The Return

Finn's POV

I woke up gasping.

For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The ceiling was wrong, too high and covered in shadows that shifted with the pale morning light. Then the memories crashed over me like a wave. The bathroom. The towel. The taste of him on my tongue. I sat up so fast my head spun.

Mr. Grant.

I looked around my room, disoriented. The house was silent. Too silent. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand, there was no messages, no missed calls. My heart hammered as I swung my legs out of bed and walked barefoot into the hallway. The mansion stretched out before me, cold and empty. I walked through room after room, the kitchen, the living room, the study. Nothing. There was no sign of him. I made my way to the garage and peered through the window. His car was also gone. He'd left.

I stood there, frozen, the reality sinking in like a stone in my chest. He had left and he wasn't coming back. I'd finally done it, I had pushed too far, crossed the line, and now he was gone. I went back to my room and locked the door. The shame hit me first. What have I done? He was my stepfather and he was forty years old. He is married to my mother. And I'd dropped to my knees and……

I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to block it out. But I couldn't. I could still feel him in my mouth. I could still hear the wrecked sound of his voice. "Best I've ever had."

And then the heat followed, the exhilaration. The memory of his hand in my hair and the way he'd groaned my name, the way he'd looked at me like I was the only person in the world. I touched my lips, still tasting him. My body responded before my mind could stop it. I reached down, palming myself through my boxers, and letting the fantasy take over. Grant pushing me against the wall, his hands on my hips and taking what I'd been offering for years. I came with a shudder, biting my fist to keep quiet, and then lay there in the aftermath, breathing hard, hating myself for how good it felt.

The rest of the day was a blur.

I wandered through the mansion like a ghost, unable to settle. I picked up a book and put it down. I started a movie and turned it off, i made food and didn't eat it. Every creak of the old house made me jump, every shadow made me think it was him but he wasn't coming back.

I thought about what would happen next. The divorce would go through. Naomi would move on. Mr. Grant would disappear from my life completely, and I would go back to university, pretending I'd never felt anything. Because that was the thing, wasn't it? I had known I was different since I was sixteen. The first time I saw Grant loosen his tie in the foyer, something had cracked open inside me. I'd tried to ignore it. I had dated girls, kissed them, touched them, hoping I would feel something, but I never did. They were nice, they were pretty, but they weren't him.

I had spent three years convinced I was sick, obsessed and fucked up beyond repair. And then last night, for one glorious moment, I'd felt alive. I'd felt like I was finally being honest and now he was gone.

The front door opened at dusk.

I was in the kitchen, staring at a glass of water I hadn't touched, when I heard it. I froze, my heart stopping in my chest. Then I heard footsteps. Measured and deliberate.

Mr. Grant.

I set down the glass and walked into the foyer on unsteady legs and there he was. He was still in his suit, but it was rumpled, like he'd slept in it. His hair was disheveled. There were shadows under his eyes. He looked exhausted, he looked wrecked and when he saw me, his jaw tightened.

I couldn't move.

"Finn." His voice was rough, almost a whisper.

"Mr. Grant." The name slipped out automatically, soft and trembling.

He took a step toward me. I held my breath. He took another, and then we were standing inches apart, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. He didn't speak, he just looked at me, searching my face like he was trying to find something, an answer, a reason, a way to make this make sense. Then the front door flew open behind him.

"Grant! Darling!"

Naomi's voice sliced through the air like a knife. Grant stepped back so fast I almost stumbled. The distance between us stretched as I watched his expression shift, from raw to neutral, from vulnerable to controlled. Naomi swept into the foyer, all blonde hair and perfect teeth, carrying designer bags like they weighed nothing. She kissed Grant on the cheek, beaming. "Miss me?"

I couldn't breathe.

"There you are, sweetie," She turned to me, her smile bright and warm. "Finn, I'm so glad you're here. We're going to be a proper family now. I have decided."

She announced it like she was doing us a favor. "No more running around, no more work taking over everything. I'm going to be present. We're going to be a family."

Grant didn't look at me. His eyes were fixed somewhere on the wall behind my head. Naomi chattered on, telling us about her decision, her revelations, her newfound commitment. She was the star of her own show, and we were just the audience.

But I wasn't listening.

I was watching Grant, watching the way his hands clenched at his sides. Watching the muscle in his jaw twitch and watching him refuse to meet my eyes. And I understood, he wasn't leaving because he didn't want me, he was leaving because he couldn't have me.

I'd seen it in his eyes when he looked at me. The hunger, the want. It was there, buried beneath the control, but it was there. And now Naomi was home, and she was playing the devoted wife, and the walls were closing in around us.

I forced a smile and made some excuse about feeling tired. I walked up the stairs slowly, feeling their eyes on my back. When I reached the top, I glanced down and Grant was staring at me. Naomi was still talking. She didn't see. But I saw and I knew, with absolute certainty, that we weren't done.

This was just the beginning.