I’m sitting on the back porch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders when Allison appears in the doorway, holding two glasses of wine.
She exhales, taking a seat in the rocking chair next to me. “I love hosting, and I hate it.”
I smile. Allison’s parents and sister came over for Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. Her sister—and three kids—ended up spending the night. They only left a couple of hours ago, and one of those hours was spent scrubbing marker off the wall in the den.
“All the food was delicious,” I say.
“Thank you. It was a nice holiday.”
I nod, studying the fogged glass. The back porch is usable year-round, with screened sides that get covered with glass panes during the winter months. There’s an electric unit tucked away in the corner that works as both a heater and an air conditioner.
“Here.” Allison holds one of the wineglasses out to me.
“Thanks.”
“So…do you want to talk about it or pretend it never happened?”
I sip. “There’s not much to talk about.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I had no idea he was going to show up here. If I had…I wouldn’t have ever mentioned him to you.”
“Why not?”
“It’s…weird, Allison. You guys have this whole history with him. And I always knew it was there. I just…never thought about it much. And then things changed and…I thought about it a whole lot.”
“Has Conor made it an issue?”
“It’s…come up. We fought about it, at first. Then he got…resigned, I guess.” I drink more wine. “He ignored me for three years, Allison. He’ll never forgive what happened. Never forget. I knew that when this started.”
“He came here, Harlow. That was a step.”
“Here, as in the front yard. He wouldn’t come inside.”
Allison exhales. “I wish I had answers for you, Harlow. And I wish you didn’t have to think about this. Wish everything was different.”
I nod. “Me too.”
My phone buzzes with a text.
CONOR: Be there in ten.
“Shit.” I sit up, wine almost sloshing past the rim of the glass.
Allison looks alarmed. “What is it?”
“I, uh, Conor invited me to a party tonight. I totally lost track of time.” I stand, nearly tripping over the blanket as it falls off my shoulders. Grab my phone and quickly text him back.
HARLOW: Twenty? I lost track of time and still need to get ready.
CONOR: Wow. I’m flattered.
I shake my head and laugh.
HARLOW: You should be *flattered* I’m dressing up for you. I could wear sweatpants.
CONOR: Wear whatever you want, Hayes. You look good in anything.
“That,” Allison says softly.
I glance up at her, staring at me with a warm smile on her face.
“You asked me how your mom knew your dad was the one? I can’t speak for her, but I saw her look at him the same way you’re smiling at that screen.” She takes a sip of wine. “I know Hugh made his mistakes. But Conor made choices too. Don’t let him act like those decisions were all made by someone else. And…don’t accept they’re all final. If you see his side of things, he should see yours as well.”
I nod. “Thanks, Allison.”
“Anytime, honey. Have fun tonight.”
I walk back inside, headed toward the stairs. Landon is paused on the landing, pulling on a jacket. I swallow, then start to climb them. We meet halfway.
“You headed out?”
He nods. “I was coming to see if you wanted to join. Going over to Steve’s for a bit, and then we’ll probably go to this party he got invited to.”
I close my eyes for a second. In a town as small as Claremont, I’m guessing the party Landon is headed to and the party I’m headed to are probably the same. This is the most we’ve spoken since our argument on Wednesday night, and I’m anticipating this will lead to another one.
“I’ll, uh, probably see you there.”
It takes him three seconds to jump to the correct conclusion. “You’re going with Conor.”
“Yes.”
“He invited you to mess with me, Harlow. Everyone in town knows who you are. You showing up with him? They’ll all talk.”
I say nothing. What Landon believes Conor’s intentions are and I what I know they are…they’re so separate it seems pointless to reconcile them.
“At least I’ll be there to hang out with when he tries to hook up with someone else,” he tells me.
“That’s what you think of me, Landon? Forget Conor. You think I’d spent time with a guy who treated me that way?”
“I don’t know what the hell to think anymore, Harlow. I never thought you’d fuck my half-brother, and here we are.” He looks away, shaking his head. “I get you think you know this other side of him, but you don’t. It’s an act. He took Kelly into a bedroom on Wednesday night, then came here to see you. He’s a player and an asshole, and I hope you see that sooner rather than later.”
“Nothing happened with him and Kelly.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me.”
Landon shakes his head. “And you believe him?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolls for a few seconds, and then flashes me the screen. “Look at this.”
I squint at the photo of Conor standing in a kitchen, smiling at a blonde.
It bothers me, but I don’t let it show. That’s the exact fuel Landon is looking for.
“That’s not them having sex in a bedroom.”
He pockets his phone. “Whatever. I probably could show you that, and you’d say it was edited. Believe whatever you want.”
Landon continues down the stairs without saying another word to me. I watch him depart with what feels like a heavy weight sitting on my chest.
Conor thinks I’m on Landon’s side.
Landon thinks I’m on Conor’s side.
And me…I don’t know what the hell to think anymore.
I don’t run into anyone on my way out of the house. Landon is gone, but I’m not sure where Hugh and Allison are. No sign of them makes it easier to shove all the unpleasant thoughts away and resolve to just have fun tonight.
As soon as I step onto the front porch, I hear a dulled staccato. I head down the steps and turn the corner of the house, watching Conor shoot at the basketball hoop next to the garage. It goes in.
“Is there a sport you’re bad at?” I ask him.
“Nope.” Conor retrieves the basketball, goes in for a layup, and then turns toward me. Whistles once, long and low. “Damn, Hayes. Not bad for a rush job.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you ready to go? It’s freezing out.”
“Not so cold if you’re moving.” He passes me the basketball. By some miracle, I manage to grab it. “Come on. Take a shot. I won’t laugh if you suck.”
“Wow. That’s really nice of you.”
Conor grins.
I spin the ball in my hands, trying to recall the last time I held a basketball. I can’t come up with it, which means that despite what Conor says, he’s probably going to be laughing really soon. I squint at the net, trying to visualize the ball sinking right through the metal circle and through the hanging strings. Then I shoot, the ball bouncing off the rim before dropping back down on the asphalt.
Not great, but not embarrassing either.
Conor snags the basketball before it rolls off into the bushes.
“Try again.” He bounces it back to me.
I grab it and gesture to myself. “Do you have any idea how long this took me?”
“Yeah, twenty minutes.”
I laugh. “I don’t want to show up looking like a sweaty mess.”
“Why not? I already saw it all.” The devastating smirk I wish I was immune to makes an appearance.
“Cocky is not sexy,” I inform him.
Conor laughs, and the husky tone of it warms me more than the jacket I’m wearing. “Just make one basket and then we can go.”
I shoot the ball. This time, it bounces off the backboard. I huff a sigh. At this rate, we could be out here all night.
Conor retrieves the ball again. Rather than pass it to me, he walks over while still holding it. He hands the basketball to me, then moves behind my body, positioning my hips to face the basket.
“Hayes?” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” I whisper.
“You look gorgeous. Always.”
It’s his earlier text all over again, except in the more potent form of his hard body against my back and his deep voice next to my ear.
“If you keep distracting me, I’m never going to make a basket.”
“Just try one more time,” he says.
I propel the basketball out of my hands again. This time, it makes a satisfying swish as it drops through the basket.
“Yes! It went in!” I tell Conor. In case he missed what just happened ten feet in front of him.
“I saw, Harlow.”
He sounds amused. Looks even more so when I sling my arms around his neck as part of my celebration.
“Is that what it feels like to score a goal?” I ask him.
“Dunno. Try scoring one, and then you can tell me.”
“You will never catch me playing hockey, after seeing what your ribs look like from practice. I’m a wimp and I’m fine with it.”
“I’m not suggesting you face off against a two-hundred-pound defenseman. Just that you skate around and send the puck into an open goal.”
“I doubt I could stay up on skates long enough to shoot at a goal, much less make one.”
“I’ll teach you, if you want.”
“You’re definitely overqualified for the position. I probably just need one of those orange cones little kids push around.”
He laughs, a genuine one that makes me smile automatically. “Overqualified or not, I’m applying for the position. If you want to learn to skate, I’m your guy.”
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it sometime.”
We head toward Conor’s SUV, parked on the street. As we pass by one of the living room windows, I think I see a curtain move. But I can’t be certain. Maybe it’s just a trick of the streetlight.
“Whose party is this?” I ask as I climb into the car.
“Zeke Ledger. We went to high school together. He was in my year.”
“Did he play hockey?”
Conor shakes his head. “No. We weren’t close. He has rich parents who don’t care if he hosts huge parties. He had most of the ragers in high school, and the tradition continued after he graduated when people were back on breaks.”
“You went last year?”
“Yeah.”
That’s weird to think, that he and I were in the same place doing the same things—but as strangers.
“Landon is going to be there.”
“Makes sense. You won’t be home to play board games with.”
“Conor.”
“I won’t start shit, okay? As long as he doesn’t.”
“He heard about Kelly. There’s some photo going around of you two talking in a kitchen that he showed me.”
“He thinks we hooked up?” Conor asks.
“Yes.”
“Is that what you think?”
“No. You told me what happened, and I believe you. I just…between finding out about us and what he thinks happened with Kelly, you’re not Landon’s favorite person right now.”
“I’ve never been his favorite person, Hayes.”
“I know.”
It’s part of why I’m in this mess. Trapped between two guys I care about, who can’t stand each other.
We pull up outside a massive mansion a few minutes later.
“Wow,” I say, studying the exterior of the modern-looking house. It’s mostly dark siding and gray stones, the front door surrounded by huge panes of glass and flanked by twin columns that take up two stories.
“Yeah. Rumor is his folks dropped four million on this place.”
“Seriously?”
“Uh-huh. Come on.”
Conor climbs out of the car, and I do the same. Nerves ricochet around in my stomach as we approach the front door. Not just because of what Landon’s reaction to seeing me and Conor together might be, but because Conor’s high school friends will all be here. And…I want them to like me, the same way I felt around Anna Hart.
The entryway we step into is soaring, a fancy-looking chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Just past it are clear stairs that lead to the second level. The walls are painted a light gray, the same wood and stone from the exterior scattered in random spots.
“I hate it,” I whisper to Conor.
He laughs as we walk into the living room. “Me too.”
“Hart!” A guy with dirty blond hair bounds over to us, holding out a fist that Conor taps.
Then he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer and forward. “Harlow, this is Evan. Evan, Harlow.”
I smile at him. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. What a day, huh?”
I glance at Conor, confused. “Uh, Black Friday?”
Evan laughs. “Nah, Hart bringing a date. Never seen it happen before.”
I wait for Conor to correct his friend, to tell him we’re just friends or drop his hand and make it clear we’re not together. But all he says is, “You left your gloves in my car.”
“Oh, yeah. I was looking for those.” Evan looks to me. “Hart tell you we went Christmas tree hunting yesterday? Poor guy was worried he couldn’t carry the Douglas fir by himself.”
“Fuck off, Sanford.”
Evan laughs. The guys start talking hockey, and I shrug out of my coat. It’s not that warm in here—the minimalist interior doesn’t just look chilly—but it’s warmer than it was outside.
“I’m going to head to the bathroom,” I tell Conor.
He nods, holding a hand out for my jacket. “It’s past the kitchen, to the right.”
I nod, pass him my coat, and smile at Evan. Then head toward what I think must be the kitchen. It gets progressively more crowded the deeper I walk into the house.
The kitchen isn’t to my taste either, brown marble countertops and a backsplash of more gray stone. I push through the crowd, spotting a closed door about halfway down the connecting hallway that I’m guessing must be the bathroom.
There’s a line, of course, but it’s only two girls. One’s scrolling on her phone, the other tapping her fingernails against the plastic cup she’s holding. Neither pay me any attention as I join the end of the line, leaning my head back against the wall and shoving my hands into the back pockets of my jeans. I haven’t seen any sign of Landon yet, and part of me is hoping he decided not to come.
“I can’t believe how many people are talking about Conor Hart and that blonde girl,” the girl on her phone says. “Who is she again?”
“I don’t know,” the bored girl replies. “But Megan told me she used to date Landon Garrison.”
“Wow. So she was trying to upgrade?”
“Seems like it.”
Landon doesn’t like to talk about high school. I’ve always had a good idea why. It can’t be easy watching other people fawn over someone you have such a complicated connection to. And I also figured Conor enjoyed the same popularity in high school he does at Holt. But there’s a fresh twinge of guilt, realizing Landon thinks I’m just one more person who chose Conor over him. That if I was a loyal best friend, I never would have exchanged enough words with Conor to appreciate there was more to him than I originally thought.
“Is Conor here? I haven’t seen him.”
“Dunno. He usually shows.”
The bathroom door opens, and a blonde girl comes out. The girl with the cup goes in next. Rather than wait around, the girl next to me shoves her phone away and heads for the kitchen, leaving me standing in the hallway alone.
Cup Girl takes a good ten minutes in the bathroom, giving me a discerning look when she leaves.
The bathroom is huge, larger than my bedroom at Holt. Both the floor and the walls are a smooth, cream-colored marble, interrupted by thick gray veins. There are twin sinks with a massive mirror hanging above them, and a glass-enclosed shower that takes up most of the wall next to the toilet.
I look around for a good minute, taking it in, before going pee and washing my hands. My makeup and hair fared better than I thought they would following basketball earlier. I fingercomb one section of my hair, then head for the door.
Five girls are now waiting in the hallway, making me glad I went when I did.
Rather than head into the kitchen, the same way I came, I go left, continuing down the hallway and into a formal dining room. People are playing Flip Cup on the long table that looks like it could seat twenty.
Once I’m through the dining room, I’m back in the front entryway. I walk in at the same time as Landon, who’s following Steve Essex in through the front door.
“Hey, guys!” My tone is too cheery. High and false.
“Hi, Harlow.” Steve smiles, but then casts a nervous look at Landon that causes the unease I’m already experiencing to spike.
“Where are the rest of the guys?” I ask.
“Not their thing,” Landon answers.
I didn’t think this was his thing, either. According to Conor, this party has taken place for the past three years. Landon has never once attended. He prefers smaller groups, unless it’s a crowd he’s performing in front of.
“Crazy place, huh?” I say, striving for something neutral to discuss.
Steve laughs, looking around. “Yeah. It’s something.”
He seems on board with acting like everything’s fine, which I appreciate. Landon is just scowling.
I follow his gaze to Conor, who’s standing with Evan in the living room. They’re both talking to a brunette girl, and I’m sure it’s another mark against Conor in Landon’s mind. But from my perspective—which might just be wishful thinking—Conor doesn’t look interested in her. He’s nodding politely, with plenty of space between them. And he’s still holding my coat, the pink lining visible, and I realize that might have been a purposeful move, not just thoughtful.
From this angle, I can see all the scrutiny he’s receiving. It grows more noticeable when Evan nudges Conor and then nods this way. I’m not expecting them to both head this direction, but they do.
People are shouting at Conor. Grabbing him. Desperate for some small scrap of attention.
His is on me.
My stomach somersaults as Conor approaches, having no clue how this will play out.
“Was worried you fell in.”
I roll my eyes, painfully aware of Landon’s eyes on me. Watching me talk to his brother. “There was just a line. Like usual. And you think this is strange—” I wave a hand around at the entryway. “Check out the bathroom.”
Conor grins. “Yeah, I’ve been in there before.”
Steve and Evan are chatting easily, which is nice. I’d forgotten Steve mentioned they played soccer together. It bridges a little of the awkwardness, makes it so I’m not the only link between the two groups.
Then Conor shocks me by taking a deep breath and acknowledging his half-brother. “Landon.”
There’s a flash of surprise on Landon’s face, before it shutters back to neutral. “Conor.”
Conor glances back at me. “I was just going to grab a drink. You want anything?”
“I’ll come with you.”
He made a tiny effort just now, one I appreciate. I’m getting the strong impression Landon doesn’t want to talk to me right now, and I’m not thrilled with him either.
“See you guys later,” I say, then follow Conor into the dining room.
Calls of “Hart!” and “Hey, man!” echo around us. It feels exactly like walking into the hockey party with him did. That same spotlight, just moved to a different location.
Conor stops to talk to a few people, introducing me every time. The reaction is always different. Interested…surprised…jealous.
When we finally reach the kitchen, Conor heads straight for the fridge. Opens it, and then huffs a laugh. “All beer. You want one? I’m not drinking tonight.”
Immediately, I feel guilty, knowing why he was fine having a drink before driving the other night but is choosing not to now. “This is your last night of freedom.”
He’s headed back to Somerville tomorrow for a Saturday afternoon practice. All of the sports teams have slightly different schedules than the rest of the student body—fall sports return to campus early, winter sports have shortened Thanksgiving and winter breaks, spring sports don’t have a spring break at all—but the hockey team seems to take its training to a whole other level.
“So?” Conor asks.
“So, I don’t want you to—”
“I’m not drinking, Hayes. End of the story. But you—you should drink as much as you want.” He grins.
I arch an eyebrow. “You trying to get me drunk, Hart?”
“No. But it was fun, last time.”
I blush, remembering what happened after the same party I was recalling earlier.
“Fine. I’ll have a beer.”
Conor grabs a can out of the fridge and hands it to me. I crack it open and then hold it toward him. “Take a sip.”
“Hayes…”
“Don’t make me drink alone. One sip, Hart.”
He rolls his eyes but takes the can and swigs from it. “Happy?”
“Uh-huh.” I take a sip, right where his lips just were.
His eyes darken, like maybe he’s thinking the same thing. He hasn’t kissed me yet tonight, and I keep wishing that he would. I wasn’t sure how this party would play out, if he would be so busy catching up with old friends we’d hardly get to talk.
But his focus stays on me, even when a girl jostles into him and lets out a fake—in my opinion—laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Conor.”
“No problem,” he tells her.
“How have you been?”
“Fine.”
I hide my smile behind the can of beer as I take another sip.
After a couple more questions that receive monosyllabic replies, she moves on.
“Wanna go outside?” I ask him.
It’s cold and dark out, but it sounds better than standing in the crowded, loud kitchen. The edge of the ugly countertop is digging into my hip, growing increasingly annoying. And Conor is still holding my coat, so I won’t freeze like last time.
He nods immediately, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the kitchen. We head the opposite direction from the bathroom, through a study and then out a back door. There’s a stone patio that’s empty except for a fire pit built into the very center and a wooden swing suspended from a pergola that covers half the patio. Tiny lights are scattered through flowerbeds that are filled with stumps at the moment, casting just enough light to see where we’re stepping. I take my jacket from Conor, slipping it on for added warmth.
“I like Evan,” I say as we sit on the swing.
“Yeah. He’s a good guy. Stuck with me through some shit.”
I don’t ask what that shit was, or if it involved the Garrisons. If he would change anything that happened in the past. Hugh has some culpability. But Landon was innocent in everything that happened, the same way Conor was. They never got to know each other, both pretending they were only children.
“I’m sorry for what I said about Williams,” Conor suddenly says. “You and him? None of my business.”
“No, you were right. I messed up there. Honestly, I only dated him as long as I did because of you.”
“What do you mean, because of me?”
“Because I’d avoided you and decided I wasn’t going to make it that easy for you anymore.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
I laugh and drink more of my beer. “You’re hard to ignore, Hart.”
“So are you, Hayes. You have to notice someone, to avoid them.”
“You’re saying you noticed me?” I tease.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I’m so attracted to you, it’s insane.”
I look over at him, chewing on my bottom lip.
“Come here,” Conor murmurs.
I comply, sliding toward him at the same time he moves toward me. The wooden swing we’re on creaks as we meet in the middle. I’m pressed up against him, but it’s not close enough. I swing one of my legs over both of his so I’m straddling strong thighs. Conor’s hands slide up my thighs, splaying on my ass. I stare into those blue depths, the color darker than usual in the limited light of the night. His pupils dilate with lust.
Slowly, I lean forward, hovering so close I can’t see his whole face. I tease his lips like a whisper, feeling his breath leave his mouth in warm gusts.
“This party is really fun,” I whisper.
His lips curve upward as they touch mine. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Conor traces my bottom lip with his tongue. I moan, and it ignites the moment like a flame touching gasoline.
Our mouths go from barely brushing to desperate. There’s nothing but sensation. Urgency and need and heat. Desire dulls my reflexes, barely registering a slamming door.
The “Shit” rings through loud and clear.
I pull back from Conor and look toward the house, straight at Steve Essex’s surprised face. Landon is right behind him, wearing a horrified expression I would find funny in any other scenario.
“Uh…bad timing,” Steve says. “We came out here to get some air.”
To escape, I’m guessing. Landon looked uncomfortable earlier, and I don’t think it was entirely because of Conor.
“Oh,” is all I can think to say.
Landon is doing a spot-on imitation of a statue, staring at me straddling Conor. Not moving. Not speaking. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing.
Suddenly, he turns and heads back inside. Steve smiles apologetically, then follows.
I sigh. “One sec,” I tell Conor, climbing off his lap and jogging toward the door. Landon and Steve are standing next to the desk in the study, talking.
Steve takes one look at me, mutters something about the bathroom, and then leaves.
“What, your boyfriend didn’t want to keep making out after rubbing my face in it?”
Landon asks the question in the same sharp, biting tone I’ve heard him use to discuss Conor before. It’s never been aimed at me, though.
“Neither of us knew you were coming out there, Landon. We’re not trying to rub your face in anything.”
“Maybe you’re not.”
“Of course I’m not. Landon, I’m your best friend. I would never do anything to hurt your—”
“You’re doing it, Harlow! This! You and him hurts! You’ve never acted like this over a guy. Anyone could have walked out there just now and seen you on his lap, looking like a—”
I still. “Looking like a what, Landon? A slut? Is that what you were going to say?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you were going to.”
“I’m trying to protect you, because you don’t seem interested in protecting yourself. This is all a game to him. You get that, right? Conor doesn’t give a shit about you.”
I sigh, sick of talking in circles. Maybe coming after him was a mistake. “You don’t know him.”
“I know all the guy cares about is playing hockey and getting laid. You’re just another girl to him, with the added bonus of hurting me.”
“He isn’t—”
“Don’t act like he didn’t know exactly who you were whenever this thing between you two started. Like he didn’t show up at my house to feel you up on the front porch.”
“You were watching us?”
“I looked out to make sure you were okay,” Landon snaps. “Sorry for caring.”
“And you think Conor somehow orchestrated that too?”
“Nothing’s a coincidence here, Harlow! You’ve been my best friend since we could talk. You’ve known Conor for how long? I’m probably the only reason he was even interested in you.”
I suck in a deep breath, guilt mixing with anger. “I’m going to leave now, before one of us says something that ends this friendship forever.”
For the first time, there’s a flash of uncertainty on Landon’s face. Like he’s ranted through his fury and is finally registering everything he’s said.
“Harlow—”
The back door opens and Conor steps into the study, carrying a gust of cold air with him. Conor glances between me and Landon, his expression smooth enough I don’t think he overheard any of our argument. He hands me the beer I left outside.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
I nod. “Thanks.”
“You’re drinking?” Landon asks, shaking his head. “Wow, he’s been a great influence.”
It’s like he’s unable to help himself, lashing out every time Conor comes up. I used to think it was anger on Hugh’s behalf. But now? Now I think there are a lot of feelings that are Landon’s alone. Jealousy, seeing Conor’s popularity. Resentment, maybe, that Conor never wanted to have a relationship with him.
“Watch your fucking tone when you talk to her, Garrison.”
Landon laughs. “Wow, you’re really committing to the hero act. Worried Harlow is going to see through it soon?”
Conor takes a step toward Landon, and I grab the back of his jacket. “Don’t,” I tell him. “Please.”
Landon is in no state of mind to deescalate things. He’s bitter and hurt and who knows what else. As far as I know, he’s never been in a physical fight. But I wouldn’t be shocked if he was the one to swing first.
Landon’s stare is defiant. But thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else.
“I’m ready to go, if you are,” I say. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
Conor hesitates, but finally nods. I let go of his coat, watching him walk down the hall toward the kitchen. I know when he reaches it, because there’s a fresh wave of noise.
“Hasn’t he been drinking?” Landon asks. “You’re seriously going to—”
“No, he hasn’t been drinking,” I snap. “He refused to, actually. But I’m done defending Conor to you. Done discussing him at all. I’m trying to be patient, and I’m trying to be understanding, Landon. But I’m getting none of that back. And until I do, I don’t want to talk to you.”
I spin and walk away.
