Chapter Thirty-Four—Riley
“Come inside.”
Connor says it without looking at me, both hands still on the railing. Then he straightens and heads through the glass door like it was never a question.
I follow him in.
The three of them are already there.
Liam stands at the kitchen island, arms crossed, feet planted. He’s not pretending ease. Just set, like he chose that spot ahead of time.
Andrew is near the sink, turned toward the door, hands loose at his sides.
Ethan is at the table, laptop closed, palms flat on the surface, chair pushed back just enough. He’s the only one not watching Connor.
He’s watching me.
No one looks surprised. Of course they don’t.
They knew what was happening on that balcony. I’ve been holding this together for weeks, and so have they, each in their own way. And now we’re all here, arranged in this kitchen, while my brother walks in and starts putting it together.
Connor goes quiet when he reads a room. I’ve seen it before. He doesn’t react first. He takes it in.
His gaze moves—Liam, standing closer to me than he should be. Andrew, jaw tight. Ethan, still looking at me instead of Connor.
That’s the moment Connor catches.
Something shifts in his expression.
“Which one of you is it?”
Not a question. Just naming something he already knows.
No one answers.
No one denies it.
Connor exhales once. Slow. Measured. Like something in him settles into place.
I look at them.
Liam’s attention is locked on Connor. Andrew’s chin is slightly down—not guilt, just bracing. Ethan is still looking at me, steady, like he’s making sure I’m okay.
I look back at my brother.
Here’s what I know about Connor:
He held it together at our parents’ funeral when I couldn’t. Sixteen years old, standing at the door of the reception hall, thanking people I didn’t even recognize while I sat in the back staring at the carpet. He made the calls. Signed the papers. Took care of everything that came next.
And he never once let me see where it hurt. He knew there was someone. I never gave him a name.
When Andrew disappeared on me at twenty-one, Connor showed up at my dorm, took me to dinner, and didn’t ask a single question. Just sat there while I sulked, paid the check, and drove me home.
He’s always been the one I could count on.
Right now his face is white. Not tired or the pale that comes with bad news. Something behind it has just shut off. Then the color comes back, slow and controlled. He straightens.
“Get out.”
He says it like he’s asking someone to pass the salt.
I could handle shouting. At least that burns out. This—this quiet, steady tone—has nowhere to go.
His eyes move to Liam.
“Get out of my apartment.”
Then Andrew.
Then Ethan.
“All three of you. Out. Now.”
No one moves.
Liam doesn’t shift an inch. “We’re not leaving Riley.”
Connor looks at him, waiting for that to make sense.
“This is my apartment.”
“We know.”
“And you are leaving it.”
“We’re not leaving her alone with this.”
Connor pauses, short and controlled. “You don’t get a vote on that.”
“We’re not voting,” Liam says. “We’re staying.”
Connor turns to Andrew.
He’s been avoiding it since he walked in. I saw it—the way his attention kept circling the room, landing everywhere except there.
Now he looks.
Andrew looks back.
Neither of them says anything.
Connor’s gaze holds.
“Was it you?”
Quiet. Precise. No room for misinterpretation.
Andrew doesn’t answer right away.
That’s the answer.
Connor’s jaw tightens once.
“How long?”
Andrew exhales, steady. No apology in it. No retreat.
“College. Seven years ago.”
Connor goes still.
His gaze snaps to me.
“Wait,” he says, harsher now. “This is him?”
A beat.
“The one who left you?”
He doesn’t say anything else.
He just looks at Andrew. Not the way he did a second ago. This is different. Like he’s seeing him clearly for the first time and not liking what the picture adds up to.
Andrew doesn’t flinch.
“And you didn’t think to mention that?” he says, quieter now, “in the last year and a half we’ve been sitting across from each other?”
There it is.
Not what happened back then—
The fact that it sat between them this whole time, unspoken.
Andrew doesn’t flinch.
“I should have.”
Connor breathes out slowly, like he’s holding something back that won’t stay contained much longer.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“You should have.”
Of course he goes to Andrew first. He always follows the thread all the way back.
I watch Connor take it in—the dinners, the meetings, every time he sat across from them without knowing.
Then he looks at me.
This isn’t the look from the balcony.
That one had space in it. This one doesn’t.
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
There’s too much of it—too many pieces, no version that doesn’t sound like a mess.
“I told you,” he says. Not to me. To them. “She was off-limits. I was clear about it.”
“You were,” Ethan says.
“Then you understand why you’re leaving.”
“We understand why you’re asking,” Ethan says. “We’re not going.”
Connor’s jaw flexes. “I’m not asking.”
“We heard you,” Liam says.
“Then why haven’t you moved?”
Liam doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
Connor sees it now—not just the resistance, but what it means. That they’ve already decided.
He looks at Andrew again.
Andrew doesn’t move. Doesn’t try to make this easier. Just stands there and takes it.
I’ve been waiting for him to run since the night in the hot tub.
He never did.
He isn’t now.
A muscle moves in Connor’s cheek.
“You didn’t tell me,” he says, quieter. “In my office. At my table. In my house—”
“I know.”
“And you never once—”
“I know.” Andrew holds his gaze. “There’s nothing I can say that makes that okay.”
“No,” Connor says. “There isn’t.”
He exhales, then takes three steps toward the center of the room and stops.
“Get out.”
Same tone. Same volume.
“I need you out of this apartment right now.”
Liam shifts slightly.
Not toward the door.
The three of them hold the line.
No threat in it. No show of force.
Just three men who aren’t leaving.
“Connor—”
He doesn’t look at me.
“Connor.” I step closer. “Look at me.”
Nothing.
He’s still focused on Liam.
“Last chance.”
No one takes it.
“Connor—”
Silence.
It lands between us.
He doesn’t turn.