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Sixty-four
Conner
Declan.
Motherfucking Declan.
That’s what I’m thinking.
It’s on a loop.
Over and over.
Motherfucking Declan.
Motherfucking Declan.
Motherfucking Declan.
He’s the only one who could’ve called her.
Would’ve called her.
Tess is too afraid I’m going to crack to risk it and Cap’n been nothing but assholes and elbows since he got word that Legs is coming home. He’s been fluffing pillows and polishing the silver like the Queen is coming, for weeks now.
No way he pulled out of that tailspin long enough to fuck me up like this.
That leaves my brother.
Motherfucking Declan.
“Are you okay?”
I look up to find Kaitlyn looking at me, worried. She’s not my girlfriend. We’ve had coffee five times. This is the second time she’s come to the library with me. She’s hinted that she’d like to go to dinner or to a movie—normal date shit—but I’m pretending like I’m oblivious. Like I don’t know what she wants. That she’s hoping for more.
I know I’m stringing her along. I know that makes me a dick. Because she’s not my girlfriend but she wants to be and I’ll letting her think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell, even though I can’t even think about holding her hand.
“Yeah.” I nod and smile, loading my demo carburetor and tools into plastic tote I keep them in. When I started this whole thing, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. What did I have to offer a bunch of kids?
Drinking 101.
Panty-dropping for beginners.
Back Alley Brawls for Dummies.
I finally said, fuck it, and decided to jump off that bridge when I got to it.
Patrick helped me get the center in fighting shape. Ripped up carpet. Installed shelves. I bought computers and furniture. Ordered books.
I spared no expense.
Used the money I got from selling my car.
It felt good. Almost poetic.
Every time I told her I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, Margo just patted me on the shoulder and told me I was doing just fine. What neither one of us says is that this was Henley’s project.
That we both wish she was here.