Page 59 of Conquering Conner

Henley’s runner gets there first and trucks the catcher like a semi, knocking him on his ass, right before she claims home plate and wins the game.

Henley pops up from her crouch, the second the ump calls her runner safe, pumping her fist, grinning and yelling like a lunatic.

The players rush home plate, whooping and hollering. Patrick carrying a huge trophy onto the field and hands it to Henley who in turn gives it to the girl. Trophy hoisted, her teammates lift her onto their shoulders and cart her off the field while Henley high-fives and fist bumps everyone around her. I feel my face split in its first real smile in days.

Right now, she doesn’t just look good to me.

She looks like the girl I remember.

She looks real.

My phone rings. Thinking it’s Tess because everyone else who has this number is right in front of me, I answer but only half listening.

“What’s up, sugar tits?”

What I expect to hear is, not much glitter dick. What I actually hear is, “You speak six languages son, and that’s the best you can come up with?”

Oh shit.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, physically cringing. “I thought you were Tess.”

“If Tess lets you talk to her like that, then that girl and I need to have a talk,” she says but she’s laughing. My mom knows how it is with me and Tess. That she gives way better then she gets.

“She’d love to hear from you,” I say even though it’s probably not true. My mom and hers grew up together. Were best friends until the day Mrs. Castinetti died. My mom tried to keep in touch with Tess after Mrs. C died but Tess pretty much pulled away from everyone except Henley. With Henley gone, the two of us were left unmoored. Drifting. We sort of just bumped into each other and stuck.

Kept each other from going under.

Because my mom knows I’m full of shit about Tess wanting to hear from her, she ignores what I said. “You never changed my oil.” That’s my mom. She’s blunt. To the point. But she worries about me. Knows I struggle sometimes. Knowing I do that to her adds another layer to the blanket of self-loathing I like to smother myself with. “I’m wondering when that’s going to get done?”

“I can come over and do it now, if you want.” On the field, I watch Henley throw her arms around Patrick in a celebratory hug and he swings her around while she whoops and hollers. “I’ve got time.”

That’s what I say. What I’m thinking, my gaze glued to the scene in front of me is, that’s what we’d look like. If I weren’t such a fucked-up, pathetic shitsack, that’s what Henley and I would look like together. What people would see if she’d let me touch her somewhere where they could see us…

“Your brother and cousin are coming to dinner,” she says. “I told Declan to invite Henley. I haven’t had a chance to see her since she’s been home, so if that’s going to be a problem then—”

I forgot that I’m not the only Gilroy who loves her. When Henley left, my mother was heartbroken. It was like one of her own children went missing.

Now she’s talking to Declan, her grin never wavering. Her posture easy. Face open and bright. Like they’re friends.

“I won’t stay.” I close my eye because I can’t watch anymore. I can’t see the two of them together without wanting to destroy everything I can get my hands on. Reaching for and finding the key still stuck in the ignition, I start my car, the hemi under the hood turning over and catching with a low-throated rumble. “I’ll just change your oil and leave, okay? I’ll be gone before they get there?”

“I don’t want you to justchange my oil and leave.” She sighs. “I want to have a nice dinner with my family without having to turn the hose on the whole lot of you. Think you can manage that?”

No. I don’t think I can manage it. I don’t think I can be anywhere near Henley without dragging her into the nearest dark corner or saying something shitty. Both of which will just damage us both, even more.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Alright then. We’re having fried chicken,” she says, her tone telling her that matter is closed. “Stop at the store and get me some potatoes.”

“Okay,” I say, shifting into first. “I’m on my way.”

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