He shifts uneasily, not meeting my eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“Just what I said.”

And to his credit, he doesn’t deny it. He just says, “Yeah. I guess. I mean, it just seemed like such a bad idea. And if it went south, I didn’t want to have to pick up the pieces on either side. But if I’d known how much you liked her—”

I shrug, because it hurts less that way.

“It’s fine, Connor. It wasn’t going to happen. She has a plan, and it doesn’t call for being with a guy who can’t pull it together in any aspect of his life.”

I turn back to the boat, working over an algae stain.

Behind me, he takes a deep breath.

“So my mom was right.”

“About what?”

“She said I needed to apologize to you. And not just for fucking things up between you and Rachel. She said I needed to say I was sorry for hurting you.” He clears his throat. “Did I… hurt you?”

The way he asks this actually manages to make me laugh. Connor’s no dummy, but we’re not guys who talk about our emotions a ton. Or ever. And he makes it sound like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, that I might have feelings and he might have hurt them. Like it’s dirty, too, the way some of the women sound when they first start talking about sex on the boat. Like the words feel foreign and awkward and wrong.

“Yeah, I mean, I figured that was bullshit,” Connor says, laughing, too, relieved.

“No,” I say.

I’m not sure where it comes from. It would be so much easier to let this drop. But I can’t.

“No, she’s right. You did hurt me.”

I turn around and face him.

“You’ve been my best friend since forever, Con, and you all but told me I don’t rate your sister. That’s fucked up.”

He looks like I’ve struck him. “Jesus, Bro.”

I’m quiet, letting him think about it, and after a moment he says, “Is that what I said?”

“Not in those words, but yeah.”

He nods. “Brody. I’m so fucking sorry.”

This is why my mother believes in the power of a heartfelt apology. I’m not going to say my heart grows two sizes in that minute or that I instantly stop being hurt or pissed or sad. But my skin does feel less too-tight, my heart less bruised.

Connor groans. “Don’t make me do this, Brody.”

“Do what?” I’m genuinely curious, because he looks like he’s in serious physical pain right now.