Page 49

Twenty-five
Conner
Watching her leave, I think about the last timeI saw her. Really saw her. Standing in the middle of the street while her mother shoved her into the back of a sleek, black town car. The same black Town Car we watched her mother get out of a few months before. Henley didn’t look around for help. She didn’t fight or push her mother’s hand away. She didn’t cry or fight when she saw me.
She just looked right through me.
There were plenty of people watching. Ryan stood a few feet away from them, his face as still as stone. Hands and arms lank and lax at his sides. Mouth pressed into a thin, grim line. Kids from school, openly staring. Their parents, whispering to each other behind their hands. Mr. C and Tess. I can feel my own mom and dad behind me. Declan. Everyone is there, watching her get taken and no one does a thing.
I feel myself moving before I even realize it. I can’t let her leave. That’s all I remember thinking. I can’t let her leave. Beyond that, there’s nothing.
And then she shakes her head at me, the barest of movements, telling me no. My chest feels like it’s caving in on itself. My ribs crumbling to dust. I’m being buried alive by my own bones, and she’s telling me no. Keeping me at arms’ length. Away from her because someone might see.
Know that I love her.
And that’s not allowed.
I didn’t chase her then, and I don’t chase her now. I want to, but I don’t.
“Am I seeing shit, or did Henley O’Connell just punch you in the mouth?”
I look up to find Patrick standing over me, a bottle of Jameson in one hand a couple of glasses in the other. The question has me momentarily panicked. I’m about to ask him how he recognized her, then I remember that he’s the only person I told that she was coming.
“That was her,” I say, touching the tip of my tongue to the corner of my lip. I taste blood. Wince at the sting. “Don’t let the crown jewels fool you—she hasn’t changed much.” Even as I say it, I know that’s not true. Sliding the paperback off the table, I jam it into my back pocket while Cap’n pours a couple of fingers into each glass before sliding into the seat Henley just vacated.
“You alright?” he says, tipping his glass toward him to stare at his whiskey.
The way I feel about Henley has never been a secret, and neither is the fact that losing her took me apart and put me back together wrong. Having her gone made that easy for everyone to ignore. Made it easy for me to pretend that who I am now is who I’ve always been.
Staring her in the face, eight years later makes it impossible to keep believing the lie.
So, no.
I’m not alright.
“Dandy, Cap’n,” I say, lifting my glass to my mouth to drain its contents, liking the sting of it when it hits the cut on my lip. “I’m fuckin’ dandy.”
My shop is only a few blocks from the bar, so the walk home only takes a couple of minutes. Even before I see it, I can hear it. Tools clanging against the cement floor. The heavy clank of the hoist chain. The phone ringing. Tess’s questionable music choices floating through the open bay door.
Once it comes into view, I feel a momentary swell of pride. The sign above the door says Gilroy’s Garage. It’s mine. I earned it, and no one can take it away from me.
I remember the doorknob-sized ring Henley hit me with, and that sense of pride falls flat. I could own a hundred grease-pits, and I’d never be able to afford to give her something like that.
“Hey,” Tess calls out from under the Chevy in the main bay as soon as she sees my boots. A moment later she pokes her head out from under the truck. “You’ve got company—think it’s your whale. Tried to get rid of her for you but she won’t leave.”
I immediately look to my left. Sure enough, there’s Henley. She’s perched on an upturned crate inside my cramped office, hands clutched around her purse, looking like she’s afraid to touch anything.
I look down at Tess to see if she’s fucking with me. She and Henley had been best friends until Henley moved away. No shit-eating grin. No smothered urge to laugh. No what the fuck were you thinking glare. Tess has no idea the woman waiting for me is Henley. The fact that she didn’t recognize her made me feel better.
“What happened to your face?”
Without thinking, I reach up and touch my mouth. Swollen. Cut. Probably bruised. “How long has she been here?”
The curiosity upticks into mild concern. “About a half-hour. What happened to your face?”
“Take the rest of the day off,” I say to Tess without answering her question.
“What?” Tess says. “No. The Chevy is scheduled for a 10 AM pick-up tomorrow, and you’re gonna need—”