I nudge his arm with mine, and we sit together for a moment, silent, waiting. “So,” I say finally. “Mom and Dad.”
Emmett winces. “I’ll handle it.”
“You are seriously going to be grounded for the next decade.”
He shrugs, then grins. “Guess I’ll have plenty of time to work on my new snowmobile.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Half an hour later, Connor knocks on the door. I take his hand, and he leans down and kisses me, soft and quick, as he steps in. It’s so automatic, so comfortable.
Then he looks down at my chest quizzically and chuckles. “I was wondering where that went.”
I cross my arms over his sweatshirt. Busted. But he kisses me again, a little longer this time, and I melt into him.
Emmett clears his throat and we pull apart. “Emmett.” I smile awkwardly. “You remember Connor?”
Connor smiles, walks over to Emmett, and claps him on the back. “New snowmobile, huh?”
Emmett shrugs. “Do you ride?”
“Not much anymore, but my brother loved them.” I wince, but Connor’s smile hasn’t faded. “Is this guy gonna let you take it for a spin around the parking lot to make sure it runs okay?”
Emmett drops his eyes. “Yeah, uh, it doesn’t work.”
“What?” I ask.
“I needed to get something cheap. The dude said the body is still in pretty good condition. It just needs a little work.” He swallows. “Or, a lot.”
Connor’s eyes flick back and forth between us, apprehensive, and I sigh. “Why are you doing this, Em?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Fine, sorry, Emmett.” My eyes widen in realization, and I lean in closer. “Is this about you and Kaley?”
Emmett crosses his arms, casting his death glare upon me. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”
Connor steps awkwardly back toward the kitchen, probably wishing he could sink into the floor, but I step toward my brother. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, I’m fine.”
I open my mouth, but his phone buzzes. He looks down. “He’s here.”
I walk to the window. Outside, a poison-green El Camino sits in the lot, parked across an entire row of empty spots. Hooked to its back hitch is a rusty old trailer carrying what I assume is my brother’s new but nonworking snowmobile, concealed by a cloth cover. Emmett walks up and looks out, too. “Wow,” I say. “Sweet ride.”
Connor steps up behind us. “We’re supposed to head down there?”
Emmett nods, his eyes a little nervous now. I nudge his arm with a wink. “Let’s go get you a snowmobile.”
Mr. El Camino turns out not to be a murderer but a jolly old gearhead—a collector of all things mechanical. He talks our ears off about Polaris and Yamaha as the four of us load the snowmobile from the trailer to the back of my dad’s truck. Afterward, as we catch our breath, he starts babbling on about all these snowmobile competitions my brother will probably never enter. I stop listening after a while—instead I gaze up at the few stars that have pushed their glow through the light pollution of the city, trying not to think about how incredibly cold it is standing out here. Even Emmett seems to think the whole transaction takes way too long, but Connor seems to be in his element talking to this guy.
“So a bunch of you go out to the Black Hills every year?” His face is ruddy, but his eyes are bright, like a child listening to a bedtime story.
The old man—Pauly—chuckles. “Not for several years now, but my brothers and I used to make the trip every year.”
There it is—the first flicker of sadness in Connor’s eyes at the mention of brothers. I place my gloved hand in his, and he looks over and smiles. “Time to go in, huh?”
Pauly nods, turns to shake Emmett’s hand. “Well, young man, have fun fixing up this old thing.”
“Thank you, sir.”
We wave as he drives away, but when the chug of the bright-green beast’s engine fades into the night, I shudder and usher them both back into the building.
Upstairs, we shrug out of our coats, and Emmett pumps his fist in victory. “See, Mone? Told ya it was a good idea.”
I roll my eyes and Connor laughs, then crosses his arms, leans back against the couch. “So, you ever rebuilt something like that before?”
Emmett shrugs. “I figured I’d google it.”
Connor raises his eyebrows. “Wait. Have you ever driven a snowmobile before?”
Emmett puffs out his chest, but there’s pain in his eyes. “Of course I have.”
I catch Connor’s eye, give a slight shake of my head—the truth is, Emmett used to go snowmobiling with Kaley because her family is really into it. I am 100 percent certain that’s why he’s doing this—it’s some sort of strange attempt to get her back. And yet my brother clearly does not want to talk about it, and I want to respect that. For now, at least.
Connor nods back at me, eases into his wide smile. “Well, it’ll be an adventure, anyway. Honestly, I never have, either, but I used to hang out in the garage with my brother when he was working on them. Mostly just to drink beer, of course.” Emmett smirks as Connor continues. “Hey, I could help you sometime. Even if it’s just with questions.”
Emmett keeps his indifferent expression, but his nod is quick. “Yeah, maybe that’d be cool. Thanks.”
The unexpected rush of warmth within me at this brief moment of dude-bonding catches me off guard. I take a deep breath but can’t keep the grin off my face. They both look over, so I turn toward the kitchen. “Hey, who wants hot chocolate?”
“Me.” Emmett slides into the bench of my cute but tiny bare-wood kitchen nook, then pulls out his phone.
Connor joins me at the counter. “Cups up here?”
His arm brushes mine as he reaches to open it, and a thrill shoots through me. “Mm- hmm,” I murmur, sneaking a glance at his chiseled profile.
Mugs in hand, we squeeze around the nook. With my hands wrapped around the warm cup—with Connor by my side, shoulder to shoulder—my anxiety ebbs. All is well.
Then—my landline rings. It’s the shrill, clipped buzz telling me someone’s ringing from the entryway, wanting to be let in.
“Oh shit.” I turn, and Emmett’s face is pale. “Mom and Dad.”
Connor’s arm freezes midair, mug in hand. “Your parents are here?”
I glance at him. “They came to get Emmett.” I lean in close, voice low. “He kind of left without telling them.”
“Mone, I can hear you,” Emmett says.
“Uh, should I go?” Connor sets the mug down and rubs the back of his neck.
No. As much as I don’t want him pulled into my family drama so soon, I’m not ready for him to leave quite yet.
Emmett scoffs. “No way, dude. You’re the only chance of distracting them. Or at least lessening the blow.” I narrow my eyes, and he grins mischievously. “Mom will have a million questions for your new boyfriend, Mone.”
My stomach flips, and I’m sure my face is the same shade as my Christmas-red pants as I glower at my brother. But underneath the table, a warm, strong hand slips into mine. I look up and Connor is smiling. “I can handle that.” He winks, and I return his grin, biting my lip. He leans down and nuzzles my neck, and I giggle.
“Gross,” Emmett says. “But keep doing that shit when they get up here. That’ll help for sure.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Turns out no amount of new-boyfriend excitement is enough to help my brother. Beyond my mom’s initial delighted smile and “Oh! Hello, Connor,” the only thing his presence does is mute my dad.
If it were just us, he would’ve torn into Emmett, yelling and swearing the moment he got in the door. But in front of a nonfamily member, Dad’s commands are clipped, his face red with the effort of holding back his anger. “What were you thinking, scaring your mother and me like that?” Emmett turns away from Dad, shrugging back into his coat. “Answer me, dammit.”
“I’
m fine, Dad. I can handle driving to Sioux Falls by myself. I’m not a child.”
“But Em, what if you had an accident?” Mom is all worry and no anger, her hand on his arm. “And we had no idea where you were.”
“He did text, Mom,” I offer gently. “And he came here. It’s not like he met the guy on his own.”
Mom tsks. “But you don’t need any extra stress in your life right now, Monie. You need to be thinking about taking care of yourself.”
She turns to Emmett, already back to fretting over him, so my grimace goes unnoticed. Connor has retreated to the kitchen to provide space for the family argument, but in my peripheral vision I see his eyes on me.
“Let’s go,” Dad says. “We may have to drive slower if we have that damn thing in the back of the truck.”
I frown. “You guys sure you want to drive back this late?”
“Oh, we’re driving back, all right.” Dad’s eyes flash at Emmett. “You get to ride with me in the truck the whole way—and you’re going to school in the morning. If you are one minute late, you’re grounded even longer.”
Emmett’s shoulders slump, and I step forward to give him a hug. “It was good to see you, anyway.”
His arms fold around me. “You too, Mone.”
He looks up at Connor and waves. “Thanks again, man.”
Connor nods. “You bet.”
I hug my parents, and they promise to text when they’ve made it back safely. The door clicks behind them, the room is silent, and I walk to the window, watch as they drive away into the twinkling darkness of the city. Connor’s arms wrap around me, warm and solid. “You’ve got a great family.”
I smile, rubbing his arms. “We’re . . . interesting, at least. Dad’s pretty hard on Emmett. And Mom . . . she worries about us both. A lot.” My voice catches and I clear my throat, grateful he’s behind me.
Connor’s arms slide back and his hands fall to my hips, spinning them around gently so we’re facing each other, lifting my chin so we’re eye to eye. “You’re strong, you know.” I scoff, roll my eyes, but swallow back a lump in my throat. “I mean it.” Then he leans down and kisses me softly.
“Thank you,” I whisper when he pulls back.
He kisses my forehead. “Well, tonight’s been an adventure.”
“You’re leaving?”
He raises his eyebrows, shrugs. “I don’t have to.”
I twist my hands together. “I was thinking . . . since you’re already here, maybe we could watch The Empire Strikes Back?”
“Sure, that would be great.” With a grin, he walks over and plops down on the couch.
But I don’t move. I wait until he looks up at me; then I smile and crane my head to the side. “I was thinking we could watch it in there.”
Connor’s eyes flit to the bedroom door, then back to mine.
“On the TV in my room,” I explain.
He smiles a little too big; his words come a little too fast. “Okay, yeah.” Then he leaps off the couch and follows me into the bedroom.
I gesture to the TV. “Want to get it ready? I’m going to use the bathroom quick.” After crossing the plush gray carpeted floor, I shut the bathroom door behind me with a soft click. In front of the mirror, I scrutinize my face—scrubbed clean from the shower—and my eyes fall on my little pink makeup case, sitting dutifully on the smooth white countertop. Some mascara would open up my eyes more. Foundation, maybe, to even out my skin? Girl, at the very least you need some damn lip gloss.
But I take a deep breath. He’s been looking at my bare face all night and hasn’t run away screaming—clearly there’s something he likes about it.
I fluff my hair, and my eyes float down to my body. None of my underwear is remotely sexy. My eyes focus on the baggy sweatshirt I’m wearing. His sweatshirt.
I cock my head to the side, raising my eyebrows at the woman in the mirror. You up for this?
The spark in her eye is the answer I need.
I strip down out of my pants, thanking the patron saint of shaved legs that I used my razor this morning. Then I tug the sweatshirt over my head, dropping it onto the floor so I can slip out of my pajama shirt before shrugging back into the bulky hoodie.
The chilled air as I step out of the bathroom sends goose bumps up my exposed legs. My hands brush my bare thighs—the sweatshirt covers the important parts but not much more, and I’m suddenly self-conscious.
But before me, Connor sits on the edge of my bed, facing the TV, and as I stare at his broad shoulders and back, his strong arms, my bravery returns. “Hey,” I say softly.
He’s turning toward me as he answers. “The movie’s all cued—” His voice cuts off, and now he’s the one staring.
I draw a shuddering breath, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Is this okay?”
His eyes float down my body, then back up, and they lock on to mine. “This is okay,” he says. “This is very, very okay.”
I smile as I walk toward him, climb onto the bed, and gently slide the remote out of his hand. “So, I sort of changed my mind about the movie.”
He leans toward me, his voice husky. “Oh really?”
We’re so close now that his breath warms my face. I close the distance, my lips lightly brushing his. “Will you stay tonight?” I whisper.
His strong hands cup my face, and he kisses me deeply, the answer I hoped for, and when he leans back, I’m breathless. I push myself up on my knees, all hesitation gone, replaced by the adoration in his eyes, and I pull the hoodie up over my head, drop it onto the floor behind me.
Connor rises up to his knees as well, eyes taking in my entire body. I reach for him, and it’s like our bodies are drawn together—we’re kissing without end, I’m pulling his shirt up over his head, running my hands down his warm chest and stomach. His hands find me, too, his lips trail down my neck, sending shivers of anticipation through me as we ease back onto the bed.
“Simone,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear, “you are the most beautiful person I have ever known.”
I exhale a soft puff of air as his lips find mine again, and I kiss him with all that is in me. My heart has melted away, exploded into a million particles of joy, nothing left but the blissful certainty that I have fallen completely in love with this man.
My eyes are closed but I’m smiling as I rest on Connor’s warm chest, rising and falling in rhythm. Goose bumps prickle my bare shoulder, but he anticipates them, satisfies yet another need as he pulls the blanket higher up onto my shoulder.
“You comfortable?” he murmurs.
“Mm-hmm.” I open my eyes. “Except . . .”
“Except?”
My stomach rumbles, the famished beast within weak now from hours of emptiness. “Except I’m starving.”
Connor chuckles. “I could cook you something. I happen to make the best frozen pizza in the world.”
I giggle, then gasp. “Oh, wait! My neighbor gave me a whole pan of chocolate cupcakes.” I have earned those. My eyes light up, and I twist toward him. “We could watch the movie now. With a midnight snack?” Sleep be damned—I’ll make my coffee extra strong tomorrow morning.
He kisses the tip of my nose. “Whatever you want.”
I smile slyly and move in, kissing him slowly, savoring his taste on my lips. When I pull back, I whisper seductively in his ear, “Cupcakes and Star Wars, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Connor plants a soft kiss on my forehead before slipping out to the kitchen to retrieve the cupcakes.
I watch him walk away, lying in the warmth of the bed, already counting the moments until his arms are around me again.
PART SIX
DENIAL
Monday, December 6, 10:03 a.m.
I stare in horror at Nikki—my best friend in the world—lying on the floor, motionless.
I fall to my knees.
I can’t do this.
All sounds stop. Time seems to stop. I shut my eyes, fade away, and suddenly it’s like I’m back in our college theater.
The smell of backstage, all dampness and dust and nervous sweat. The muted clip of the floorboards beneath my feet. The thick dark curtain, a sliver of light peeking underneath. The panic bubbling up within me until I’m sure I’m about to explode.
The gentle hand on my shoulder, calming me as always, turning darkness into light.
You can do this.
Nikki’s whisper coats me with steel, thrusts me through that curtain and onto the stage.
I draw a shuddering breath, open my eyes. But it’s not the stage that awaits me. It’s something much more terrifying.
I force myself to crawl forward until I reach Nikki. Then I extend a trembling hand, trying desperately to hope, to pray, to believe that my best friend is still alive.
CHAPTER TWENTY
May 19, seven months before
No matter how desperately I hope and pray, jogging outside for the first time is so much harder than I imagined. We put it off as long as possible—a couple of late-season snowstorms helped—but now the snow is gone, and with it, any excuse to stay indoors. And yet no matter how brightly spring plays its melody on this crisp morning in Falls Park—the rush of the water, the laughter of children on end-of-the-school-year field trips—it’s impossible to focus on the loveliness when you’re drenched in sweat, panting out labored breaths with each step.
“Slogging” is a more accurate description of what I’m doing as I trudge along beside Nikki. I didn’t expect it to be this damn hard. I’ve gotten up to a solid two miles on the treadmill, but she said running would be different outside—the terrain, wind, any number of factors.
My feet scrape on the pavement as we round a curve, and my knee twinges. Damn, didn’t expect that, either. It technically started a few weeks ago, though at first I thought I’d simply pushed myself too hard that day—Connor had dropped me off, and we’d lingered in his car, hidden in the darkness of the YMCA parking lot. By the time I’d floated inside, I was already flying, ponytail and tank top disheveled, ready to rock that run.
But the pain kept coming back toward the end of each run, a sharp pull on the side of my kneecap.
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