best, a love story.

There was something between us, there was no doubting that.

In the space between our fingers, bringing us together, keeping us apart.

~

Irregular and ill-placed purples, blues, yellows and greens mash together around Finn’s left eye. It sinks into his face, visibly shut by the swelling of skin. He debuted it tonight at our buddy Tommy Milik’s seventeenth birthday party in our hometown of Etobicoke, Ontario.

“You fell down the stairs? How does someone get a black eye from falling down the stairs?” Colin exclaims, ruffling the pockets of his light wash blue jeans as he walks.

Streetlights pan onto the pavement, giving golden tones to light the way home, little spotlights on a long, winding stage. Finn looks behind us, back to Tommy’s, where we spent the night playing ping-pong, foot hockey and Call of Duty with a handful of friends. We took turns distracting Tom’s housekeeper while we stole Stellas from Mr. Milik’s mini-fridge. When the clock struck curfew — a reasonable 12:30 a.m. — Finn and Colin offered to walk me home, only a couple of street signs away.

Finn throws his hood over his head. The fabric shadows his stern face.

“It just happened man, I don’t know what to tell you,” Finn mumbles, grabbing onto the straps of his backpack. Empty beer bottles clink against each other as he adjusts his shoulders. We couldn’t leave any evidence after robbing Mr. Milik of a whole $48.25.

“And you didn’t manage to get bruised anywhere else?” Colin asks. The whites of his eyes grow wider with suspicion.

“My legs and stuff man, we’ve been over this,” Finn replies. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “Can we talk about something else?”

Wind weaves through the leaves of full trees, rattling their branches.

“What are the odds that Tom pukes tonight?” I try. I brush my arm against Finn’s and bump our hands together. His fingers graze mine. He smiles at me, as if my words were painkillers, and laughs.

“Negative,” Colin objects. He blows hot breath into his cupped hands and rubs them together. “Tom always acts drunk when he’s not. He had like three beers, max.”

I picture how we left Tommy; passed out in between the posts of his red foam hockey net, a Winnipeg Jets hat covering his closed eyes.

“Well I don’t know, he didn’t look so hot when we left,” I say.

“So you’re saying you think Tommy’s hot? Jeez, Paige, we’re right here,” Colin scoffs. His cheekbones jut as he pouts. He smacks Finn on the arm to join in.

“Yeah Paige, wow,” Finn cocks his jaw as he smirks. The beauty mark under his bottom lip almost winks at me.

My cheeks flare up as I shove him, instantly thankful for the dark night and cool air. As I pull away, my fingers skim against his. I linger long enough so I can feel all five of them. Seventeen Magazine says when you bump a boy’s hand more than twice, he’ll know to hold it.

“You guys really don’t have to walk me all the way home. I mean Colin, your street’s right there, I feel bad,” I gush, gesturing to their cut-off, Meadowvale Drive.

Colin’s bare arms, unlike mine coated in denim or Finn’s in thick layers of cotton and fleece, prickle in the chill March breeze.

“It’s not that much further,” I say. “Really, I’ll be fine.”

“Stop, it’s dark out and you’re a lady,” Colin refuses, bouncing from foot to foot.

“Hey, Col, why don’t you go home and I’ll drop Paige off,” Finn suggests. He shuffles to a stop and tucks both his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “It’s fine, man, really,” Finn says with a slight raise of his shoulders. I stop beside him and rest my head against his arm.

“Yeah, you must be freezing,” I add.

“I, ah-” Colin looks down at his t-shirt. Then at Finn. Then at me. Then back to Finn again. “Oh.” His face softens. “OOOOOH,” he exclaims, his mouth as wide as his eyes. “Alright, I’ll go. I know when I’m not wanted.” Colin raises his hands in defeat as he walks away.

“Col, c’mon!” Finn laughs.

Colin flails an arm into the air. “No, no, it’s fine.” He spins around to face us. “I’ll leave you two aloOone,” he wails. Colin turns on his heel and sulks down his street until the shadows swallow him.

“Wow, what a drama queen,” I laugh.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s a couple deep, I’ll talk to him when I get back,” Finn chuckles and puts his hands into the pockets of his khakis.

“Thanks for walking me, by the way. You really didn’t have to.”

The streetlight touches his face in a soft glow, like that of a campfire. At this angle, at this moment, the bruises look painted on, as if to bring out the true green in his mismatched hazel eyes.

“Of course, I had to, what are you saying?” Finn smiles and pushes his shoulder into mine.

Our hands touch for the third time. I giggle and latch my pinky onto his for a beat before I let go.

We’re on Grenview now, the street before mine. I take long, fluid steps, trying to match my pace to Finn’s. The air, colder now, finds its way to the gap between my jacket and my shirt. A chill shoots up my spine. I shiver and shudder aloud.

“Hey, are you cold?” Finn stops to ask. We stand at the top of my street, Ashton Manor, next to a stop sign.

“Yeah, aren’t you?” I purse my bottom lip and give him a look I’ve practiced — the damsel in distress.

“Oh no, c’mere.” Finn takes me in his arms and rubs his hands up and down my arms, building heat with the friction.

“Thank-you, thank-you,” I cry, folding into him. Finn laughs and does the same to my back until I’m warm from the inside out.

“Better?” he asks.

“Much.”

Finn lowers his face to the crook of my neck but winces on contact. He pulls back and brings a hand to his bad eye. I lighten my touch and lean my cheek against his chest. “Does it really hurt that bad?”

“Yeah,” he admits.

The silence of the streets looms around us. With no squealing neighbours or honking car horns to break the quiet, the moment is capsuled, transient.

“You didn’t really get it from falling down the stairs, did you?” I take a slow breath, inhaling the scent of soap on skin to try and slow my pulse.

He lowers his eyes and licks his lips. “No.”

I wilt and reach for the back of his neck to pull him closer to me. His grip tightens as he coils his arms around my waist.

“It wasn’t your dad, was it?”

Finn’s dad and my dad have the same breath sometimes; sweet off bourbon and sour off self-pity.

“No, no, not him,” he says quietly. “You can’t tell anyone, promise?”

I pull apart from him to look him in the eyes. “I promise.”

Finn takes a moment to study the concern on my face. He nods. “Let’s walk and talk, it’ll be easier.”

I grab his arm and follow. “Whatever you want,” I say.

Finn’s breath shakes as he quickens our pace, each exhale heavy.

“Owen and I got into a fight. Over something stupid, I don’t even remember. Maybe it was the Xbox or the computer. Something dumb. But anyway, we started fighting. Real fighting.” He swallows.

Our shadows stretch in the light of the street, long and looming.

“And it’s not like we haven’t before, you know? He’s my brother. But he got into it with my dad the night before, so he was pretty on edge.”

We pass the Keenan’s basketball net, the Ball’s chalk murals scribbled on the driveway and a few abandoned scooters and skateboards on the Wilks’ front lawn.

“Anyways, Owen started it. I was just shoving him off, dodging whatever he threw at me, but it was getting worse. So I just grabbed him and pinned him down and told him I wouldn’t let go until he relaxed. And I kid you not, I was on him. For maybe ten minutes until he promised he was cool. So I let him go.” Finn rubs his good eye and exhales. “And he sucker-punched me.”

His arm tremors. I can’t tell if it’s because of the memory or the cold.

“Wasn’t terrible. I’ve had worse, from hockey and stuff, but it wasn’t good. I popped a blood vessel and couldn’t see for a bit. Owen started bawling he felt so bad. I didn’t know what to do. We both ended up crying.” Finn’s mouth slips into a sad smile as he shakes his head. He runs his free hand over his face as if trying to wipe off his expression. “So yeah, I fell down the stairs. That’s what we told my parents, anyway. And anyone else who asks.”

“I can’t believe he’d do that to you. I’m so sorry.” We stop in front of the Flager’s, two doors down from me. The coach light outside my front door beams like a lighthouse, welcoming us.

Finn shrugs. “What can you do. He’s my brother. And I love him, you know.”

I nod, thinking I’d say the same about my sister, Faith. Even though I have scars from her nails on my wrist, I still keep her school picture in my wallet.

“Please don’t tell anybody. I promised Owen I wouldn’t.”

“Of course, not Finn, you can always trust me,” I say. “Thank you for telling me.” I pull him close. His arms circle me, steady with relief.

“You know I love you. And when I say that I mean I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I’m just mad I couldn’t help you when you were hurting. This shit breaks my heart,” I murmur.

“Don’t be mad at Owen though. For real, he’s mad enough at himself already,” Finn says. He rocks us side to side, gently. Arched maple trees sway with the wind, tinted in streetlight yellow.

I tilt my head back to really look at him, black eye and all. The amber glow streams onto his profile, highlighting the blonde strands in his straw-coloured hair and the golden flecks in his mismatched eyes.

“I’ll try not to be,” I say. “Owen’s my friend and all, and I love him. But I love you best. I’ll always love you best, you know.” I take a quick breath and look at my shoes in between Finn’s. He stops our rocking feet and rotating hips and plants us firmly in the middle of the road.

“I know,” he says softly. “I love you best too.”