Past

I looked into the cup of punch in my hand and wished it were spiked. Corrigan was standing beside me going on and on about the branches of the military. Freddie deployed about a month ago, and since then, it has been all everyone wanted to talk about. It was as if no one understood why a guy who had everything going for him—money, looks, women—would choose to go and fight for his country rather than take the comfortable route. It was as if they’d all forgotten nine-eleven and how torn up we all were when it happened. It hadn’t even been two years, for God’s sake. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry sick over my brother’s safety, but I was prouder of him than anyone else in my family. I glanced up and watched as my parents spoke to Mildred. Mom had her hand on her chest, her eyes caked with anti-inflammatory cream and makeup to try to hide her distress, and Dad was nodding along to whatever was being said.

My brother’s deployment had added ten years to their state, and my Yale acceptance had added another ten. Funny how that worked. They’d pushed for me to go there, and I could have sworn that they wished they could take it all back, whether it was because I was the youngest and would be out of the house soon or because they realized how steep the tuition was, I wasn’t sure. They never outright said anything other than they were happy for me. Nevertheless, uneasiness rested in the things we didn’t say, and they weren’t saying anything at all. Ever. Not to me and not to each other. The only time they seemed to interact was when we were in social settings like these.

“So, yeah, if I joined any, it would be the Coast Guard,” Corrigan said. I shot him a look.

“You’re still talking about this?”

“You tuned me out, didn’t you?”

“Sorry. There’s only so much armed forces talk I can handle, especially with my brother flying jets over enemy territory.” I took a sip of my punch. “Maybe we should raid the alcohol cabinet.”

“Let’s go.”

We walked inside and went downstairs to the basement where Alistair kept the good stuff. Not that we knew what good stuff was. We always went for the vodka, rum, or tequila without a second glance at the label.

“So you and Ro are over,” Corrigan commented as he poured vodka into our punch glasses.

“Did we ever really begin?”

He looked up without fully turning his face toward me. “Don’t undermine me.”

“I’m not.” I took the glass he handed me and clinked it against his in a toast. “I just wouldn’t exactly call what we were doing a relationship or even a hook up. Maybe a casual messing around.”

I was lying through my teeth, and I was sure Corrigan knew it. There was nothing casual about Ro and me, especially right before he ended things. We’d been inseparable, just not important enough for him not to break up with me because he was leaving. I tried to contain the pang in my chest when I thought about it. His breakup had been methodical, simple and clean, the way skilled surgeons cut through skin. I’d been expecting it, so I’d handled it okay. I smiled up at Cor as we went upstairs.

“You’d call finally taking your relationship with quite arguably your best friend a casual hook up?” Cor said. I blinked up at him.

“What would you call it?”

“Love.”

“Love? Are you insane?” I spit some of my drink back into my cup because I didn’t want to spray the furniture.

“Right. I forgot you two have sworn off love.” He shook his head, eyes rolling. “You’re both full of shit.”

Maybe I was full of shit, but Rowan wasn’t. He genuinely didn’t believe in love and I didn’t want to be the girl who fell in love with the guy unwilling to reciprocate it. So yeah, maybe I was full of shit, but I was also doing the best I could to guard my own heart from it all, and with good reason.

“Because we don’t believe in love?”

“Because you don’t believe you’re in love.”

“We aren’t.”

“He asked you to go to Columbia for him.”

“Yet, I’m going to Yale.”

“Why is that?” We walked back outside and joined the party again. It wasn’t much of a party. There was no loud music or drunken people jumping in the pool, not like the real parties we’d had when there weren’t any parents around. As Rowan liked to say, it was an adult, classy party. My heart hurt a little when I thought about all the things he liked to say, and it hurt a little more when I thought of all the things he refused to say.

“Yale has always been my dream. If he really wanted to be with me, if he really wanted to . . . whatever, he would have gone to my first-choice school.”

“He got a scholarship.”

“An athletic scholarship,” I corrected. “He could’ve applied to Yale.”

“He did.”

“Oh. I wasn’t aware.” I deflated a little. Why had Rowan never told me that he’d applied?

“Bet you never asked.”

I hadn’t asked. I’d just assumed Rowan was trying to be Rowan and get his way by making me apply to his college of choice instead of him applying to mine. The realization made my heart sink a little. Would he have gone if he’d been accepted? Would I have switched knowing he’d at least tried? I shook the thoughts away. It was too late for the answers to matter.

“I’d never ask him to give up rowing for me. He shouldn’t ask me to give up Yale for him.”

We stood there in silence. Sam joined us shortly after.

“You spiked your drinks?” he asked, standing in front of us. Corrigan and I lifted our glasses and smiled. Sam shook his head. “Bastards.”

“You’re still set on the tech college?” Cor asked Sam.

“Dude, you ask me this every time you see me,” Sam said. “And you literally see me every fucking day.”

“Hey, someone needs to care,” Corrigan said. “Bet your parents don’t ask.”

Sam chuckled. “Damn straight.”

He went on to talk about his classes—again, not that I minded. He loved it, and it was as if something sparked to life inside him when he talked about the creative aspect of it all. I loved hearing it because I was going to Yale to study the same thing. The only difference was a mortgage-size loan. No biggie.

I broke away from the conversation to get myself an hors d'oeuvre and almost turned right back around when I spotted a dark blue dress from the corner of my eye. I hoped Mildred wasn’t coming over to talk to me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her. It was that we had virtually nothing in common. Mildred was rock hard in every possible way, cold, calculating and so unlike my mother, who was soft and emotional, maybe too emotional at times. To be honest, it was a wonder how Dad had put up with her for this long, but who was I to judge? I smelled Mildred’s staple Chanel perfume as she approached, and I lowered the small spinach quiche from my mouth before I took a bite.

“You look lovely today,” she commented.

“As do you.” I smiled. “Are you ready to have the house to yourself again? No more rampant rowers messing up your furniture.”

“I’m . . . conflicted about it,” she said. My brows shot up. She never, ever said things like that, but then, Rowan was her favorite, and unlike most mothers, Mildred unabashedly played favorites. We both tore our gazes away from each other’s at the same time, looking out to the party. I followed the loud laughter I heard, the one that made my heart skip a beat, and looked at Rowan, who was talking to Camryn.

“I wanted to thank you,” Mildred said beside me. I looked at her again. She was watching Rowan. “For not going to Columbia.”

“Oh?” My heart thundered. “I’m surprised you even know about that.”

“Oh, you know, I’ve heard the guys talking here and there.” She glanced at me, her eyes showing no sign of emotion. “You would have ruined his life. And your own.”

“How so?”

“You aren’t a good fit for Rowan, dear. You’re plain and childish and, quite frankly, I don’t understand what my son sees in you.” Her tone was so thick with feigned regret I was surprised she didn’t choke on it. “He belongs with that girl. Someone who will make him see the bigger picture. Who will explore the world with him and build the company up, not tear it down or settle for some cutesy little family.”

I felt myself clam up at her words. This woman had welcomed me into her house with open arms. She’d smiled at me and asked how I was doing. She’d pretended to care about my family and me. How could she say those things? I willed the tears to stop building in my eyes. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing she’d gotten to me. I tried to remind myself of what a royal bitch she was to her own sons, but it wasn’t much help, the ache of her words was still there, sitting in my chest. Instead, I made myself look at Rowan and Camryn again. They’d never been a couple, but they’d always managed to look like one. Maybe it was their Greek god and goddess good looks, both tall and effortlessly classic. Something akin to jealousy wedged its way inside my chest. I found it increasingly difficult to breathe as I watched them, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Just the other day, we’d kissed. Just the other day, he’d looked at me as if I were his world. Just the other day, his fingers were inside me, my mouth was on him until he climaxed. Just the other day, he broke things off, saying a long distance “whatever this was” would never work. I’d agreed. He was right, of course. I’d been understanding and kissed him feverishly and then walked away, wondering if he wanted me to fight. But I didn’t want to fight or be fought for. Mildred walked away from me without another word. Whether it was because she saw that I couldn’t summon my own response or because she got bored, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t care.

Sam and Cor joined me again.

“That was harsh,” Corrigan said.

“I am so sorry,” Sam added.

“Not your fault.” I shrugged, not having realized they were listening and also not willing to show just how much I was dying inside. “Perhaps she’s right, anyway.”

Neither one of them agreed or disagreed. It was the thing I hated about having male friends. Women would stand by you, they’d be mad with you, sad with you, stomp the ground for you, and curse the world for you. Men just stood there helplessly. It annoyed me. I set my glass down, threw away the quiche I no longer wanted, and said goodbye to them. I was halfway to the sidewalk when I heard someone running behind me and turned around. My heart spiked at the sight of Rowan in his slacks, button-down shirt, and tie. He ran a hand through his hair and stopped in front of me.

“I leave at six in the morning.”

“I know.” I swallowed.

“You aren’t gonna say goodbye?”

“We already said goodbye a few weeks ago, did we not?” I said. “Besides, you were busy with your girlfriend.”

A flash of something claimed his features—regret, panic? Just like inside, I refused to let the hurt rise to my features.

“She isn’t my girlfriend,” he said. Stupid, idiotic excuse.

“He belongs with that girl.”

Tears burned in my eyes. Hot, stupid, annoying tears. I blinked them away quickly.

“No one is,” I whispered. “You don’t bleed.”

His eyes flashed when I said this. He’d thought I’d forgotten. He thought that because we were high when he told me that whole bit about his father and the way he made him continuously repeat that mantra that I could ever forget it. But how could I? It was terrifying and sad and everything wrong with the world, and it was something he’d been taught since he was a kid.

“I don’t,” he confirmed.

“I know.”

He cupped my face, and for maybe the last time, he looked at me as if I were the world. Like I was the sun and he was locked in my orbit. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it again, came closer still, lowered his face to mine, and kissed me. It was a soft kiss filled with regret and goodbyes, and when I walked away from him that time, I felt my heart crack open a little. I told myself I didn’t bleed either. But I was wrong.