Henley wasn’t home.

If I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve remembered that it was Sunday. She’s at the park, helping Cap’n and Dickface coach their game. Everyone is there. Afterward, they’ll head over to Declan’s parents’ house for Sunday dinner. When I imagine all of them sitting around the table, talking and laughing, I feel like a kid who’s been picked last for teams in gym class. Like a total loser.

Usually I don’t think about. Usually, I’m parked in front of the TV with my dad, screaming at the ump and stuffing pizza in my face. I could go home. Try to get back into the groove of things. Pretend that the last twenty-four hours never happened, just like I’ve been trying to pretend like the last eight years of my life never happened.

Instead of going home, I end up at the garage. Roll up the door and crank up the tunes. Pull on my coveralls and pop the hood on the 1957 Chevy 3100 that’s my pet project. I’ve been working on it since Declan bought it for me for my eighteenth birthday.

I’d teased him that he sucked at buying girls presents—who buys there girlfriend more work for her birthday?—but the truth is I fell in love with it the second I saw it. No gift could’ve been more perfect for me.

I couldn’t even look at it for the first year after he broke up with me. Put it up for sale about a hundred times but could never pull the trigger. Always found a reason to refuse the sale. Even when my father was diagnosed with lung cancer and we needed money for his treatment. Finally I just embraced the suck, popped the hood and started working on it again.

I work on it when I have time and the extra money for parts. When I’m having a hard day. When I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s taken a lot of time but it’s almost finished. Not sure what I’ll do when it is. Probably take it apart and start over.

Catching movement in the corner of my eye, I look over to see Conner sitting on the long, low bench, waiting for me to notice him.

Aiming the remote at the sound system, I turn the volume down from ear-splitting to manageable.

“Hey,” I say, leaning my hip against the grill of the truck, I reach for my bandana. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, doing his best to focus on me and not the truck I’m working on. It’s a sore spot between us, that I insist on keeping it. He would be perfectly happy if I drove it off a cliff. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” I focus on rubbing my hands clean so I don’t have to look at him while I lie because I’m terrible at it.

He points at the speakers mounted into the wall above his head. “November Rain begs to differ.”

Shit.

“Where’s Hen?” I say, totally bypassing the question. “Shouldn’t you guys be announcing your engagement over pot roast?”

He doesn’t answer me right away. He just looks at me like he can’t decide if he wants to push the subject or not. Finally he sighs. “She insisted on going home to change for dinner,” he says rolling his eyes. “Cari’s parents and her sister are coming over and she wants to make a good impression considering we bailed on Cari’s show last night.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I promised her I’d take a shower and put on a collared shirt.”

“Rich girl habits die hard.” As soon as I say it, it reminds me of what Declan said to me last night. Despite that and the fact that I wanted to murder Henley a few hours ago, I shake my head and laugh. When he scowls at me, I laugh harder. “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who’s marrying her.”

The laughter dies between us, leaving the strains of violins and Axel Rose’s melodic whine between us.

“What happened last night?”

Con is like a dog with a bone sometimes. “Nothing.” I shrug. “Ryan and I—”

“With Declan.” He shakes his head at me. “And don’t say nothing because something clearly did.” When I don’t answer him, he frowns at me. “Tess—”

“No.” I hold up a hand, stopping him cold. “We aren’t going to talk about him, Con.”

Con’s eyebrows lower over and his jaw goes tight. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t be objective.” I shake my head, swallowing hard against the hard knot that’s swelling in my throat. “Because no matter what I say, you won’t believe that I’m capable of making my own decisions when it comes to him.” I tuck my bandana back into my pocket and sigh. “Because you won’t admit that I own a part in the way things went down. That he’s not totally to blame.”

“Did he tell you that?” He shoots up from his seat, his face twisted into something close to a snarl. “Did he try to blame you fo—”

“Stop.” I practically shout it, reaching up to slam the hood of the truck with a resounding clap. “I am at fault. You know I’m right, Con. You know it—and if you weren’t so angry with him, you’d be able to admit it.”

“He used you Tess.” He shakes his head at me, refusing to accept what I’m saying. “He used you, just like he uses everyone else. And when he was finished with you, he walked away without so much as a backward glance.”

I wish that were true. I want to believe it, more than anything, because believing that Declan never loved me would make it easier. It would suck and I would feel like a total chump but it would mean I was the victim. That I did everything right. And I didn’t.

“I never told him about the baby, Con.” I have a hard time talking about what happened. Talking about it makes it hard to forget and I want to forget. To pretend it never happened. “I never gave him the chance to—”

“To what?” Con goes pale. He shakes his head. “Walk away from you and a kid.”

“To do the right thing.” I shrug, gnawing on the stud in my lower lip. “To be a better person. Not stay with me. Not change his mind about us but—” I take a shaky breath and let it out slowly. “I should’ve told him. He had a right to know.”

He stares hard at me for a second without saying anything. Finally his shoulders slump and his face falls. “I just don’t want him to hurt you again.”

“He won’t.” I shake my head. “I won’t let him.”

I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he doesn’t believe me.