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I look up to find Con standing just past the threshold, separating the kitchen from the living area. He looks as irritated and angry as he sounds.
Sliding my sandwich onto a plate, I shrug. “She was here, but she left a few hours ago.” On impulse, I offer him my sandwich. “Hungry?”
To my surprise, he takes the plate, moving around the kitchen counter to the breakfast bar. “She say where she was going?” he says, setting the plate in front of him before taking off his jacket. Pulling up his sleeves, he sits on a stool.
“Back to the garage—” I slather two new pieces of bread with butter and set them on top of the stovetop grill Patrick used for steaks last night, layering cheese in between. “she said she had to get back before you strung her up.” I look up at him. “She’s not there?”
He shakes his head, taking a bite of his grilled cheese, chewing slowly. I know what he’s thinking. Tess is MIA, and so is Declan.
“Wherever she is, Con—she’s alone,” I tell him. “She probably just needs some time to get her head together.”
“He’s always been a selfish prick,” he mutters at his sandwich before biting into it. “He does what he wants and doesn’t care who he hurts. Who’s left holding the bag. Never has.”
From where I’m standing, I can see the new tattoo he’s been trying to keep under wraps. It’s a broken strand of pearls, wrapped around the length of his arm, starting at his wrist and disappearing into the sleeve of his shirt. When I look up, he’s watching me. Caught staring, I turn back to the stove.
“Do you love him?” Con asks, switching gears on me so fast, I bobble the sandwich I have perched on my spatula, smearing melted cheese all over the grill.
Him.
Patrick.
“Yes,” I say, even though I’m not entirely sure who he is anymore. I scrape burnt cheese off the grill and wait for him to ridicule me. Accuse me of breaking his cousin’s heart. Leaving Tess when she needed me the most.
“Why can’t you tell him?”
I look up from what I’m doing to find him watching me, half-eaten sandwich dangling from slack fingers.
“I don’t know.” The confession comes out on a whisper. “I want to, but…” I shrug, turning away from him, unable to stomach the way he’s looking at me. “I can’t seem to find the right time.” That’s a lie. I’m not sure why I can’t bring myself to say it, but timing has nothing to do with it.
“The right time passed you by eleven months ago.” Before I can say anything, he shakes his head. “He’s not gonna wait for you.” He drops his half-eaten sandwich and stands, brushing crumbs off his fingers on the seat of his jeans. “He’s different.” Jerking down his sleeves, he shakes his head. “He’s not the guy he was when you left,” he says, shrugging on his jacket. I get the feeling we aren’t talking about Patrick anymore. Not entirely.
“Who’s Henley?” It comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about what I’m asking. What I’m potentially starting.
Con’s mouth twists in a bitter smile. “She’s no one.” I watch as he yanks his sleeve down, through the cuffs of his jacket, completely hiding his tattoo. “Not anymore.” He circles the counter, intent on leaving. “If you see Tess, tell—”
“What happened?” I switch off the stove and turn toward him. “What happened while I was gone?”
My question stops his retreat. He’s standing in the middle of the room like he’s stuck there. Like he wants to leave but he can’t. “Shit got fucked up, all the way around,” he says without looking at me. “If you see Tess, tell her I need to talk to her.”
Before I can press him for more, he’s gone—the door banging shut behind him.