, I mean."
"Yeah," John smiled, and he closed the door softly behind him.
Five minutes later, another knock on the door came and Finn re-entered the room, carrying his French grammar workbook, a notebook, and a pencil and eraser.
"You weren't kidding," Rose said, when he put his things down and came to grovel on his knees before her.
"I never joke about flunking out the year," Finn said, fluttering his eyelashes up at her. "Please help me."
"Alright," Rose sighed, smiling. She grabbed her notebook and pen and sat down on her bed, where there was room enough for both her and Finn, patting the comforter beside her. He kicked off his boots and clambered onto the bed beside her, and caught her eye. His smile was slow and endearing and made her breath stop in its tracks. And then he kissed her again.
Rose laughed and gently pushed him away.
"Finn!"
"Sorry!" Finn blushed.
"No you're not," Rose said. Finn laughed.
"No, I'm not," he chuckled.
"Bon, devoirs de français," Rose said, tapping Finn's Grammar workbook.
"Are you having a seizure?" Finn asked. Rose shot him a look.
"Non, je parle français, espèce d'idiot," she said.
"Oh, I understood some of that—you called me an idiot, right?" Finn said, pouting as if she had mortally insulted him.
"Oui." She tapped his Grammar workbook. "Nous ferions mieux en finir, ou Monsieur Gilliard auront les tripes pour jarretières."
Yeah, okay, I didn't understand a word of that," Finn said, eyes widening. "So let's just say I'm screwed and leave it at that."
"Non! Je vais vous le tuteur; vous ne manquerez pas cette année," Rose said. "Ou si vous le faites, il ne sera pas ma faute de ne pas vous aider."
"You're making me feel stupid," Finn pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't like it."
"I'm sorry," Rose said softly, patting his hand; he curled his fingers around hers. She looked down at their joined hands and smiled. It felt nice. It felt…right, to sit here on her bed, holding Finn's hand. She felt flushed with heat and tingly, and wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with him under the covers. She swallowed hard, heart going on overdrive. She felt Finn tense beside her, his breath hitching.
Holy sexual tension, Rose thought. All she wanted to do was lay him out and have her way with him.
But Caleb was giggling like a lunatic in the hallway with his toy cars, and Ian was arguing with Evan, and Miller was listening to a game on his radio in his room, and John and Regina were watching a movie downstairs while they talked. She was acutely aware of where she was, and what position they were in. That Finn's parents had basically forbidden any kind of relationship with any one of their sons, and for good reason—to avoid any situation like this.
She cleared her throat awkwardly and patted his French Grammar workbook. "Pratiquez votre grammaire française." Finn glanced at her once more and sighed.
"Très bien," he sighed, grumbling, grabbing his workbook.
Fifteen minutes later, he launched the grammar workbook across the room and ran his hands through his hair, half-yelling in frustration.
"That's the most animated I've ever seen you," Rose said, observing him. She hadn't yet seen Finn lose his cool; besides Sean, he was probably the most mellow brother in the family. "I wouldn't have thought you'd lose your head over conjugating the infinitive."
"Conjugal what?" Finn smirked, eyeing her up like she was covered head to toe in Cool Whip and maraschino cherries.
"Your dad wore spandex in the eighties," Rose replied dryly. That wiped the look off Finn's face faster than Pogue could tear down Main Street on his Harley. He looked like he might be sick.
Rose laughed softly and grabbed a stack of unused flashcards from her desk. She spent the next few minutes making the same kind of flashcards she used to make for Pogue when he was having trouble with his Spanish homework.
"You missed Supernatural today," Finn said, when they had finished drilling correct verb tenses into him, and he was filling in his grammar workbook. He glanced up and licked his lips slowly. Rose watched his tongue dab across his lower-lip and felt a rush of heat through her body, and tingles made her feel hyper-sensitive. "I was kinda looking forward to watching it with you."
"You a scaredy-cat?" Rose teased breathlessly.
"No," Finn said, with an easy grin, though colour flushed into his cheeks. "I just wanted to watch it with you." Rose smiled shyly and blushed.
"I'd like that."
"Hey, uh…are you coming to my game tomorrow?"
"Your game? What game?" Rose asked, smiling.
"First football game of the season is tomorrow night," he said, blushing. "Kinda hoped you'd be there."
"You want me to be your personal little cheerleader or something?" Rose asked, laughing; Finn blushed again. "Wear a tiny little shirt and nonexistent skirt?"
"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but if you're offering," Finn grinned. Rose laughed.
"Alright."
"Alright you'll be there, or alright you'll wear the sexy cheerleader outfit?" Finn asked. Rose slapped his chest playfully and laughed.
"You know, you're worse than Pogue," Rose laughed, shaking her head. Finn just pouted a smirk and fluttered his eyelashes. She liked him most when he was in this mood; flirty. She didn't feel so bashful or shy when he was in this mood; she felt flirtatious and full of confidence.
A.N.: Besides Finn, I think Miller might probably be my favourite McGowan boy. Or Sean, since he has a Harley—my definition of a real motorcycle.
