Page 95 of Through the Water

Bailey emerged from the bathroom, his eyes narrowing in confusion when they landed on me. I felt the heat in my face, fully aware I probably resembled a tomato, but there was no controlling the fire in my veins. Not now—not when the last twelve years had been a lie meant to placate me into obeying.

I turned away from my friend’s pointed stare, coming up behind Joe just as he stepped up to the bar. He leaned forward and out of reach of my hand, loudly calling out, “I’m looking for Conor! Anyone here named Conor?”

My arm dropped, along with my jaw, and I began trying to back away, only to find the crowd had boxed me in, clamoring for me to pose for selfies or quickies—it was hard to differentiate.

Bailey chose that moment to stick his fingers in his mouth, emitting an ear-splitting whistle that could be heard for blocks.

“I’m Conor!” he bellowed, waving his hands.

My father turned at the noise, his jaw flexing when he noticed my presence. “Killian?”

I nodded and jerked a thumb toward Bailey, no longer trusting myself to speak—or think. It seemed I didn’t know anything anymore.

Bailey stopped to pick up the tab, but I kept my head down and followed my father out of the bar, feeling like a delinquent. My teammate caught up to us and, unaware of the tension, called shotgun. I was perfectly content to sulk in the backseat with my thoughts.

At several points during the drive, my father lifted his eyes to meet my focused stare in the rearview mirror while Bailey poked at random buttons, trying to find music.

When it became clear that alcohol and technology didn’t mix, my father took his eyes off me to intervene. “Right there, Conor. You got it. Play whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Mr. Joe,” he mumbled, sounding infinitely less sober than he had back at the bar. “Reed’s got a broken heart, so he needs a song, you know? Just a little pick-me-up.”

I winced as Bailey dropped a proverbial bucket of chum where I was swimming, knowing there was no escaping this shark. Reed men didn’t get their hearts broken because they never let anyone in.

“Yeah?” My father made brief eye contact with me before shifting his attention back to the road.

“Yeah,” Bailey slurred in response. “It’s always the quiet ones that get ya.”

My father remained unusually silent, even when Bailey managed to sync his phone to the car, blasting hard-core rap through the speakers. I wasn’t quite sure how lyrics about putting a Glock in someone’s ass and fucking bitches were supposed to make me feel better, but it did save me from having to make conversation.

When we pulled up in front of Bailey’s condo, my father parked and turned back to me. “Can I give you a ride home?”

As tempted as I was to avoid any discussion with him, my misplaced anger had fled the moment I realized he wasn’t at the bar to drink. Besides, if he wanted to give me a lecture, it was better to get it over with while I was still somewhere between sober and drunk.

I nodded and told Bailey to be safe before taking his seat up front. “So, sober rides—didn’t know you did that sort of thing.”

He waited until Bailey made it inside before pulling out. “Yeah, going on three years now.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Joe and I didn’t usually waste time with small talk. He often started with the laundry list of things I’d done wrong. Then we went our separate ways.

No muss, no fuss.

“Did you get my message?” He cut his eyes over to me. “I called after your mama told me you’d gotten the contract with the Hurricanes. She was really excited, as you should be. It’s a huge accomplishment, son.”

“Uh, thanks?” I squinted in his direction, no longer sure who was in the driver’s seat. It damn sure wasn’t my father. Reed men didn’t stop to look back at their accomplishments. It was all about pushing on to the next.

At least, it used to be.

Without Bailey around to provide entertainment, we fell back into an uncomfortable silence that neither of us seemed capable of breaking.

The click of the turn signal pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up to see we’d reached my condo. “Hey, uh, thanks for the ride and—”

“Can I come up?” he asked suddenly, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “I mean, you’ve got the crutches. I could help. But if you’d rather I not—”

“No, it’s fine,” I said automatically, swallowing down my fear. “Just leave the car keys with the valet.”

On the elevator ride up, Joe stared down at his sneakers. Meanwhile, I tried to recall the last time I’d seen him in anything other than a suit. If he felt me staring a hole into the side of his head, he didn’t let on.

“I just realized I’ve never even seen your condo,” he commented to his shoelaces.

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