Page 131 of My Unfinished Heart

“You're not good enough for him.”

Sucker punch. “I'm doing my best.”

He dismisses this, pushing the glass out of the way so he can lean his elbows on the table and bring his face several inches closer to me. “You can't give him what he needs, Archer. You’re not capable of it. You are dead and shriveled up inside, and I won’t stand by and watch you drain away all of his happiness like you did with Jayne. Like you did with me.”

Okay, that’s not fair. I might not have been a good boyfriend to Jayne, but I’m pretty sure she’s doing all right. And Tristan? He wants to be with me. Doesn’t he? “You haven't been happy since the accident. And I’m not shriveled and dead inside⁠—”

“You’re pathetic. Chewing up lovers then spitting them out when a shinier, newer one comes along. I will turn him against you so fast, you're not gonna know what hit you. You won't even see it coming.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means don’t push me. Please.”

Please?

“What do you think you can tell him about me that he doesn’t already know? Listen—can we back up? It doesn’t have to come down to you against me.”

“It’s not a contest, Archer. But if it were, I’d win. You and I both know he’s way too good for you. Stay away from him.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Since when? Just get on a plane like you did ten years ago and go. It’s really that simple. Disappear.”

Well, I hate to say I was right about this, and Tristan was dead wrong, but the way Connor feels about me doesn’t seem to have changed a bit in four years. I actually wish it had. That extra firefly really did feel meaningful at the time, but I should have known better. Our family—such as it was—was toxic. A wasteland. It’s a miracle either one of us survived it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say as clearly as I can. “Whatever you’re planning to do—it won’t work. Let it go.”

“Oh, it’ll work.” Then he adds in a lilting sing-song, “But it's not gonna be pretty.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? If you hurt him⁠—”

Connor stands abruptly, stretching his arms above his head, the moonlight illuminating his gauzy black shirt and showing the slight silhouette of his torso beneath.

“I wouldn't wait around to find out if I were you.” He walks to the door and opens it, taking one look back at me before stepping outside. “Think hard about this, Archer, because I’ll make you sorry.” Those are the words he leaves on.

That I’ll be sorry.

I go back to my room, find my phone, and text Tristan.

Call me when you get this. Something's wrong with Connor.

My phone rings a few excruciating minutes later just as I’m about to call him. “What's going on?” he mumbles like I woke him. “Why are you up so late?”

“Connor was just here.”

“Connor’s asleep. Are you okay? Were you dreaming?”

“I wasn't dreaming, Tristan. He was just here. When did he shave his head? Why didn't you tell me?”

“It was a dream.” He sighs. “He didn’t shave his head. He loves his hair. He’s asleep.”

“Go check.”

“Check what?”

“Go check and see if he's there.”

“God…” He sounds exasperated. “Fine.”