“I could, but I’m waiting for you to answer me.”
I inspect my foot, tweezers hovering above the glass. Under my breath, I mutter, “I’m not going to the hospital.”
“What was that?” Connor’s tone is calm, almost easy-going.
My nose flares, emotions bubbling to the surface. Unable to swallow them down, I shout, “I’m not going to the hospital!” I jab the tweezers towards the door. “I promised her I wouldn’t ruin the relationships she’s made with any of you—and if I go to the hospital, people will see you, take stupid pictures, and everyone will know whatever nowhere-ville state we’re in. So no, I’m not going.” I suck in a strained breath and focus back on my foot, jaw tight.
“Relax,” Loren snaps. “We’re not going to force you to do something you don’t want, but I would like to know why you’re here.”
Ryke crouches to sweep the glass into a dustpan, his expression darkening. “If he’s here to get laid—”
“What?” I wince. “No.” I recoil at Lo’s glare. “Not that I don’t like Willow.” Jesus. This is all going wrong.
Ryke joins in on glaring at me. Great. I have both of them wanting to rip out my jugular. But what am I supposed to say? I like Willow. If I could ask her out today, I would. But I’m too late.
I look to Connor as I admit, “Some starship trooper nerd asked her to prom, okay?”
And anyway, Connor told me this would be exponentially worse if I was dating Willow, so this starship trooper nerd should be a notch in the “you didn’t fuck everything up” list. Except, I’d really just like to kick the starship trooper off the list entirely. He can go be in someone else’s atmosphere and ask them to prom.
“Declan,” Lo says the name that I’d like to never hear again. “You know who he is. Lily told me that he stops by Superheroes & Scones at least four times a week.”
“To try to talk to Willow,” I complain. “And what the fuck kind of name is Declan?”
“What the fuck kind of name is Garrison?” Lo retorts.
I roll my eyes and sigh. “Whatever.”
Connor cuts in, “As amusing as all of this is, we’re still no closer to answers, and I’d like them sometime in the next five minutes.”
Ryke dumps the glass into a trash bag and then disappears into the bathroom. Lo kneels beside the bed and gestures for the tweezers.
I hesitate and then surrender them.
“Is there anything we can use to sew up the cut in there?” Lo nods to the first-aid kit.
That means we’re not going to the hospital. Thank you. My shoulders drop and muscles ease.
“We can find an alternative if that’s what he really wants,” Connor says.
I nod. “That’s what I want.”
Ryke returns and hands me a cup of water. Connor passes me a packet of Advil. I’m unbothered by the physical pain, but something pushes through me at their kindness.
I don’t deserve it. Not a single bit. Yet, here they are.
And it just barrels into me, the weight of the moment. I look between them, overwhelmed, and on the verge of tears. Don’t fucking cry, man. I suck it down by asking a stupid question. “I thought you two hated each other?” I gesture from Ryke to Connor. Tabloids say they’re at odds all the time.
Ryke answers, “We’re good friends.”
I stare at the carpet. Lost for words.
“What is it?” Connor asks.
I shake my head and tear open the Advil packet. “I was just thinking…I don’t even know where I find the kind of friendship that you three have. My friends are dicks.” I let out a short, pained laugh that scratches my throat. “I’m one too…”
A heavy beat pounds before someone speaks.
“We’re all assholes,” Lo tells me. “But one day, you’ll meet an asshole that pushes you to be a better person. Those are the ones that stick with you.”
I rub at my eyes once. Don’t fucking cry. And then I toss back the pills with a swig of water.
“We’re encroaching on my five-minute time limit,” Connor tells me.
I don’t even make a joke about him having time limits. Swallowing hard, I explain everything. Not even leaving out the part where I broke into Superheroes & Scones and slept in the breakroom for the past month. Failure is easy to admit
When I explain how I flunked out of Faust, my anger starts to boil. Eating me. I pull my hood over my head. “And you know, it’s my parent’s fault.” My eyes burn as I look to Connor. He went to Faust. He must know how rigorous and fucking difficult it is. “Why’d they have to send me to a new school in the middle of the year? I know…I know I fucked up, but if I even want a high school diploma, I have to be held back. Do you even know what that feels like?” I’m an idiot for even asking.
Connor Cobalt is a genius. He’s never felt this before.
“What about your friends?” Connor asks, ignoring my question. “They have houses, I presume.”
“You mean all my friends that broke into your house to scare you? Those ones?” My stomach twists even thinking about them. How the judge sentenced them to a year each. That could have been me. Some days, I wish it were.
“No,” Connor replies. “Your other friends.”
“I don’t have other friends. No one wants to be associated with the bad guy, not at Dalton and definitely not at Faust.” I shrug. “I had nowhere to go, okay? I had Superheroes & Scones and Willow, that’s it.”
I. Am. A. Loser.
It might as well be tattooed on my fucking forehead.
But Willow is hands-down the most amazing person I’ve ever met—compassionate, brave, unique, shy—and she doesn’t mind spending time with a loser like me, so that’s something, I guess.
There’s more to tell. More to get off my chest.
“I burned the letter that Faust sent my parents before they got it—the one that said I flunked. And you know…” My voice cracks, choked. “I’ve never been a good person. I don’t even know what some of you see in me…because I’m shit.”
“You’re not shit,” Lo tells me, forceful like that’s already written in stone. Carved into marble. I don’t know how he sees it so clearly. He adds, “You want this glass out of your foot?”
Lo is looking at me like I’m already a good guy. I don’t get it. But I want to believe it. Someday. Somehow.
“Yeah,” I release a deeper breath. “Yeah, I want it out.”
29 PRESENT DAY – March
London, England
WILLOW HALE
Age 23
“Am I underdressed?” I ask Garrison quietly, right after a suspender-clad hostess seats us at Lola Vine, a cool upscale pizza place in London that I’ve had my eye on for months. I was so excited about the atmosphere that I forgot to investigate people’s clothes off Yelp photos.
I glance down at my thin blue sweater and the unbuttoned plaid flannel I wear on top. And I’m in jeans. I could’ve selected nicer pants.
“Not to me.” Garrison scoots closer to the candlelit table. “But if anyone thinks you are, then I am too. We can be underdressed together.” He splays a moto jacket on the back of the velvet chair. A black tee molds his toned biceps, but I’m selfishly glad that he’s wearing jeans like me.
I smile more, not feeling as out of place.
Garrison adjusts his jacket for another second or two. Giddy energy flutters inside my stomach. I have a lot to be giddy about today.
The biggest one, Garrison is in London. Just seeing my boyfriend makes the weeks of dreaming about him feel real.
And we’re on a date. I still can’t believe he reserved a table here. Every time I wanted to go when he was in town, they’d been booked up for the whole week.
“What do you think so far?” Garrison asks, handing me a leather-bound menu. “As cool as you imagined?”
I realize that I’ve been staring at him more than the restaurant. Looking around, I soak up my surroundings: orange and purple velvet chairs and booths, swanky curved bar with fancy liquor
s, a mirrored ceiling, deep red carpet, and rouged drapes.
“Better.” I can’t stop smiling. “It feels like the Hellfire Club could exist in here.” A popular comic book site named ten restaurants that reminded them of the X-Men films, and Lola Vine was listed under X-Men: First Class. I was shocked a restaurant within distance of my college made the cut.
I wait for Garrison to make a joke like what’s the Hellfire Club? with mock confusion. After all his time working at Superheroes & Scones, I’m pretty sure he’d remember the clandestine society with Emma Frost as a member.
Garrison nods. “That’s good….really good.” His aquamarine eyes flit around the packed restaurant. I doubt anyone will recognize us with the lights dimmed to a dark, warm glow.
A waitress brings iced waters, tells us the specials, and leaves to give us time to order.
I peruse Garrison more than the menu. He’s acting sort of weird. He keeps scooting his chair closer, perching his elbow on and off the table.
“Is everything okay?” I push up my glasses.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” He takes a hefty swig of water.
I shrug. Maybe I’m overthinking his jitters, but I’d like to think I know him really, really well. “I don’t know…are you sure nothing’s going on?”
He runs a hand through his brown hair. “No, nothing’s really going on.” He rests his arm on the back of the chair, trying to be more cool and collected.
I mean, he does look cool.
Tattoos on his bicep, hair falling back to his eyes, and bad boy persona like a well-worn cloak—but after all these years, I know better.
Garrison Abbey is good.
He just has a bad reputation.
One that’s been scrubbed clean by the people who love him most, the ones who gave him another chance, another shot.
I change the topic to movies after we order a margherita pizza and classic pepperoni. “I don’t think anything will ever top Avengers: End Game.” I sip my water.
Garrison is staring off behind me, then blinks to refocus on me. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Jake Gyllenhaal killed it as that Mysterio guy.”
Wrong movie.
We were talking about Spider-Man: Far From Home five minutes ago. I frown and open my mouth, about to ask if he’s okay again.
But quickly, he asks, “How’d the meeting with Lily and the attorneys go?”
Lily and the attorneys.
Giddiness returns, and it’s weird to think around this time, a whole year ago, I flew to Philly and ran into the hospital. Garrison’s appendix was removed. I was still living in the “party” flat. I was worried about my few friendships and my slipping grades.
A lot has happened in a year. While some things have stayed the same.
My lease ended, and I moved into a studio apartment close to campus. No roommates, which has helped boost my grades up to Bs and As.
And with my new place, it’s been easier keeping Sheetal and Tess as friends. They’ve been on-and-off as a couple all year, ever since Tess changed majors to theatre. But right now, they’re in a “firmly together” stage.
As for Salvatore, I haven’t really spoken much to him since I moved out, but we still share a lot of business classes and see each other.
It’s awkward, but I prefer awkward over the discomfort and bitter anger I started to feel towards him. Especially how he kept treating Garrison like trash.
Sheetal makes class with Salvatore more bearable. She’ll crack jokes before lectures, and the air always feels lighter.
But what Garrison is referencing—Lily and the attorneys—is more recent.
“I figured Lily already told you how it went,” I say, since Garrison is still living in her home with Lo and their kids.
“Yeah, but it’s not you telling me,” Garrison says like hearing me makes all the difference.
My smile tugs higher. “Okay, so it looks like franchising Superheroes & Scones is one-hundred percent a go, and then I pitched the idea of opening up a London branch.”
His mouth parts in a little shock. “London?”
I frown, realizing Lily must’ve left this out. “I didn’t go into the franchise meeting thinking London would come out of my mouth, but Lily asked me, ‘If you opened up a store, which city would you choose?’”
He shakes his head, confused. “Why London, though? You could’ve said…New York City or Pittsburgh.”
“I don’t know New York or Pittsburgh that well,” I say softly. “London has been my home for over two years, and I understand the market and the streets and people. I feel confident I could open a store here, if given the chance.”
Garrison gazes at the flickering candle, his thoughts swirling.
I scoot closer now, my pulse haywire. “Even if I open a London branch, Lily said I could be in charge of opening more locations.” My voice is too quiet, and in this tender way, he asks me to repeat. So I do, and I add, “She’s offering me a job when I graduate. Like a corporate-level, high-paying position that I hope…I hope I can be ready for, but it sounds like a dream…”
Putting my business degree to good use while being surrounded by superheroes and comics every day—I couldn’t ask for a better career.
I wait for him to reply, holding my breath. “Garrison?”
“You’ll be good at it,” he says, certain of this fact. “I know you will be.”
“I could suck.”
“No.” He has so much faith in me that my heart ascends to new levels. “You’re smart, Willow, and you’re so passionate about business and comics. It makes perfect sense.”
I scrutinize the slight dip of his mouth. “But…?” There has to be a but coming.
“But what does this mean for us?” He grimaces. “And I feel like a cock bringing myself into this and dampening the happiness of your career path.”
“It’s not dampened,” I say with a peeking smile. “And I’d hope you’d think about what this means for us…because I’d rather there be an us to think about, you know?” Giddiness, a strange kind of giddy ignites.
Maybe because he’s smiling again. “Alright, that’s good then.” He looks me over, his eyes carrying gentle affection. “What about us? You want to live in London full-time after graduation?”
“I’d rather just fly back every now and then. I know the paparazzi is nuts in Philly, but I miss it there. I miss everyone.”
Garrison nods strongly, and I can tell he likes this plan. “It’s not that I don’t love London,” he explains to me. “It’s a city that’ll always remind me of you. But I love Philly.”
I smile. “Me too.”
It’s where I met my brothers, where I met my best friend Daisy, and where I met my first love who’s sitting across from me six years later.
We talk a bit more about my future job. I try not to glance at my phone, but I swear we put our food orders in over forty minutes ago.
I don’t care much about the pizza though.
I just like being here with Garrison.
He’s gone a little quiet, and he rubs his palms, elbows on the table. He’s staring around but his eyes always land on me, almost too much.
I give him a look.
He gives me one. “What?”
I shrug, waiting for him to tell me something. But he inhales a tense breath and licks his lips, just looking deeper into me.
I decide to talk. “Do you think they forgot our order?”
He scans the restaurant quickly, then back to me. “It probably takes a while to cook a fresh pizza.” He seems disinterested in the food.
“How’s lacrosse going?” I ask since he’s been playing on a club team. Just for fun on the weekends. He’s more resilient and determined than he lets on, or maybe he even realizes. Not a lot of people would return to a sport they have a love-hate relationship with, let alone find enjoyment in the activity again.
“It’s good.” He nods.
“You’ve been saying that a lot,” I tell him.
He looks confu
sed.
I clarify, “It’s good, that’s good, everything’s good.”
“What can I say? I’m a thousand-page thesaurus.” His sarcasm is thick, a smile attached.
I want to laugh but my lips draw down. “Really, though, you’re starting to worry me. Did something happen—”
“No, I promise, Willow, everything is perfect.” His eyes grow far more tender, and he reaches a hand across the table.
I place my palm in his, and his thumb strokes my knuckles, expanding my lungs. His gaze is welling up, just looking at me.
It causes me to tear up. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Because I love you, Willow Hale. You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had, the most beautiful heart I’ve ever felt, and every morning I wake up, I can only hope to wake to you. Thinking of a single day without you in my life is physical torture.” He takes my other hand, careful not to knock over the candle. “There was a time where I didn’t even want to live till tomorrow, and now I don’t ever want this life with you to end.”
Overwhelmed tears roll down my cheeks, emotion that I can’t conceal. Emotion that I don’t try to hide.
He keeps going, his voice choked, on the verge of crying. “I want to play Street Fighter when we’re too old to work the fucking controllers, and I want our kid to beat every high score we set. I want my girl, my greatest friend, to be the mother of my child, and to be my wife.”
His wife.
He lets go of my hands, and my palms fly to my mouth.
Garrison.
I watch as he scoots his chair back.
“Garrison?” I croak.
Is he…?
I glance around, but of what I can see in the dim restaurant, no one is filming. People are watching, but no one has cameras out…or phones.
He planned this. He must have.
He planned this for me? For us.
“Willow.” He takes a knee in front of my chair.
I’m still in tears, still stunned, and I angle towards him.
Garrison reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a black box. He wipes the wet corners of his eyes and flips the lid. “Will you do the biggest honor of my whole existence and marry me?” His voice trembles.
Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2) Page 25