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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

EVE

A pillow lands on my face right as the rookie FBI agent is headed to a remote cabin to track down the suspected killer. I drop the paperback, yank out my headphones, and glare at a grinning Harlow.

“Ever try knocking?” I ask.

“I did try knocking. And calling your name. Get worse headphones.”

I roll my eyes and sit up. “Where are you headed?”

“Grocery store. We’re out of limes and bagels. You need anything?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay. Conor’s coming over. Can you let him in if he shows up before I get back?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“We’re just planning to watch a movie, if you want to join us. Or invite Hunter.”

I glance at my charging laptop. I switched to reading when it died. Before it did, I was looking at apartments in New York.

“I might,” I answer. “But Hunter’s busy. He had some department honors dinner tonight.” I smile. “He gets a little plaque and everything.”

The corners of Harlow’s mouth turn up a little. “You look happy, E.”

“I am.”

Almost alarmingly so. The sort of bliss that is almost scary, because it feels like life can only go downhill from here.

Harlow smiles again, then taps my doorframe. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” I reply before she disappears down the hallway.

I look at my laptop again, then heave a sigh and open it. I’ve always been excited about moving to New York one day. But one day has suddenly snuck up to seem imminent, and now I actually have to make plans. Sign a lease. Submit job applications. Still exciting. Also stressful.

I switch my music to play on the living room speaker rather than through my headphones, head bobbing to a pop playlist as I browse apartment listings. I lose track of time until the doorbell rings.

Must be Conor.

I slide off my bed and pad down the hallway to answer the door, pausing to plug my phone in before that battery dies too.

Conor gives me a lopsided smile when I open it. “Hey, Eve.”

“Hey. Harlow isn’t back yet.” I step aside so he can enter.

“No problem.” He heads for the couch.

The music I was playing cuts out abruptly, replaced by a quieter buzzing as my phone vibrates on the coffee table.

“Your, uh, dad is calling,” Conor tells me.

“Let it go to voicemail,” I tell him, then glance at the clock on the wall. Eight p.m. exactly.

I’m not sure if my dad calling at our usual time means he’s truly trying to reach me or he’s too set in his ways to adjust. We always schedule our next conversation at the end of the last one. Since I didn’t answer his most recent call, that date hasn’t been chosen. Part of me was expecting him to wait a full month to try me again.

“I’ve never heard you mention your dad before,” Conor comments.

“Yeah…we’re not close. He basically abandoned me and my mom, and now he has a new family with someone else.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Oh. Uh, right,” I say awkwardly.

I don’t know all the details about Conor’s family, but Harlow has filled me in on enough to know the story shares some similarities to my situation.

Although, from what she’s told me, Conor’s dad has regrets. He genuinely wanted a relationship with his oldest kid, even before they had Harlow in common.

I don’t think my dad could say the same. I think he grew up, had more children, and realized pretending he didn’t have a third kid was a shitty decision. He checks in out of guilt or to ease his own conscience, not because he wants to know me.

“Do you usually pick up?” Conor asks.

I exhale. “Yeah. We talk sports for a few minutes, and I ask about his other kids.”

“I didn’t know you were a sports fan.”

“I’m not.”

“Ah,” Conor realizes.

“Yeah. For a while, I thought some pointless small talk with my dad was better than never talking to him at all. But recently, I’m reassessing. I want to make it a little less easy for him, I guess.” I bite my bottom lip. “Does that make me a terrible person?”

Conor chuckles. “You’re definitely asking the wrong person. I didn’t—well, I made my dad’s life hell every chance I got. Yelled at him, refused to talk to him, locked myself in a room to avoid him. I was so mad at him. So fucking furious, there was this angry haze that I couldn’t see past. I looked at my dad, and all I saw was red. But…he never gave up. Never stopped inviting me for holidays or sending birthday cards. And I have regrets for how I handled it, so I’m definitely not recommending you do this. Your dad should show he cares, though. Whether or not you answer, he should keep calling.”

“He’s not coming to my graduation,” I admit. “He told me the last time we talked, and I haven’t answered since. Not that he’s tried very hard. One—well, now two calls.”

“I’m sorry, Eve. That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” I agree. “But at least now I know where we stand. Or where we don’t, rather. That our phone calls were as meaningless as the conversations themselves.”

“My dad came to my high school graduation. But Landon was playing ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ with the school band, so I was never really sure if he showed up for me. And next month, he’ll be there, but…”

“But Harlow is graduating too,” I finish.

Conor nods. “Exactly. Most of the time, I think I’m better off not knowing his exact motivations. Sometimes…not knowing feels like the worst thing in the world.”

I nod too, understanding exactly what he means. “Well, if you and Harlow get married, you know he’ll be at the wedding.”

He laughs. “Yeah. When.”

“What?”

“ When Harlow and I get married.”

I smile. “Since we’re bonding, I feel like I should apologize.”

He frowns. “For what?”

“I might have strongly encouraged Harlow to leave Gaffney’s with Clayton Thomas at the end of last semester. In my defense, all I knew about you was that you were a fuckboy player and that you broke my best friend’s heart on her birthday, but still. I saw your face after she left with him, and I’ve felt bad about it ever since. So, sorry.”

Conor mostly looks amused. “Fuckboy player, huh? I should have you pitch me to some team managers.”

“Most art professors allow talking, so people in my classes gossip a lot,” I inform him. “And I was just trying to be a good friend.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, Eve. Was I thrilled about it at the time? No. But it was my own fault, and I deserved that kick in the ass.”

I nod. “Maybe lay off Clayton, then?”

“Thomas?” Conor’s focus sharpens, and I’m immediately intimidated. I feel bad for the guys who have to face off against him on the ice. “Did he ask you to say something?”

“ No ,” I say quickly, worried I’m making the situation worse. “He—I just ran into him at a party.”

Conor raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you hung out with the basketball team.”

“I didn’t—don’t. It was…well, I’m trying to experience some new things before graduation. Go out of my comfort zone a little.”

Conor nods.

“Anyway, I happened to see Clayton there and it was obvious he felt bad about the whole thing. He, uh, he was roommates with Hunter freshman year.”

Conor’s head is tilted, studying me. “I know.”

“Right. Of course you do. I just…he gave me a little push with Hunter. And I’d like to return the favor in some way.”

“I didn’t tell the team to shut out Thomas.”

“But they all did, because they knew how you felt about him.”

Conor nods. “Me and Thomas will never be buddies. But I’ll make sure the boys know they can ease up there. Best I can do.”

“Thanks.”

He’s still studying me. “I didn’t mean to make Hunter pick sides.”

“You knew he’d pick yours, though.”

“Yeah, I did,” he agrees. “Like I know he’d pick yours. I’ve never seen him like this. All…” He smiles. “He was almost a half hour late for dinner the other night. That’s literally never happened before. You’re good for him, Eve. Get him to let loose a little and take things less seriously. So, in exchange for me doing Thomas a solid, don’t break my best friend’s heart, okay?”

“I won’t,” I assure him. “And you’d better not either, Hart-breaker.”

Conor shakes his head. “Fuck. That made it all the way to the art building?”

I smile. “I told you, art students gossip a lot.”

The front door opens. “Hey, I’m back!” Harlow’s voice calls. “Just have to grab the rest of the bags from the car.”

“Leave the bags, Hayes,” Conor says, standing. “I’ll grab them.”

As he passes me, he adds a quiet “I won’t.”