Wolfie
When Connor walks through the door of our storefront on Wednesday morning, I hardly recognize the man.
First of all, he's forty minutes late, which is entirely out of character. Tardiness has never been Connor's style-first, because he rides his motorcycle everywhere, meaning that he can weave through all the traffic on Lake Shore Drive and handily beat any of us to work, bars, anywhere we're meeting up.
Second, the guy looks like a ghost, and it's not just the pale, haunted look on his face. His hair is a mess, and I'd put money down that he didn't shave today, his overgrown stubble creeping down the front of his throat. No way am I letting this bastard wander into neck-beard territory. Somebody needs an intervention.
"Did somebody just dig you out of your grave?"
Connor doesn't even respond, which is all the proof I need that something's up. If he were in his right mind, no way would he let me get away with a comment like that.
But instead of hitting me with one of his usual digs, he just plods through the store, dragging his feet along the black tile. When he finally joins us behind the counter, he leans against the back wall with a defeated huff. If I didn't know better, I'd think he needed the support of the wall to stay upright.
I look toward Ever, then Hayes, hoping one of them has an explanation for Connor's behavior, but no dice. Hayes shrugs, and Ever just shakes his head.
Great. I guess I'll be the one doing the detective work this morning. As if I didn't already have enough on my plate.
When I turn back toward Connor, he's staring down at the floor, totally zoned out. "Hello? You there, Blake?"
I wave a hand in front of Connor's face, and he startles out of his daze, blinking at me with the kind of confused look he normally reserves for math or girls who turn him down.
"What? Uh, yeah. I'm fine," he grumbles, one hand rubbing the tension from the back of his neck. "Totally fine."
He's obviously not fine. How am I not supposed to be worried about him when he's acting completely deranged?
I side-eye the hell out of him. Connor's easygoing charm is nowhere to be found, and it's more unnerving than I expected it to be. He's always been the glue that holds our crew together.
The last few years of starting a business together hasn't always been easy, and there have been times when tempers flared and testosterone-fueled arguments broke out. Connor's good-natured reliability always got us through. He was the one to step in, putting himself in the middle of any disagreement. He's the person you can count on one hundred percent of the time to be calm and collected. Levelheaded. Chill.
But right now, that guy is gone. And in his place is a man I don't recognize. It rocks me to my core.
But before we can get any deeper into it, the bell on the door chimes, and in walks a customer. A middle-aged woman with a brunette bob, her winter coat zipped up to her neck. She gives the four of us a quick smile before shuffling back toward the couples' corner. It seems like she knows what she's looking for, and thank fuck for that, because Connor is the one who usually makes the sales pitches around here.
I reach for our speaker system and dial up the volume on the ambient music. Just two notches, enough to hopefully drown out this conversation.
"Hey. What's going on with you?" I shoot Connor one of my no bullshit looks. I'm not messing around here. There's something up with him, and we're not going to make it through a full workday if our top salesman is as useless as a one-legged cat.
Connor stuffs his hands into his pockets, barely managing half a shrug. "Nothing much. What's up with you?"
Fucking hell. I don't have the patience for this today.
I sigh, folding my arms over my chest. "No, I mean what's going on with you? You look like shit."
He scoffs. "Thanks, jackass. You don't look so hot yourself."
"No, I mean you look like a zombie with a third-degree hangover." I raise one eyebrow at him for emphasis.
I should know. I'm nursing a mild hangover myself. I may have gotten a third glass of Jameson last night after Tessa told me off.
Between proving to both Penelope and myself that I'm too much of a mess for her and swerving my ex-hookup at the bar, there was a lot of edge to take off.
And to be honest, I'm still reeling. Not so much from Tessa, but from Penelope. I hurt her, and that's bothering me. But I'm not going to let that show. And that's more than Connor can say about whatever's eating him up inside.
"I'm fine, okay?"
His voice is louder this time, strident enough to get the attention of our newest customer. She snaps her head toward the register, frowns at Connor, then goes back to reading the ingredients on the lavender massage oil in her hand.
Gripping Connor by the elbow, I pull him into the back office and bark at Hayes to man the register, tugging the door shut behind me. Connor flashes me an uncertain look but it's too late. I have him cornered.
"C'mon, dude." He groans, trying to maneuver past me, but I counter, anticipating his every move. When he steps left, I step right, blocking him with squared shoulders and a tight frown.
"I'm not letting you leave unless you agree to go back home and straight to bed."
He levels me with a glare. "I don't need to go home," he forces out through gritted teeth, but his stern look quickly fades away to worry. "I, uh, actually . . . if I'm going anywhere, I need to go to the car dealership."
I flinch back an inch. The car dealership? Is this the same Connor who once told me he'd sooner lick the floor of the train station than pay for a vehicle sticker just for the privilege to park in the city?
"The dealership? What, does your motorcycle need work?"
He swallows hard, slowly shaking his head. "Nope. Sold it."
All right, now I'm positive he's sick in the head. No fucking way did Connor Blake sell his baby. He cares more about that thing than any woman he's brought back to our apartment in the last year and a half.
I squint at him, assessing him for signs of sarcasm, but I come up empty. All I can do is call his bluff. "You're lying."
"Why would I lie about that?" He frowns, his eyes brimming with something close to . . . sadness? Like he's grieving a loss. And in many ways, he is, if what he says is true. That bike was like his trophy wife.
"So, why'd you sell it?" I press, but the second I ask, his guard instantly shoots back up.
"None of your business."
"Of course it's my business." I huff, taking a step closer. "My roommate just sold his most prized possession and is buying a car, which he said he'd never do. You're not telling me something."
"Can you just drop it?" His voice is strained, but I have no intention of letting this go.
"Absolutely not."
He sighs behind a clenched jaw, his hands balling into fists. "And why not?"
I nearly laugh. Do I really have to spell it out for him? "Because it's fucking annoying to look at you, know something's up, and not have you tell me what it is."
No sooner are the words out of my mouth than the realization of their weight hits me. Like someone just swung a pillowcase full of bricks directly at my head.
Someone you care about not telling you what's wrong with them.
Well, shit, that sounds familiar. It's exactly what I'm doing to Penelope. I haven't opened up to her and told her about my issues, but now I'm pissed because Connor is doing the same thing to me.
Connor looks me over with suspicion. "Now you're the one who looks like a hungover zombie," he says with a vicious smirk. "What gives?"
I let go of a shaky breath. I feel like the biggest hypocrite in the city of Chicago, and not telling him what's going on just solidifies that title. But I'm not about to go there with Connor. He'd break my neck if he knew any of what's gone down between me and his sister.
"Make you a deal," I say. "I don't make you fess up to whatever your problem is, and I don't have to tell you shit about mine."
His chin dips in a firm nod. "Sold."
It's quiet between us, and for a second I think we're going to shake on it or something. But then Connor clears his throat into his fist, shifting his weight between his feet.
"I, uh . . . I'm serious about the car dealership, though. Any chance I can hitch a ride?"
I snatch my keys from my back pocket and tip my head toward the back door. "We'll let Hayes and Ever man the fort. Let's roll."
We drive in near complete silence, just the sound of the radio and the occasional direction from Connor. But silence doesn't bother me. It never has.
Plus, my mind is busy working through other things, like how I'm going to make things right with Penelope. That is, if she'll even forgive me for ghosting her the other night after she made me a home-cooked meal. Lord knows it'll take a long-ass time for me to even forgive myself. But if there's anyone worth being vulnerable with, it's her.
"This is the one." Connor points me toward the parking lot of the car dealership ahead with its bright lights and row after row of shiny new cars. "The one with the SUVs."
I have to swallow my laugh. Connor Blake driving an SUV? I must be living in an alternate reality.
And in this reality, maybe I can show Penelope that I can let my guard down. All the way down.