Determined Hearts | F. Odair

prologue

The wind grazed the vines hanging from the large willow that looked out to the shore and brought the calming aroma of the sea to her. Glade sighed, taking in the calming atmosphere that the hilltop had ever since she was a little girl. She laid her back on the trunk and closed her eyes. The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore brought peace to her clouded mind. Just for a moment, the scars and horrors of her past were washed away with the current. She was a new Glade Marlowe: one that the Hunger Games never touched, one that Snow didn’t have his claws around.

She hummed to herself and allowed her muscles to relax though her mind didn’t follow suit. It rarely ever quieted anymore. Glade felt someone take a seat next to her and opened her eyes to see a familiar dirty blond. He smiled at her before turning his gaze to the sea. "Do you need something, Blondie?" she asked him with a playful smile on her lips. His sea green eyes looked her over as if he wanted to say something, but Finnick stayed silent. She rolled her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

It was hard to believe that they had known each other for ten years. Glade remembered the first time she met the Victor at only thirteen years old when he returned from the arena. Gran let him eat breakfast with them. Finnick jumped at every slight movement and clink of the plate with a terror Glade had only seen in her grandmother’s eyes. He tried stabbing her with his fork at one point, but she caught his hand and took the utensil from him. And, in hopes of easing his stay with them, she picked up her scrambled eggs with her hands and ate like that for the rest of the meal.

He had been by her side ever since. They were inseparable, never more than an arm’s reach away. “Attached at the hip,” everyone said at gatherings and events. They were so interwoven into one another’s lives that she rarely ever heard her name without it being followed by his. She only ever did things without him when he left for the Capitol and did whatever President Snow wanted him to do or when the cameras came back and checked on her.

"The Quarter Quell is coming," he murmured. "I don't think I'll be able to watch another batch of our kids go in." 

Glade moved her hand to his and intertwined their fingers. The breeze blew stray curls into her face. "I know how you feel," she assured, facing him, "but we'll do the best we can to prepare them for what's coming. That's all we can do, Blondie." 

"We should be able to do more." Glade would do anything to rid his dazzling, sea green eyes of the sorrow buried in them. It broke her how similar they were. Sometimes, it was easy to get caught up in her own ghosts and demons and forget Finnick faced his own, too. While she wore her sorrow and brokenness on her sleeves, Finnick kept his close to his chest and never truly spoke about it. He never talked about the lives he has taken or the faces he saw in his sleep. He never talked about the things she knew Snow made him do. At least, not with anyone else but her. 

She placed her free hand on his cheek and caressed it lovingly. He leaned into her touch, closed his eyes, and let out a breath of relief. Finding some kind of solace in it, Finnick squeezed their interlocked fingers three times. Glade’s heart started to pound so loudly she was certain that her mind was playing a sick and cruel trick on her. The world around them became fuzzy, but he was clear as the water in the tidal pools. He was real. He had to be.

To make sure, she moved her hand to the back of his neck and leaned her forehead on his. Her fingers played with the blond locks. The soft texture she felt so many times before reassured her that the man in front of her was real. He was there beside her. Finnick slid his hands to her hips and moved her onto his lap. Their breaths fanned the other's faces and his eyes fluttered open. They bore into her own causing her to glance down at his lips before moving her eyes back to his. 

Finnick moved forward. His lips melded with her own, showing her every bit of his affection for her. She melted into his touch and breathed in his scent. Addicted to the smell of his cologne and the taste of his lips, she chased the delicious high. Her grip on his hair tightened as she met his passion.