a change of heart | e.k

Chapter Sixteen

With Jack dead, things started to change.

First things first, Race was — metaphorically — put in charge. As much as Race had hesitated to take the title, even if it wasn't official, he hadn't taken long to practically burn the place down with all the new rules (or lack thereof) he'd set down. Meanwhile, Jack watched with dismay in the background as everything fell to pieces.

With Race as temporary leader, he needed a second in command. Unsurprisingly, Finch was chosen. Now that was all good and well until you remembered that Race and Finch were practically on the same wavelength in terms of recklessness, and suddenly the two were wreaking chaos like never before.

Well, she thought, at least they were having fun.

In all seriousness, they were both admittedly quite good in their respective roles. It was clear why Jack had chosen Race to replace him, and Race, Finch. When everything was said and done all their jokes were set aside, Race and Finch knew how to keep charge of a lodging house filled with rowdy boys. Then, at night, they would go see Jack, and the three of them discussed things undisclosed to the rest of the lodge. She rarely saw the three, which was to be expected. But this sudden turn in their lives only reminded her of what she needed to reveal.

It had been some time since Lane had gone to Brooklyn, which had led to her finding out about Spot and Finch and all that jazz. Finch was supposed to be in Brooklyn, leading. The only reason he wasn't was because she'd been too much of a scaredy cat to tell him. But he made such a good second in command, and she knew he'd make an even better leader. But he wasn't, and she was the only one to blame.

That changed now.

"Finch," she said when she found him alone, already regretting this. "Can we talk?"

Others may have run for the hills at those words, but instead Finch only smiled — smiled — at her. She didn't know if it was simply because he was confident enough in himself to believe it improbable that he could fall upon her wrath, or rather that his confidence was placed in her, but either way it was disconcerting. "Sure." His certainty wavered for a single moment when she didn't show any signs of speaking. "I haven't done anythin' ta upset ya, have I?"

Her eyes widened. "No, no! I jus..." She sighed, shoulders slumping. "I've got somethin' ta confess. Before he died, I talked ta Spot 'n he told me dat you 'n Frisks was both related ta him, 'n I know you don't really like ta think about yer past before tha newsies, but I really think dis is somethin' you should-"

"I know."

Lane halted from wherever she was at in her pointless blundering. "What was dat?"

Finch cracked a sheepish grin. "I know about Spot, and Frisks, and about... me."

Lane stared at him, jaw practically touching the ground. "Why didn't you say anythin'?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled over to one of the chairs. She followed his lead, not knowing what else she was to do. "I wanted ta. Well, I guess to an extent, I did. But I couldn't. Yer life 'n mine was at risk. It was so hard sometimes, I mean, sometimes dere was nothin' I wanted ta do more den let you know-"

"Wait." She stopped him. "How long have you known?"

He stared at her, at the shock and bewilderment and that was undoubtedly on her face. "A while," he finally admitted, looking away. "Not long aft-ah we was in tha Refuge togeth-ah, at least. I remembered Spot, foist. You know why I used ta always avoid Brooklyn?"

She shook her head.

"'Cause I always felt I knew him." He pursed his lips. "Dat scared me. As Ise sure you've noticed by now, Spot ain't easy ta forget- even if I didn't fully recognize him as my bruddah at foist. Jus a ghost from my past." A haunted look crossed his face. "I remembered Brigid lat-ah. And by Brigid, I don't mean, well-" he gestured to her, flustered- "Frisks. It's her name, too. Once I found out who you was... I guess she came back ta me."