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“My point is, forget about what that asshole said. You look amazing tonight.” “You always say that.” “It’s always true.”
“How do I know that?” I ask honestly. “Because I’ve never lied to you. I wouldn’t. Even though we haven’t known each other that long, you see me better than anyone else I know.” I’m startled to hear his deep voice waver. “You do know me, Taylor. Trust that.”
Conor Fucking Edwards.
Not just better hockey players, but better people. And we all owe you a lot.” “Like bail money, right, Captain?” Bucky pipes up, getting a laugh from the guys. “Thanks, Buck.” Hunter flips him off. “So anyway, thank you, from all of us. We got you a little something to show our appreciation.”
“This is a special group. I mean it when I say I’ve never had a better bunch of guys.” “Better than the years Garrett Graham and John Logan were on the roster?” Foster demands, naming two of Briar’s most famous alumni. Graham and Logan both play for the Bruins these days. “Let’s not be crazy now,” Coach replies, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. “You all worked hard for each other, and that’s all I can ever ask. So thank you. This is great.”
I feared I’d never fit in with the ivy-covered legacies of this place, that I’d choke on the Ralph Lauren polos and inbred poshness of it all. And then I met these idiots. I couldn’t have asked for better friends. And Taylor. I’ve known her less than a month, yet I count her among the short list of people I trust. She makes me want to be a better person.
Hunter shakes his head. “You know, if you didn’t treat yourself like a dirtbag, maybe other people wouldn’t, either.” “Thanks, Dad.” “Whatever, dickhead.” I hide a smile. Hunter and I have a different relationship than I do with the other guys. Maybe because we’re both working on being better people lately. He’s the only one I talk to on a more serious level, so when he comes hard with the Mr. Rogers routine, it has a way of getting under my skin.
I gulp down the lump of resentment clogging my throat. “Yeah, dinner sounds great.” It’s what she wants to hear, and I suppose I owe her that much. “As long as I can bring a date.”
Fuck me. “What is it?” She stares at me, alarmed by the look on my face. “This is Coach’s house.” She blinks. “I don’t understand what you mean.” “I mean this is Coach Jensen’s house. Forty-two Manchester Road.” “But this is Chad’s house.” A strangled laugh pops out. “Hey babe, let’s play a game—” “What are you babbling about?” “—It’s called ‘Guess Coach Jensen’s first name.’” There’s a beat. Then Taylor’s cheeks go pale. “Oh my God. IS IT CHAD?” “It’s Chad,”
She digs her fingers into her temples, then releases a heavy breath. “Let’s get this over with,” she says. Before we even reach the porch, the front door swings open to reveal Brenna. “Oh, this is perfect!” She shakes her head with a look of amused pity. “You dumbass.” “She’s talking to me,” I assure Taylor. “Obviously,” my girlfriend replies.
“I knew I was meeting Dad’s new girlfriend’s kid, but I had no idea it was Taylor—or that she’d bring you. This is the greatest night of my life.” Brenna goes running into the kitchen ahead of us like a fucking tattletale. “Hey, Dad! One of your goons is here.”
“What are you doing here, Edwards?” Coach growls. “If Davenport’s in jail again, tell him he’s spending the night. I’m not bailing him out agai—” He halts when he catches sight of Taylor. The blonde raises an eyebrow at her daughter. “Hey, Mom. This is Conor. Conor, this is my mom. Doctor Iris Marsh.” “Nice to meet you, Doctor Mom—I mean Doctor Marsh. Fuck.” “Language!” Brenna chides me, and it takes all my willpower not to flip up my middle finger.
“What your intentions are, young man, with our dear daughter.” Brenna’s dark eyes take on an evil gleam as she scrutinizes me. “Excellent question,” Taylor’s mom agrees. Iris and Brenna have nearly polished off their second bottle of wine and at this point have created an unholy alliance I don’t believe I’m comfortable with. “Oh, we just met tonight,” I say, winking at Taylor.
“Yeah, he was my Uber driver.” “She was like, listen, this is going to sound crazy, but my incredibly rich and eccentric great-uncle died and in order to get my share of the inheritance I have to show up to this family dinner with a boyfriend.” “And at first he said no,” Taylor adds, “because he’s a man of honor and integrity.” Coach snorts. “But then she started crying and it got awkward.” “So finally he agreed, but only if I’d give him a five-star review.” “What about you two crazy kids?” I say to Coach. “You being safe?” “Don’t push it, Edwards.”
“Hey, so, there’s this Kappa gala coming up. And I was going to ask my other fake boyfriend to be my date…” Conor raises an amused eyebrow. “He goes to another school, you wouldn’t know him. Anyway, then I figured, well, since you’ve already met my mother and we’ve escaped a burning house together, maybe you’d go with me?”
Conor has the artistic aptitude of a gerbil.
When Conor offered to help, I assumed he had at least a fifth-grade education in tracing and basic humanoid skills at operating a pair of scissors. My mistake.
I kiss him. Because despite all his protestations to the contrary, Conor is a good guy. He’s sweet and funny and I think somehow he’s even become my best friend.
A shrink would classify my behavior of this past week as self-destructive. Or at least that’s what Hunter’s girlfriend accused me of doing today, and Demi is halfway to being a shrink, so she’s legit. Apparently she ran into Taylor on campus earlier, prompting her to text me something along the lines of, “The fuck did you do to her???”
“I like Taylor!” Demi calls after me as I follow Hunter to the doorway. “Put on your big-boy pants and make things right with her, Conor Edwards.”
Nothing shapes us like our friends. Family, definitely. Families fuck us up by an order of magnitude. But friends, we collect them like bricks and nails and drywall. They’re pieces in the blueprint, but that blueprint is always under renovation. We’re all deciding who we were always meant to be, choosing, mutating, growing into ourselves.
Right now, though, I just want to nail Conor to a wall. I barge into his room to find him totally alone. I guess part of me expected there to be a naked woman in his bed, but instead, it’s just him, dressed like he’s going somewhere and about to leave. He doesn’t even look surprised to see me. Disappointed, maybe. “I can’t talk right now, T,” he says with a sigh. “Well, you’re gonna have to.”
“Don’t you get it?” I say. “I care about you. What other reason is there?”
He just leaves me there with the poisoned memories of this room, with my makeup smeared and hair falling down. Conor Fucking Edwards.
Because he hasn’t just hijacked my life, he’s stolen from Taylor. I should be at a dumb dance with my girlfriend, not having a panic attack on the side of the road.
For the first time in my life, I find the courage to respect myself.
kiss her on the cheek as she lets me in. Demi kind of recoils in response. “What’s that for, weirdo?” “You were right,” I say with a wink. “Well, obviously.” She pauses. “About what, though?” “Hey man.” Hunter approaches us cautiously. “Everything okay?” “It will be.” I pull out the envelope of cash and hand it to him. Demi narrows her eyes at the handoff. “What’s that?” she demands. Hunter takes the money, confused. “But why?”
“I mean it. Just because I’m resigned to wallow in self-pity doesn’t mean you have to suffer with me.”
If something happens to Conor, I’d never forgive myself. I’ve just decided I have to make a call when I hear a low growl of warning and Danny and I are suddenly yanked apart.
“I was halfway to Boston and I couldn’t get your face out of my head. So I turned around. Couldn’t go through with it knowing what I was doing to us.” His voice cracks. “Because the worst thing about all of this, the worst thing I could have possibly done, was lose your respect. Nothing else matters if you hate me.”
“If that were actually true—” “Damn it, T, I’m trying to say I’m in love with you.”
“I mean it—I’m stupidly in love with you. I should have said it sooner. I’d blame repeated head trauma, but I was just an idiot. I’m sorry.”
“Show’s over, folks,” he announces. “Goodnight.” He entwines his fingers with mine and together we make our escape. I’ve always hated parties anyway.
“You made a dozen wrong choices to get here. But you eventually made the right one. That counts for something.” “So where does that leave me?” I ask, growing more nervous for the answer. “I’d say a solid C minus.”
She cracks a smile, which melts the tension that’s been coiled in my shoulders for days. If I can still make her laugh, maybe there’s hope for us yet.
“Fuck, I love you.” This girl makes me laugh like no one else, even when things are heavy. And especially when they’re awkward. She finds the joy in the deepest suck. “About that,” she starts, toying with the buttons on my shirt. Hesitation creases her forehead for a moment. “I mean it. With all my heart. I wouldn’t fuck with someone like that.” “You love me.” I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement, but I treat it like the former. “I love you, T. I don’t even know when I figured it out. Maybe when I pulled the car over, or on the drive back. Or when my fingers were shaking so much I
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After a few minutes, she tilts her head up to place a kiss under the corner of my jaw. “I love you, too.”
“See you outside.” He plants a kiss on my cheek and winks at the kids watching us. “Go.” I all but slam the door in his face, smothering a smile. “Miss Marsh has a boyfriend, Miss Marsh has a boyfriend,” the kids chant, growing louder and more excited in their taunting.
At that, their heads snap down and they furiously return to cutting and pasting. They’re only a few days away from earning a pizza party if they maintain their positive behavior streak. And I’m only a few days from passing my co-op evaluation if I can keep them docile. We’re all cogs in the system.
I put Taylor through hell over this bullshit with Kai. The only thing I’m worried about now is giving her a perfect birthday. I know she’s never had a serious boyfriend before, and I’m taking that to mean all the usual clichés are still new to her. That means flowers. An obnoxious number of flowers. An ecological massacre of flowers. At the florist in Hastings, I try to relay this request, which for some reason is more difficult than I expected.
Iris was easy as far as meet-the-parents horror stories go. I mean, what’s one little fire between family, right?
“I didn’t make it easy for you,” I admit. “I figured if you couldn’t stand me then I could be just as good at hating you. I think maybe…” I swallow hard, averting my eyes. “I didn’t want to get rejected by another dad. So I rejected you first.”
“I’ll stay out of your way. In either case, I want you to know I’m exceedingly proud of you.” I laugh weakly. “Come on now, let’s not get crazy here.” “I’m proud of you,” he repeats, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone.
“I’ve always been proud of you,” Max says gruffly, as my eyes begin to sting. “I’ll always be proud of you, Conor. I love you.” “Well, shit,” I say, coughing to clear the rocks from my throat. “Guess I’m the asshole.”
Max’s face breaks into a wide smile that he then tries to smother as he nods. “Not a problem. I can change my flight. You just let me know where and when. I’d love to meet her.” I can’t help thinking Taylor would be proud of me right now.
“Well, I’m just checking my watch and, oh, look, it’s spiteful-bitch-thirty, so maybe you have something to add to this conversation.”
“I don’t want you as a boyfriend, okay? Are you happy now?” The gun was loaded that time. Bullet goes right through my chest.
I took her for granted because no one had ever made me feel as comfortable and accepted as she did. No one had ever given me that sense of self-worth before she did. And now the best thing that’s ever happened to me just drove away.
“You’ve been a little outta hand all week.” Hunter turns to me, arms crossed. He’s got his captain’s face on. The I’m not your daddy but face. “Maybe it’s time to take it down a notch with the partying. I know I was Team Drink It Out of Your System before, but now I’m calling it. Going missing for twelve hours is the limit.”
Motherfuckers. An overwhelming urge to punch a wall flashes through my mind, but I stop just short, remembering the last time I did that I hit a stud in the wall and broke my hand.
