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Sixty-three
Henley
I’m not sure how I ended up here.
I know that I shouldn’t be here. That I don’t have a right to be, but here is where I am because there’s nowhere else for me to go. Nowhere else I want to be.
My mother is right.
I’m a sad little homing pidgeon.
I can hear her music from here. Guns n’ Roses, wrapped around the clang of tools and the sound of her caterwauling along to Paradise City.
She doesn’t hear me, and she’s buried so deep under the hood of the truck she’s working on that all I can see is her ass, the tiptoes of her boots skimming against the concrete floor for purchase.
I look around. The office is empty, and Conner’s apartment is dark. He’s not here.
I’m both relieved and disappointed.
Not knowing what else to do, I sit on a tall rollaway stool pushed against the tool bench and wait for her to notice me. Seeing the old coffee can sitting on the bench, curiosity gets the better of me and tip it toward me to look inside. A few random bolts. A bunch of washers. Some oddball fittings for a socket-wrench. And the watch Tess makes Conner wear.
Neither one of them explained it to me. Why it was so important to her that he wear it. Why he got so angry when she demanded that he put it on. I run my thumb over the smooth face of it and it lights up, displaying the time. Swiping left, a list of alarm times show on the tiny screen.
Suddenly the music is gone.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The watch is snatched out of my hand and I look up to see Tess glaring at me, Conner’s watch held away from me like she’s protecting it from me.
Like she’s protecting him.
“I—” That’s as far as I get. I can’t answer her question because I don’t know what I’m doing here. I shake my head, clamping my mouth shut against the torrent of tears that threatens to sweep me away. I swallow hard to clear my throat, so I can try again. “I’m sorry, Tess.”
Her expression softens but only a little. Her shoulders lower but they don’t relax. “I told you.” She shakes her head at me, shoving Conner’s watch into the pocket of her coveralls like she’s afraid I’ll break it if I get my hands on it again. “I told you.” This time she hisses it at me, jabbing her finger in my face for good measure. “This shit was going to go bad and when it did, it wouldn’t matter to me what kind of horrible shit he did or said to you. I’m with Conner, ‘til the end of the fucked-up line.” She shoves her hands into her pockets. Probably so she won’t give into the urge to punch me in the mouth. “So, you don’t get to come here and tell me you’re sorry because I don’t fucking care.”
It’s exactly what I expected, and I suddenly realize it’s exactly why I came here.
What I needed to hear.
“I know and I’m glad.” I nod, standing up from my stool while I wipe a few errant tears off my face. “I’m glad he has you. That you have each other… is he okay?” I have no right to ask and I expect her to tell me so. I expect her to stick her finger in my face again and tell me fuck off.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she looks at me and chews on her lip ring, like she can’t decide between answering me and dragging me out of the garage by my hair to toss me in the gutter. “He is,” she finally says, leaning against the tool bench, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s solid. Focused on Ryan right now. Getting him better.”
“Good.” I mean it. “That’s good.” I give her a quick smile. “Goodbye, Tess.”
I walk away but I don’t get more than five steps before she calls out to me. “You know that Bradford douche came here, right?” My shoulders stiffen at the mention of Jeremy. I turn around and look at her. “He offered Con a fuck-ton of money to break things off with you and Con turned him down flat.” She stands up straight and drops her arms from her chest to face me head on. “Your friend tried to buy you like a loaf of bread—just thought you should know.”
She crawls under the hood of the truck again, an old Chevy that seems familiar somehow, and disappears. A few moments later, her music comes back on and it was like I was never here.
Deciding to continue my apology tour, I walk to the library. I left without notice. I made a promise to Margo and she counted on me to fulfill it. While I don’t expect her to shove her finger in my face and pepper me with F-bombs, I do expect her to be angry. Disappointed in me.
To be honest, I’d rather get the jabby finger treatment than suffer Margo’s regret at hiring me.
Prepared for the worst, I walk through the main doors and come face-to-face with my replacement, a perky, ponytailed blonde who tells me that Margo is attending an all-day training at the main branch and won’t be back until tomorrow. “You can leave your name with me or our lead volunteer.” She points her finger in a familiar direction before giving me a smile that tells me she really doesn’t want to be responsible for any sort of message I want to leave for Margo. Thanking her, I walk across the atrium, turning the corner when I reach the elevator to head toward the sad, deserted corner of the library that I’d been in charge of revitalizing.
It’s not sad anymore and it’s not deserted. The carpet has been ripped up. The concrete beneath it stained. There’s a computer lounge. A comfy-looking couch in front of wide-screen TV. A coffee bar. High-top tables and stools. And books. Shelves of them, lining the walls, from floor to ceiling. It instantly reminds me of Conner’s room. The first time I saw his shelves full of books. How in awe of them I was. How eager I was to touch every single one.
I hear him before I actually see him. The low rumble of his voice sets off a flurry of butterflies, bouncing and swirling inside my stomach.