Page 3

Two
Conner
Henley broke up with me because I won’t have sex with her. Me, Conner Gilroy. The guy who has a reputation for pretty much fucking anything got dumped because he got cold feet or grew a conscience or whatever the hell happened.
You know what happened, genius.
I’m in my father’s study, slouched into the wide leather chair Henley and I sit in together. The same chair where I gave her that stupid, fucking ring.
I’ve been sitting here for hours, replaying every moment. Every word. I made mistakes. I know I did, looking back, I can see them clearly.
I pushed her too hard. I moved too slow. I read her poetry and teased her about her freckles when I should’ve been kissing her. Showing her how I feel. How she makes me feel.
Real.
I told myself it was about her. That I wanted to do it right. That she deserved better than what I usually give, but it was really about me. How afraid I was.
“Hey, fuckface.”
I look up to find Declan standing in the doorway. It’s morning, bright sunlight flooding through the open curtains of my father’s study. There’s no real way of knowing how long I’ve been sitting here. If my dickhead brother’s presence is any indication, it’s early afternoon. He never gets up before noon these days. He stopped going to classes a few weeks ago. My parents don’t know.
When I don’t do anything but glare at him, he sighs like I’m the asshole and he’s the put-upon older sibling who has to put up with my childish bullshit. “You have a visitor.”
Henley.
That’s all I can think.
That’s she here.
That we’re going to be okay.
Suddenly I’m up and pushing my way past him. Into the foyer. The front door hanging open, I can see the shadow of her stretched across the porch. I jerk it open even further, stepping through the doorway. Mouth open to tell her I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry and I love her. That I was so worried about losing her that I ended up pushing her away. I can fix that. If she’ll let me, I can make that right.
But it’s not Henley.
It’s Jessica.
Long, shiny blonde hair tucked behind her ear to showcase her perfectly pretty features, marred by the swollen, purple bruise Henley planted on her face.
When she sees me, she smiles and air rushes out of my lungs like someone’s caved in my chest with a bat.
“What are you doing here?” I don’t recognize the voice that comes out of my mouth. It sounds cold. Angry. A thousand-years old.
“I—” Her gaze darts past me to land on Declan who is standing behind me. I know he’s there. No way he’d miss this. Fuck, he probably orchestrated the whole thing. Told her to come here, so she can show me what Henley did to her. Give me her side of things. Make me feel bad for her. try to turn me.
Jessica pulls her eyes back to my face and tries again. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t do anything to Henley. She just went crazy and…”
I tune her out.
Watch her mouth move like I’m watching a television on mute. What she’s saying doesn’t matter because it’s a lie. Everything about her is a lie.
I wonder how she’d react if I told her that I can see right through her. That she’s less than nothing to me. That I don’t even care enough about her to hate her. That she could completely vanish in front of my eyes and I’d never even wonder where she went. I’d simply shut my door and go on with my life like she never existed.
I must be smiling at the thought because her mouth stops moving, and she lets out a long breath like she’s sighing in relief. “So, you get it? You understand, right?” she says, her mouth lifting in a smile to reveal a perfect row of evenly spaced, white teeth.
It makes me think about Henley. The chip in her front tooth. I’m the one who did it. I was sixteen and we were all playing ball on a hot summer evening. She was rounding third and making a run for home. I was catching and crowding the plate, waiting for Patrick to rocket me the ball, so I could get the out. We were down by one and it was the bottom of the ninth. We needed the play to stay in the game.
Patrick dives for the grounder and pops up, winging it to me on the fly and the ball comes at me like a missile. Instead of backing off, Henley lowers her shoulder, charging me, even though she had to know she had no chance of winning.