There aren’t many things about Claremont, Washington that I like. It’s a fine town, I guess. Small and stereotypical. It’s the type of place where people are overly friendly and gossip is scarce. A large percentage of the town’s occupants are employed at Brighton University, which is located only twenty minutes away.
The quiet, simple pace makes scandal and controversy rare. It also means the most salacious gossip is dated by two decades. Both my mom and Hugh Garrison grew up here. Raised children here. And since we’re not the type to forgive and forget—well, half of us, anyway—the state of my parents’ relationship with each other and my relationship with the Garrisons is a town topic that’s always of interest.
I’m reminded of that as I walk into Evan Sanford’s house. He was my best friend growing up, and we’re still close. Not as tight as we were in high school, but we’ve kept in close touch.
And I was well-known in high school for a lot more than my parents’ fucked-up dynamic. That’s probably why I did half the shit I did, to draw attention away from it. To carve out my own notoriety. I probably would have gone totally off the rails if not for the fact I didn’t want to make my mom’s life harder than it already was, and I wanted to get a hockey scholarship.
Being back in Claremont and among former classmates, it’s easy to revert to a more reckless version of myself. Thanksgiving is tomorrow and I don’t have practice for the next three days. Tonight, I’m loosening my no-drinking rule for the first time since my senior season started.
I head toward the kitchen first, progress slow as I get stopped repeatedly.
Evan’s holding court by the island. My former winger gives me a broad grin. “Hart! About fucking time, man!”
“You said nine. It’s only nine thirty,” I point out.
“Details.” Evan waves his hand. “Want a beer?”
“Hell yeah.”
He hands me a bottle so cold I can see the condensation sneaking down the sides of the dark brown glass. I grab the opener off the counter, pop the top, and take a long sip. Chilled, brewed hops hit my tongue and I grin. Hits the damn spot.
“Still not drinking during the season?”
“Nope. Going pretty well for me, though.”
Evan grins. “Yeah, I’d say so. Undefeated?” He shakes his head. “I knew you were good, man. But the way you’ve been playing?” He whistles. “Your whole team has been tight. I can’t get half my guys to show up at morning practice.”
I snort. Evan went on to play Division III, just like me. Unlike me, he didn’t do it with any higher aspirations. “The whole leadership thing is less effective if you’re the one handing them shots.”
“Nah, that doesn’t sound like me.”
I laugh before taking another sip of brewed bliss. I forgot how good a cold beer tastes, especially after a grueling workout. I only got to Claremont a couple of hours ago, deciding to work out this morning despite our game yesterday.
“You’re Conor Hart, right?” a female voice asks.
Evan smirks at me, then takes off.
I turn to see a blonde smiling at me. She’s pretty. Purposefully so. Each strand of light hair falls in a perfect ringlet and her lips are painted an artificial shade of crimson.
“Right,” I confirm, taking another sip of beer.
The final sip, it turns out. I set the empty bottle on the island counter and it clinks against the marble.
This is when I should flirt with her. My first night to really let loose in over a month. And, based on the look the blonde’s giving me, she’d be up for anything I wanted.
But there’s…nothing. No interest at all.
“I go to Brighton,” the blonde tells me. She looks me up and down. “None of the guys on our hockey team are as good as you. You should have played for us instead.”
I tense at the reminder. There was plenty of speculation as to why I’d turn down a full ride to play at a Division I school in favor of Holt. Some people correctly guessed it had something to do with Hugh. But the only person I’ve ever outright admitted that to is Harlow.
“I like being the underdog,” I say.
The blonde laughs. “You call setting an all-time leading scorer record being an underdog?”
My intuition flickers. I don’t have any problem with girls who want to be so-called puck bunnies. Whose sole interest in me is the fact I play hockey. But it’s strange this girl knew my name, mentioned not playing at Brighton, and knows my stats.
I decide it’s a good time to go to the bathroom.
“I need to take a piss.” I purposefully put it in crude terms, hoping it’ll scare her off toward a guy with a less foul mouth. “It was nice meeting you…”
Did she say her name? If she did, I have no clue what it is.
“Kelly,” she supplies. Still looking plenty interested.
“Nice meeting you, Kelly.”
I force a smile and leave the kitchen, heading for the bathroom connected to the guest suite. There’s a line of at least a dozen people waiting to use the other half bath downstairs. I spent a lot of time here growing up, and it doesn’t take me long to locate the right room. I pee, wash my hands, and then head out into the attached bedroom.
It’s no longer empty. Rather than a horny couple, I’m confronted by the same blonde from before. Kelly.
Surprise slows my steps.
She followed me in here? What the fuck?
“Landon wasn’t lying,” she says, crossing her arms. “You really don’t know anything about him, huh? Not even the name of the girl he’s spent the last two and a half years dating.”
I just stare at her. My brother’s girlfriend, apparently. Not who I pictured him with, but I haven’t even seen the guy in person since graduating high school.
“He’s not going to be happy you’re here talking to me.”
Kelly laughs. “Duh. Why do you think I’m here?”
Well…that backfired.
“I’m the one who ended it. He was cute when we were freshmen. But…” She shrugs. “You’re hotter.”
I just stare at her. Coming back here always includes reminders of Landon and my dad. But this? This has not happened before.
All of a sudden Kelly’s shirt is off, her boobs spilling out of her hot pink bra.
And still…nothing.
“Come on, Conor. What do you say?”
“That Landon has terrible taste in women,” I reply honestly.
Who breaks up with a guy after dating him for over two years and then turns around and tries to screw his brother? Half, but still.
Kelly smiles, not looking the least bit offended. She steps closer, and I step back.
“I’m not interested.”
“What?” Kelly looks stunned by my response.
“I’m not interested. Whatever this is—” I wave toward her. “It’s pathetic. I want no part in it.”
If this was high school, maybe this is a mistake I would make. Imagining the look on my half-brother’s face when he found out I screwed his ex-girlfriend. That she’d all but begged me to fuck her.
But not only am I not attracted to Kelly, I know why.
If Landon hears I slept with her, Harlow will too. And we might not be dating—I don’t know what the hell we’re doing, honestly—but I do know having sex with someone else would feel like cheating. Hell, I’m uneasy just being alone in a room that has a bed with a girl who’s not her. And that was before Kelly took her shirt off.
Ever since I was old enough to fully comprehend my family’s messy dynamic, two things have been my primary motivators to make some questionable choices: the desire for my father to recognize how badly he messed up my life, and the need to be nothing like the son he chose over me.
For the first time, there’s a third, less sabotaging influence.
I care about what Harlow thinks.
I don’t know how to feel about it. How I should feel about it. The two devils on my shoulder have been joined by an angel. And all three of them are probably playing Monopoly right now, or some other equally wholesome family bullshit.
I leave the guest room before Kelly can say another word. Or take off any more clothing. Maybe I could have phrased my rejection better, but she’s the one who made a move on her ex-boyfriend’s estranged half-brother.
Evan shoves off the wall when I emerge back in the living room, shaking off the brunette he was talking to and returning to my side.
“Saw the blonde follow you five minutes ago. Little quick on the trigger these days, Hart?”
I roll my eyes, grabbing an unopened can of beer off a side table and cracking it open. “Wasn’t feeling it. She just wanted to fuck with Garrison.”
“You mean, your favorite hobby?”
I shrug, not denying it. Except…I’m not sure it still is. “I’m gonna bounce. Mom wants to go tree-killing tomorrow, if you want to come with. We’ll probably go around eleven, before her shift.”
Evan grins. “Hell yeah, I do. Those pines won’t know what hit ’em.”
“Great. See ya, man.”
“Don’t forget about Zeke’s on Friday night.”
“I didn’t. I’ll be there.”
I bump Evan’s fist and weave through the crowd toward the front door. A few people call out to me as I pass, but I ignore them. Easy to do in the loud house.
Cold air smacks me in the face as I step outside. I chug the rest of the beer I’m holding, then toss it in the Sanfords’ trash bin as soon as I reach the street.
I bury both hands in the pouch of my sweatshirt. It can’t be hovering all that far above freezing, but I’ve spent most of my life in an ice rink. This is nothing.
Rather than climb in my car and drive home, I keep walking. My mom is working, so all that’s waiting for me is an empty house.
I pass the occasional adult out walking the family dog. A group of girls who look like they’re in middle school who are clearly heading to or leaving a sleepover. They all giggle as they pass me, clutching fluffy blankets and sleeping bags.
Four blocks later, I reach the brick house.
I wasn’t sure I could find it, after fifteen years. But I recognize the columns on either side of the black front door. The neatly trimmed hedges. The pristine path leading to the porch.
I huff a laugh as I stare at it, watching my breath hover in the cold night air for a moment. Below freezing, then.
In another life, I could have lived here. If I was a more forgiving person, I might be coming over here to eat turkey tomorrow.
My fingernails are pressed so tightly into my palms I’m worried they’ll draw blood.
Ever since I graduated high school, I’ve been able to cut the Garrisons out of my life completely. No more seeing Landon in the halls or watching him drive an expensive, European car into the school lot. My mom never used any of the money Hugh sent as child support. It’s all sitting in an account somewhere, and I hope I’ll never have to touch it. My father has never bought me anything. He’s just sent checks.
Harlow’s car is parked next to Landon’s in the driveway, which is bizarre. It’s one thing knowing she stays here. Another to see solid proof of it.
I plan to turn around and walk away. But instead, my feet keep walking forward. Some compulsion to stop pretending like my father doesn’t live in the same town mixing with the urge to see Harlow.
I don’t have anything to be ashamed of; he does. Me steering clear just allows him to forget that. And this visit has nothing to do with my father, honestly. I’m here to see Harlow, because it’s an impulse I’m choosing not to fight.
I blow out another breath as I continue walking forward. This is a bad idea. I know it with each step, and yet I can’t shake the propulsion to do it anyway. The same reckless energy as when I drop gloves on the ice pinballs through me. I’m reacting—to Kelly reminding me I’ll never be able to escape the Garrisons in this town and to knowing exactly where Harlow is right now.
I reach the front porch and scuff my feet against the welcome mat. It’s bright and cheery, covered with sunflowers and loopy writing spelling out Welcome. Two pumpkins sit next to the mat.
The cookie-cutter condo I live in when I’m not at college serves its purpose. It’s all we can afford, since my mom took out hefty loans for medical school. I know she’s done the best she could, and I don’t resent her for it. The exact opposite.
Hugh Garrison? I resent him plenty.
I hit the doorbell. Hear it echo through the massive house.
The condo could probably fit into one room of this place.
“Coming!” a woman’s voice calls.
It’s not Harlow’s, so that means…
“Conor!” Surprise makes Allison Garrison’s voice come out higher pitched than sounds natural. Like the call of one of the whales Harlow loves.
Allison looks exactly the same as the last time I saw her, wearing an ironed blouse and a cardigan. Like a stereotypical housewife, not a homewrecker.
My hands form fists in the pouch of my sweatshirt.
“Is Harlow here?” I ask abruptly.
“Harlow? Uh…I can—I think…” Whatever immediate conclusion Allison came to about why I’m on her doorstep, it didn’t involve her adopted daughter. She’s completely thrown by the question. “Yes, she’s here. Hang on.” She turns, then spins back around. “Did you want to come in…?”
“No, I’m good here.”
Allison nods, then heads deeper into the house, leaving the door wide open. I study their entryway for a minute. It’s just as stately as the exterior of the house. The wide bannister is part of faded—shoved out of my brain—memories. The wall art and rugs are new, though. They’ve redecorated in the fifteen years since I’ve stepped foot inside.
Appraisal over, I turn back around to face the street, leaning against the railing to survey the road I might have grown up on, once upon a time.
It’s easy to ignore the past when I’m at school. Where I’m Conor Hart, the cocky captain who doesn’t appear to have anything to worry about besides the next hockey game and which girl to choose for the night.
It’s a lot harder to do that on this front porch.
