Fifty

Henley

I knew coming here was a bad idea. When Declan extended the invitation after the game, it was on the tip of my tongue to say no. Make some sort of excuse about why I couldn’t accept his invitation. Instead of saying, no, I don’t want to intrude, I opened my mouth, and I’d love to tumbled out.

Somehow, Conner’s dad recognized me right away. When Declan dragged me into the living room and presented me to his father like a fattened calf, he jumped up from his recliner to wrap me in the kind of hug that made me realize how much my stepfather, Spencer, reminds me of him.

“This house has missed you, girl,” he said, setting me away from him, his mammoth-sized hands, clamped around my shoulders to beam down at me.

“Not nearly as much as I’ve missed it,” I tell him, not realizing how true it was until just then. “I’m sorry about the way it happened.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing to Conner’s father of all people. I just know that I need to. I need to acknowledge the damage I left behind. “I never should’ve—”

“You stop, right there, little girl,” he says cutting me off. “You were a kid and the way I see it, you’re mother didn’t leave you much of a choice. You’re home now—that’s what matters.” He clears his throat and smiles, but it feels forced. “Con’s seen you then?”

“Yes…” I swallow and nod, thinking about all the ways Con has seen me over the past few days. “We met for lunch on Friday. He’s going to take me to see my father.”

At the mention of my father, Mr. Gilroy face falls into a frown. “You sure you want to do that?” His hands tighten on my shoulders for a moment. “Jack’s—”

“A bitter, mean drunk who’s let me down time and again,” I finish his sentence for him. “I know what my father is, Mr. Gilroy. But he’s still my father. I have to know he’s okay.”

His hands and eyes go soft. “You’re a good girl, Hennie.” He pulls me into another hug, this one nearly lifting me off my feet. “Go on in and see Mary, she’ll be happy to see you.”

I didn’t know how true that was after what I did to her son, but when I peeked around the corner of the kitchen doorway and saw Conner’s mother bent over the open over, basting a turkey, I remember everything. How she used to let me help her make dinner sometimes, teaching me how to cook, here and there. We baked cookies once, something my own mother never had the patience or desire to do.

We lived in a shitty, third-floor walk-up, barely scraping by on my father’s disability and my mother’s pay as a part-time receptionist and she thought things like washing dishes and making dinner for her kids was beneath her.

I look up to find Conner’s mom is no longer bent over the turkey. She’s standing by the stove, looking at me, her dark hair, threaded with silver, pulled into a messy bun, her soft blue eyes confused and a little suspicious. “Well, you’re not Cari, and you’re not Jessica—thank the lord—and I know my Con didn’t bring you.” She stoops down to close the oven door before pinning me with another look. “So, I’m wondering who you are and how you got in my house.”

“Henley.” I push my name out of my mouth on a harsh breath, forcing it to make a sound. “Henley O’Connell. I got a nose job,” I add the last when she doesn’t move or speak, thinking maybe she doesn’t believe me.

“Henley?” Her eyes go wide when she says my name, her ladle hitting the floor with a clatter. And then she’s across the kitchen, throwing her arms around me. And just like that, for two glorious hours, I was home.

The way Conner is looking at me now brings it all to a screeching halt.

He’s angry that I’m here. Feels like I’m invading his space. Hell, he probably thinks I’m some sort of stalker—which if I look at the situation objectively, is exactly what I am.

I tricked him into taking my virginity. Offered to pay him to have a sexual relationship with me. Climbed through his bedroom window armed with a breakfast burrito and practically begged him to fuck me. And that was just my first twenty-four hours home.

And now everyone’s staring at him like he did something wrong. Like he’s the asshole. Like he’s the one who should be apologizing.

And he isn’t.

Conner’s not in the wrong here.

I am.

I stand slowly, forcing myself to measure each movement carefully. Grace doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m too decisive. Direct. I have to think and plan every step to get it right so they flow together. “I just remembered, I can’t stay,” I say, aiming an apologetic smile at Mr. Gilroy’s beefy shoulder. “I forgot I made plans with Tess. We’re—”

“No, you didn’t.” Conner’s voice cuts across mine, silencing me in an instant. “Tess spends Sundays with her dad.”

I’ve always had a hard time looking at him, especially when other people are looking at me but

I have to look at him now. Propriety demands it, and as soon as I do, my heart does what it always does when I look at him. It flips and swells. Pounds and flutters. Stops and starts. That’s what looking at him does to me.

It makes me feel like I’m dying.

“After—afterward.” I stammer out the lie, scrambling for cover. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and start over. “We’re meeting afterward. For dinner. I need to go home and change before we—”

“Stop.” He’s staring at me over the back of the couch his brother and cousin are sitting on, his hand gripping the bottle of wine in his hand like he’s about to fast pitch it through the living room window. “Stop lying. You don’t have other plans, and you’re not going anywhere.”

I feel my hands start to curl themselves into fists, so I deliberately flatten them against my thighs, fighting to remain calm.

Ladies never lose their temper.

“Is that so?”

“It is.” Relaxing his grip, he carefully sets the bottle of wine in his hand on the sofa table in front of him. “You’re obviously someone’s dinner guest.” He reaches into his pockets, pulling bottles of Guinness, setting them next to the wine. Lining them up in a row. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just here to deliver beer and tune-up my mother’s car.” He smiles at me, nothing more than a quick, angry flash of teeth. “So, please, feel free to keep pretending I don’t exist.”

It hits me like a punch, my mouth falling open to deny it. To say he’s wrong. Imagining things. That I don’t ignore him.

To keep lying.

Don’t be ridiculous.

Before I can make things worse, Conner’s mom appears in the doorway.

“Conner Jonathan Gilroy.” Like everyone else, she looks at her son like whatever is happening, he’s the one to blame. “What’s happening?” she divides a look between us before looking at her husband for an explanation. When she doesn’t get one, she frowns at Conner’s profile. “What are you—”

“Nothing.” His anger evaporates, and he aims a quick look around the room before focusing on his mom. “Your car in the garage?”

She nods up at him, wiping her hands on a dish towel while shooting me a nervous look. She doesn’t know what’s going on, but she knows enough to know I’m involved.

“I’ll get to it then.” He turns away from me completely to drop a quick kiss on his mom’s cheek before slipping past her, toward the kitchen. A few seconds later the quiet is punctuated by the slam of the back door.