by Megyn Ward
I walk away but I don’t get more than five steps before she calls out to me. “You know that Bradford douche came here, right?” My shoulders stiffen at the mention of Jeremy. I turn around and look at her. “He offered Con a fuck-ton of money to break things off with you and Con turned him down flat.” She stands up straight and drops her arms from her chest to face me head on. “Your friend tried to buy you like a loaf of bread—just thought you should know.”
She crawls under the hood of the truck again, an old Chevy that seems familiar somehow, and disappears. A few moments later, her music comes back on and it was like I was never here.
Deciding to continue my apology tour, I walk to the library. I left without notice. I made a promise to Margo and she counted on me to fulfill it. While I don’t expect her to shove her finger in my face and pepper me with F-bombs, I do expect her to be angry. Disappointed in me.
To be honest, I’d rather get the jabby finger treatment than suffer Margo’s regret at hiring me.
Prepared for the worst, I walk through the main doors and come face-to-face with my replacement, a perky, ponytailed blonde who tells me that Margo is attending an all-day training at the main branch and won’t be back until tomorrow. “You can leave your name with me or our lead volunteer.” She points her finger in a familiar direction before giving me a smile that tells me she really doesn’t want to be responsible for any sort of message I want to leave for Margo. Thanking her, I walk across the atrium, turning the corner when I reach the elevator to head toward the sad, deserted corner of the library that I’d been in charge of revitalizing.
It’s not sad anymore and it’s not deserted. The carpet has been ripped up. The concrete beneath it stained. There’s a computer lounge. A comfy-looking couch in front of wide-screen TV. A coffee bar. High-top tables and stools. And books. Shelves of them, lining the walls, from floor to ceiling. It instantly reminds me of Conner’s room. The first time I saw his shelves full of books. How in awe of them I was. How eager I was to touch every single one.
I hear him before I actually see him. The low rumble of his voice sets off a flurry of butterflies, bouncing and swirling inside my stomach.
Conner.
He’s standing at a high-top table draped in a canvas drop cloth. On top of it is a car part, a group of kids gathered around him while he shows them how it works. How to fix it.
“Scalpel,” he says, and the kids laugh when a pretty brunette slaps a screwdriver into his hand.
Kaitlyn.
The woman from the bar.
I couldn’t forget her if I wanted to.
I must’ve moved. Made a sound because all of a sudden, he’s looking right at me.
They’re all looking at me.
“I’m looking for the lead volunteer.” I feel like a ventriloquist dummy. My mouth is moving but the sound feels like it’s coming from somewhere else. Somewhere far away.
The kids point at Conner. He’s still staring at me. Kaitlyn’s staring at me too. “The intern at the front desk told me I could leave a message with you. For Margo.”
“Alright.” He still looking right at me, but I have a feeling he can’t see me. Like I’m a ghost.
“Can you please tell her that Henley O’Connell came by to apologize.”
That elicits a reaction. A quiet chuff, half laugh, half scoff. “Sure.” As soon as he says it, he gives the kids in front of him a grin before he drops his gaze back to the car part in front of him and continues his lesson like I don’t exist.
Sixty-four
Conner
Declan.
Motherfucking Declan.
That’s what I’m thinking.
It’s on a loop.
Over and over.
Motherfucking Declan.
Motherfucking Declan.
Motherfucking Declan.
He’s the only one who could’ve called her.
Would’ve called her.
Tess is too afraid I’m going to crack to risk it and Cap’n been nothing but assholes and elbows since he got word that Legs is coming home. He’s been fluffing pillows and polishing the silver like the Queen is coming, for weeks now.
No way he pulled out of that tailspin long enough to fuck me up like this.
That leaves my brother.
Motherfucking Declan.
“Are you okay?”
I look up to find Kaitlyn looking at me, worried. She’s not my girlfriend. We’ve had coffee five times. This is the second time she’s come to the library with me. She’s hinted that she’d like to go to dinner or to a movie—normal date shit—but I’m pretending like I’m oblivious. Like I don’t know what she wants. That she’s hoping for more.
I know I’m stringing her along. I know that makes me a dick. Because she’s not my girlfriend but she wants to be and I’ll letting her think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell, even though I can’t even think about holding her hand.
“Yeah.” I nod and smile, loading my demo carburetor and tools into plastic tote I keep them in. When I started this whole thing, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. What did I have to offer a bunch of kids?
Drinking 101.
Panty-dropping for beginners.
Back Alley Brawls for Dummies.
I finally said, fuck it, and decided to jump off that bridge when I got to it.
Patrick helped me get the center in fighting shape. Ripped up carpet. Installed shelves. I bought computers and furniture. Ordered books.
I spared no expense.
Used the money I got from selling my car.
It felt good. Almost poetic.
Every time I told her I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, Margo just patted me on the shoulder and told me I was doing just fine. What neither one of us says is that this was Henley’s project.
That we both wish she was here.
Margo made me an official volunteer and as soon as I plugged in the espresso machine, I had kids nosing around. Asking me what I was doing. What was going on.
And then I just talked to them. Figured out want they were interested in. What they needed help with. Homework. How to fill out a job application. How to apply for college. Basic car maintenance.
It’s going so well, Cap’n has plans to build his own place. A place that provides housing and services to wounded vets like Ryan while getting the community involved.
Fitting the lid on the tote I heft it off the table and walk it in the service closet. When I get back, Kaitlyn’s got her coat on. “You want to go grab some coffee?” she says, even though there’s a coffee machine behind her, with all the bells and whistles.
My shift here was over an hour ago. My shift at the bar doesn’t start for another four. The garage is dead, and Ryan told me yesterday that if I showed up today, he was going to shove my Uno cards up my ass.
I have nowhere to go.
Nothing to do.
And she knows it.
“No.” I don’t give her a reason. I don’t have to.
She already knows.
She nods, working on her gloves before giving me a sad smile. “Okay,” she says. “Maybe some other time.”
I don’t answer her because there isn’t going to be some other time. Kaitlyn and I are never going to see each other again.
She knows that too.
Sixty-five
Conner
I find him, sitting in our booth at Benny’s, working his way through of Nora’s Denver omelets. He’s alone like he usually is. I like to think it’s because he’s such an enormous asshole that no one can stand his company, but the truth is, he likes it that way.
My brother’s always been a loner.
When he sees me standing over him, he keeps chewing. Looks down at his plate and uses the side of his fork to cut into his omelet. “Better sit down before Nora catches you menacing.” He looks up at me and stuffs another piece of omelet in his mouth.
Benny’s is neutral territory. We don’t fight here. We got into it in the parking
lot once, a few years ago, and Nora made it clear that if we did it again, she’d 86 us for good. The look on her face when she said it told us she meant it.
I sit down and signal Tina. “You’re lucky I like pancakes.”
“Yeah?” he sits back in his seat, taking his cup of coffee with him. “Why’s that?” He sounds bored. He probably is. We have this conversation a few times a week.
“Because you called Henley,” I tell him, my tone flat and matter of fact. “And if we were anywhere but here, I’d probably kill you.”
“She’s here?” He doesn’t look bored anymore.
I nod, my neck so stiff the back of my skull starts to ache.
“I didn’t call her.” Now he looks sorry. “I went to see her.”
“Why the fuck would you do that?” I say it loud enough to draw a warning look from Nora from the front of the restaurant. I force myself to settle back. Consider sitting on my hands so I don’t launch myself across the table and break his neck.
“Because someone had to and it sure as fuck wasn’t going to be you,” he says in a rational tone that does nothing to help his chances of getting out of here with his neck intact. “Tess would step in front of a speeding train for you. Patrick is buried under his own two tons of bullshit with Cari coming home next week.” He wipes his mouth and goes quiet when Tina shows up with my coffee and pancakes. As soon as she’s gone he shoves the syrup at me. “That leaves me.”
“You?” I laugh a little when he says it. “Because you’re suddenly so worried about Henley and her feelings.”
The bottom half of his jaw slides away from its top before it pops back into place. “Well, someone needed to tell her about Ryan.”
Shit.
“That wasn’t your call to make.” Even as I say it, I know I’m wrong. It was his to make because he was the one with the balls to do it. “Ryan didn’t want her to know.”
“If you were hurt I’d want to know,” he says it to his omelet. “I’d deserve to know, even if you wouldn’t want me to. Even if you hate me, I’d still deserve to know because we’re family and family may fight and scream and try to kill each other but it doesn’t turn its back and it doesn’t shut you out.”
I don’t want him to be right. I don’t want to agree with him. I want to fight. I want to flip this fucking table over and tear into him with my bare hands.
He seems to know that I’ve run out of things to say because he slides out of his side of the booth and reaches for his wallet. “I’m calling Logan in to cover your shift tonight,” he says, pulling a few bills from his wallet before shoving it back into his pocket. “You’ve got some business to take care of.”
Sixty-six
Henley
I’m not really sure how I got back to Boylston. I know that my bag was waiting for me at the concierge desk when I got there. When he hands it over, he gives me a puzzled look like he’s doing the math, but it doesn’t add up.
Three-thousand-dollar coat.
Thousand-dollar heels.
Several hundred thousand in jewelry.
And a twenty-dollar backpack with someone else’s name written across the front pocket.
I take it from the man behind the desk, shaking my head when he asked me if I need help with it, like I’m juggling a stack of steamer trunks instead of a single backpack.
“No thank you.” I sling the strap over my shoulder and head for the elevator.
The apartment looks exactly how I left it. Unbuttoning my coat, I toss it over a chair in the living room and look around. It looks the same, but it feels different. Empty. Cold. Probably because I know I’m not staying.
Carrying my bag into the bedroom, I drop it on top of the dresser before kicking off my heels and sitting on the side of the bed.
Conner volunteers at the library.
He’s helping my brother.
He’s doing well.
He has a girlfriend.
I feel laughter bubbling up in my throat, mixing with the tears. Through the blur, I see the piece of paper I left on the nightstand. Picking it up, I study the long line of numbers and letters, ending in its deceptively simple answer.
10500
When I asked him what is was, he told me it was poetry.
Falling back onto the bed, I press it to my chest, and close my eyes. Let myself be lulled to sleep by the steady thump of my heart of my hand.
I wake up to someone knocking on my door. It’s dark and the landline in the apartment ringing. The familiarity of the situation has me fumbling for the phone on the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Miss O’Connell, this is Thomas at the front desk. There was a… gentleman here a moment ago—” The knocking grows more insistent. “I’m afraid he wouldn’t wait to be announced. He—”
The knock turns to banging. The kind that does not go unnoticed in a luxury apartment building. The kind that gets security called and the police involved. “It’s fine Thomas,” I say into the phone before tossing it down. I’m not even sure I hung it up before I run out of the bedroom. Through the living room to come to a sliding halt in front of the front door.
The banging suddenly stops.
He knows I’m standing here.
“Let me in.”
That’s all he says, his voice gruff and heavy.
Yes.
I open the door to find Conner on the other side, chest heaving slightly. Hands clenched at his sides. Eyes dark and little wild. A thrill goes through me when I see him. One I have no right to feel.
One moment he’s in the hallway. The next he’s across the threshold and kicking the door shut. And then I’m in his arms, being pulled down to the floor, the cold tile of the entryway, pressed against my back, though the thin material of my dress. His hands between my thighs, opening me, a shuddering gasp running through me when I feel his fingers hook around the lace between them to expose me. His hot, shallow breath, cool against the center of me, a moment before his mouth closes over my pussy, licking and sucking in frantic, greedy pulls.
I come immediately, screaming his name. I’d be embarrassed if he didn’t groan his approval, mouth still latched around me. Still devouring me like he can’t get enough.
Tearing himself away from me with a low growl, he carries me into the bedroom and lays me on the bed. He pulls off my dress. Unhooks my bra. Takes off my panties.
Standing over me, he pulls off his long sleeve shirt. He has a new tattoo. A triple strand of pearls wrapped around his forearm. Winding around his bicep. Disappearing behind his shoulder. My hands go to the pearls around my neck, working the clasp around so I can take it off.
“Leave it.” He opens the front of his pants and starts to pull them down, gaze snagged on my ring finger. “Leave that too.”
I shake my head. “Con—”
Pants off, he stretches himself over me, the engorged head of cock, pushing against me. Taking my hands in his, he lifts them above my head, pinning them to the bed. “I said leave it.” He strokes into me, hard and fast, his hips slamming against mine, instantly filling me. Stretching my pussy around the thick, rigid length of him. “Christ…” he mutters it against my neck, stroking and thrusting into me until I’m writhing and reaching for release.
He turns me, laying on his back so he can look up at me, his hands falling to my hips, so he can guide me, lifting and lowering me along the length of his cock. His fingers grip my ass, opening me wider, so I can take him in deeper. “Have you been touching yourself?” his voice is tight, straining against the back of his throat, gaze dark and hooded while he watches me ride him.
“Yes.”
“Show me.” He presses my hand between my legs, brushing my fingers against the place where we’re joined. “Touch yourself for me.”
I skim my fingers over my slick pussy, falling back, bracing my hand against his thigh when I find my clit. Sweeping my fingertip over it again and again, looking down at him while I roll my hips against his. “Conner…” my head falls back, fin
gers swirling fast. Our hips pumping and grinding against each other in a relentless, hungry rhythm.
“Come on me, Henley.” His hands come up, caressing my breasts, pinching and tugging my nipples, hard enough to make me gasp. “I need you to come on me.”
A deep, bone-twisting shudder shoots up my spine and I scream his name again while my pussy grips around him so tight he groans.
“Fuuuck.” His hands find my hips again, gripping them tight while he slams me down on his cock while he thrusts upward, touching places I didn’t even knew existed while he comes, inside me.
He pulls me toward him, framing my face with his hands, thumb stroking my cheekbone. Gaze searching mine. I think he’s going to kiss me. I want him to, but he doesn’t.
“Cenquinsexagintillion.” He whispers it like it’s a secret, the pad of his thumb skimming lower to follow the curve of my upper lip. “It’s a number. Ten to the five-hundredth power.” One of his hands slips down the nape of my neck, following the curve of my spine to press against my lower back. “In string theory, it’s the number of realities that exist, parallel to ours.” Pressed tight, he rolls me under him again and I moan softly when I feel his cock stiffen inside me. “In one of them we’re together. We stay.” He pulls back, angling his hips away from mine before pushing forward, stroking into me, slow and deep. “In one of them, you choose me.” He finally kisses me, his mouth brushing against mine so soft, so gentle, I’m afraid I might’ve imagined it.
Sixty-seven
Conner
As soon as she fell asleep, I got up.
Got dressed.
But that’s as far as I went. As far as I could push myself.
I’ve been sitting on the side of her bed for almost an hour now, trying to talk myself out the door.
Nothing good can come of you being here.
Nothing has changed.