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Twenty-seven
Conner
Finding her was the easy part.
As simple as hacking into the New York DMV database. It took all of five minutes.
Once I cut through ribbons of red tape and dug through all the bullshit—the corporate accounts and fleet registries—it boiled down to one name.
Spencer Halston-Day.
My family has money. A lot of it. It’s not something we really talk about. We don’t rely on it. Don’t use it. Normal house. Regular cars. Occasional trips to Disney World. Nothing we couldn’t afford without it.
The way my dad explains it, it’s not really his. My grandda left it to him when he died, and it caused a rift between my dad and uncle. He’s all but ignored it since.
But I know it’s there.
Henley’s new stepfather makes my family’s money look chump change.
Billions. The man has billions.
We’re talking Scrooge McDuck money.
I’ve had the address to his private residence for a while now—some super swank brownstone on the East River. Close enough to Manhattan to be considered fashionable but far enough away from the riffraff to remain untouchable.
He bought the place three weeks before Henley’s mother walked out on her dad. I’d bet my left nut he bought the place, just for her.
Yeah, finding Henley was easy. The hard part was convincing myself to make the trip. I told myself it was because I wanted to give her a chance. She’d call. She’d write. Come back. Even if it was only long enough to say goodbye.
I scribbled her new address on a scrap of paper and carried it around for two-hundred twenty-eight days.
A lot of shit happened between then and now. I stopped going to high school. Fall semester started and I just never went back. Without Henley, it seemed pointless. A lot of things did.
So I dug myself in. Finished my last year of law school in six months. I’ll take the BAR the day after Ryan leaves for the Army.
It was a court-ordered enlistment. Join the army or go to prison. I thought shit like that only happened in the movies, but it’s a real thing. The judge gave him a choice.
Soldier or Inmate.
He took option A.
I’m not sure why today is different. What happened. All I know is that the sun came up, and I was done waiting.
I need to see her. I have things to say that can’t wait. Not anymore.
I tell my mom I’m going to the library to study for the BAR and that I won’t be back until later tonight. I’m fairly certain she knows I’m full of shit, but she doesn’t say anything. With what’s been going on with Declan lately, I’m barely an afterthought.
I haven’t talked to my brother in five months. my last words to him were, you’re a selfish, asshole who destroys everything he touches.
He didn’t disagree.
I buy a train ticket and find a seat, passing the four-hour trip by staring out the window, lost in my own head until the conductor’s voice booms over the loudspeaker.
Final stop, Union Station.
Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I flag the first cab I see. “Take me here,” I say, plastering the scrap of worn paper with the address on it against the clear plastic partition.
As soon as he sees where I want him to take me, he bumps his gaze up to meet mine and scowls. I don’t look like much. T-shirt. Jeans. Light-weight jacket. No luggage to speak of. Just a paper-wrapped package on the seat next to me. “That’s a sixty-dollar one-way, kid.” He shakes his head. “Unless you got a credit card to swipe—”
I lean back and pull a wad of cash from my front pocket, jerking a few bills loose. I’ve been doing the occasional oil change and tire rotation at Tess’s dad’s garage. I didn’t really want the money—I was just glad for the distraction. Now I’m glad he insisted on paying me.
“There’s a hundred,” I tell him, feeding a bill through one of the holes in the partition. It drops onto the seat next to him. I plaster the second bill against the partition like I did the address. “Make it a round trip.”
The cabbie looks at the cash I practically dropped in his lap. “You’re the boss, kid,” he says, turning in his seat to shift into drive.
I don’t answer him. I just sit back in my seat and stare out the window.