It’s been a shitty fuckin’ week and I’ve been a raging dick, ever since I left Henley’s apartment. Because doing the right thing sucks balls. It hurts like a bitch and I’m content to make everyone suffer with me.

She’s called me every day, letting me know when she’s going to be at the center to visit Ryan, so I can avoid running into her.

I never answer but I listen to every one of her messages. I don’t really care when she goes to see her brother, how long she’s going to be there. If they played checkers or Crazy Eights. I listen to her messages, so I can hear her voice.

Today is going to be my last visit for a while. I’m leaving this evening. I’ll call Patrick or Declan and let them know when I can plan another trip… thank you for taking care of him. Goodbye, Conner.

I gave her an out.

Opened the door to her cage.

That’s all I can do.

I can give her wings, but I can’t make her fly.

Can’t make her choose me.

Like I said, it sucks balls.

“I’m looking for the owner?”

I pop my head up, looking around the hood of the car I’m working on to find an older man, probably in his sixties or so. Gray hair. Broad, friendly face. A suit even fancier than the ones Cap’n likes to wear. I’ve seen his face before. I know who he is, and my stomach does a hard flip. “That’s me.” I step out from the front of the car, pulling a shop rag from the back pocket of my jeans to wipe down my hands in case he wants to shake hands, although I can’t imagine that a man like him would stoop low enough to exchange pleasantries with a dirty mechanic like me. “What can I do for you?” I automatically look past him, looking for the car that brought him. On the tarmac in front of the garage is a sleek Maybach Mercedes, a uniformed driver posted at its fender, at the ready. Not my usual flavor as far as cars go, but it’s a nice piece of machinery.

“You’re Conner Gilroy?” His gaze remains neutral, but I feel judged all the same when it flicks over me. My tattooed neck. The ink on my arms. The grime on my hands. The dirt under my fingernails.

“That’s what I said.” I give up trying to make myself presentable and toss my shop rag on my work bench. Nothing I do is going to gain this man’s approval. Nothing I say is going to change whatever preconceived idea he has of me. So I just stand here and wait.

“I’m Spencer Halston-Day,” he says when I don’t say anything else. “Henley’s step-father.”

The pride I hear in his voice when he says it loosens my jaw a bit. “I know who you are… want a beer or something?”

“I’d love one,” he says, giving me a short head nod. “Thank you.”

It takes me a few minutes to find something in the shop fridge that I think a multi-billionaire might like. Pulling a couple of Trilliums from the stash of premium beer Tess keeps in the crisper, I carry them back into the garage to find Henley’s step-father under the hood of the car I was working on when he walked in.

Hands dug into his pockets, he’s leaning over, looking at the engine I have ripped apart. Hearing me, he straightens and turns to look at me. “Yours?” He says, wagging his chin at the ’67 Cuda I’ve been in the process of gutting all day.

“Yup,” I use the side of my workbench to pop the top on his beer before offering it to him. “Bought her this morning.”

He nods his head at me, looking around the garage. Assessing. Judging. His gaze hits the stairs that lead up to my shitty apartment. “You live here too.” It’s not a question. It makes me wonder how much he knows about me. What he thinks of me.

“Yes.” I don’t qualify the answer. I don’t try to explain. My family owns half of Boston. I could live anywhere I wanted. I live here because this place is mine. I bought it. I earned it.

When I don’t say anything else, he takes a drink of his beer. “How’s business?”

“It’s alright,” I say answering him honestly. “Probably be better if I chased business. Might make a profit if I charged more.”

He nods again. “So you don’t think building your business is important?” Again, his tone is neutral, but I sense judgment. Conclusions being drawn.

“I like working on cars.” I shrug. “I don’t necessarily like to charge people money for it.” Truth be told, if Tess didn’t write the invoices, I wouldn’t make a dime. Suddenly, I’ve had enough. “If you’re here to offer me money to stay away from Henley, let me put you at ease.” I set my beer down, unopened, ready for this to be over. “I already broke it off, so you can put your checkbook away.”

“You broke it off with Henley?” His brows lower just enough to tell me I hit a nerve. He sounds angry. Looks at me like I committed some sort of mortal sin. “So, you don’t love her.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I never said that.”

“She’s engaged you know,” he says, taking another drink. “Sniveling little shit got down on one knee and everything.”

His assessment of Bradford surprises me. “That would be on the list of reasons I broke it off.”

“It’s a business deal. So he can access his trust fund. Kid’s gay and his parents are assholes…” He tips is bottle at me. “but I suppose you already know that.

I nod.

“Do you love her?”

Bradford asked me the same thing once and I nearly killed him for it. “Yes,” I tell him. “I love her.”

He studies me for a moment before he nods and sets his beer down like I just told him everything he needed to know.

He holds his hand out and I shake it. He doesn’t grimace at the dirt. Doesn’t immediately reach for a monogrammed handkerchief in his breast pocket, after the handshake ends. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Conner,” he says. “Thanks for the beer.”