Page 93 of Conquering Conner

Forty-eight

Conner

Numbers have always made sense to me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve understood them. Their purpose. Their meaning. There’s a purity to them that I find reassuring. Logic. Symmetry. Balance.

The first time I saw Schrödinger’s equation, I felt this rush. Like the universe finally made sense. Like I understood my purpose. Why I’m here.

I felt the exact same way that day in front of Henley’s building. The first time I tried to connect with her. Tried to talk to her. Like it was right.

Like we were right.

Belonged together.

To each other.

Looking at her now, I still feel it. That sense of rightness. That feeling of peace only she can give me. A connection that makes sense. Makes me feel solid. Real.

But it’s a lie.

“It’s a common mistake,” I say when all they do is stare at me. I focus on him because I can’t look at her. I don’t think I can stand to watch her look through me right now. Not without flipping the fuck out. “A lot of people think it’s on the Freedom Trail. It’s not.” I do everything I can to keep my tone casual. Friendly.

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Jeremy says, turning to look at me while slipping his arm around Henley’s waist. He looks exactly the way I remember him. Wheat-colored hair. Blue eyes set just a little too close together. Straight, aristocratic nose. Thin, WASPish upper-lip. Perfect, white teeth. I open my mouth to say something. I’m not sure if I’m going to tell him to fuck off or tell him you’re welcome, but it doesn’t matter.

“Jeremy,” Henley says, shifting away from him slightly. I think it’s supposed to make me feel better. It doesn’t. “This is my friend, Conner.” Behind the information desk, Margo practically chokes on her on tongue. “Conner, this is my fiancé. Jeremy.” Now Margo sounds like she swallowed her tongue whole. When all we do is stare at each other, Henley clears her throat. “Actually, Conner is here to take me to lunch,” she says, looking up at him from under the arm he has wrapped around her, her chin grazing his shoulder. She’d never let me touch her like that in public. Like I owned her. Like she belongs to me. “You should’ve called, Jer. I would’ve told—”

“I’ve been calling and texting all morning, love,” he chides her gently, but a dark cloud roll over his features before it’s chased away by a sunny grin. “You keep dumping me into voicemail.”

“I’m at work, Jeremy.” She pushes away from him, aiming a glare in his direction. “I can’t just—”

“I’ll let you two catch up.” I break in because I can’t take it anymore. I have to get the fuck out of here but as soon as I say it, Henley’s gaze cuts over and lands on me, pinning me in place.

“You don’t have to leave,” she says, shaking her head. “We—”

“Yeah, you should stay,” Jeremy says, his tone indulgent, like he’s doing me a favor somehow. “We can all go to lunch together.” He slips his arm around Henley’s waist again. “My treat.”

I won’t make it another fifteen seconds within striking distance of this guy without taking a swing. Attempting lunch would undoubtedly end in an assault charge.

“Some other time.” I shake my head, gaze pinned to the enormous bouquet of roses in Henley’s hand. It makes me think about the stupid spider mums I gave her a few weeks ago.

He’s better than you in almost every way.

“Conner, please—”

“Some other time.” I say it again, forcing myself to look at her, a smile on my face. “It was good to see you again, Bradford.”

Before either of them can say anything else, I walk away.

I drive to Benny’s and grab a couple of burgers to go before heading back to the garage. As usual, Tess has her music cranked up. November Rain by Guns & Roses. That can only mean one thing and she confirms it when she sees my shadow falling across the concrete floor of the garage.

“Jesus Christ.” She mutters it, leaning further into the engine of the car she’s putting back together. “I accepted your apology, Declan. What more do you want from me?”

“Wrong brother.”

When she hears my voice, Tess’s shoulders go tight. She expects me to go ballistic. Start peppering her with questions about what happened while I was gone. Why Declan was here. What he wanted. When I don’t, her shoulders relax, and she lifts her head and gives me a crooked grin. “Don’t you mean better brother?”

“Same thing.” I show her the bag I’m holding. “Take you to lunch?”

“Our usual spot?” She laughs, slamming the hood of the car closed before digging her bandana out of her back pocket to rub the excess grease off her hands.

---