Page 36 of Forever Then

“Gretch, look at me. Please.” Her head lifts, her features displaying a confidence that I know is all for show. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

Over a taut silence, her wistful eyes search mine for any hint of malice or dishonesty. She won’t find any. No matter what it is—however crazy or scary or illegal, even—it doesn’t matter because I’ll take it to my grave if she asks me to.

I’ll do anything for her.

“I found my birth mom.”

Chapter Fifteen

I MISSED THIS

Gretchen

The words landlike poison on my tongue. I’ve held them in for too many months. Connor’s invasive stare doesn’t help either.

Unease hangs in the air between us, only interrupted by the waiter returning with our salads. The few beats of broken eye contact allow me to distract myself with my napkin, placing it just so, grabbing my fork and offering our thanks as the waiter exits.

Connor’s vacant gaze ricochets all over me, taking inventory. Eyes,check.Hair,check.Fingers,check.Lips,check.Collarbone,check.

“Will you please say something?” I finally ask.

“I’m sorry, I…Your birth mom? Youfoundher?”

“Yeah. Well,Ididn’t find her but I hired a professional who did.”

His face slackens. “And you didn’t tell anybody?”

I shake my head timidly as I shift the salad around with my fork. “I was planning to tell Drew tonight.”

“But why’d you keep it a secret? Did you think he wouldn’t support you?”

“Of course not. I know he would, but it’s like I said:Ineeded to do this. If I told him everything beforehand, he would have started that big brother meddling thing and then he’d guilt me into telling Mom and Dad and I…I’m not ready for that yet. I wanted to plan everything, get him here and then tell him so he didn’t have a chance to go allDrewon me.”

Connor snickers and it eases some of the tension in my shoulders. “He is a meddler, isn’t he?”

“The worst,” I say through a mouth full of salad.

Connor studies his plate, fork in hand. “So, nobody else knows?”

“No,” I admit. He takes in a big breath and gathers his first bite on his fork. Subject dismissed, it seems. “You’re not gonna tell him, right?”

A set of disbelieving eyes land on me. Jaw clenched, he says, “Gretch. Surely, you know you don’t have to ask me that.”

“Don’t I, though? It’s been a while since we were—” I stop myself before I say too much. “I mean, isn’t there some sort of best friend, bro code oath or something?”

He laughs to himself, although I don’t sense any real humor in it. Crestfallen, his features turn solemn, brows knit tight as he takes a sip of his wine. “Yeah, something like that.”

If Connor’s fork were a criminal out for blood, it finds its next defenseless victim in his garden salad. It’s subtle, all the stabbing and slicing, but I recognize it as an obvious marker of Connor’s strained composure.

“I won’t tell him. I promise,” he finally replies.

I whisper my thanks and we finish our salads in silence.

By the time our plates have been cleared, the dead air is killing me. After the initial shock of my news wore off, I thought there would be smiles and celebration as we excitedly discussed plans for the days ahead.

Instead, I mostly just feel…heavy. And I know he feels it, too.

Connor clears his throat. “Listen, Gretch. I know that um…I know that I screwed up and I don’t deserve your trust?—”

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