“Not a smoker,” I tell him.

He doesn’t offer me a cigarette, and I’m glad there’s no pressure to join him. When he lights another one, he blows the smoke away from me.

We’re utterly silent, but it’s the kind that begins to slow my heartbeat. Silence and calmness, void of that aching loneliness.

After maybe five minutes or possibly ten or twenty, the door swings open, and in walks a five-foot-something student with short brown hair, expensive loafers and shock at the sight of me, a girl.

Garrison smiles in his next drag. He motions from the guy to me. “Barry, this is my girl, Willow.”

My girl.

I begin to smile.

In context, it sounds just as Garrison described—somewhere between good friends and boyfriend-girlfriend.

Barry nods in recognition, at my name or the title Garrison has attached to it, I’m not sure. “Ohh…” He draws out the word, then he points at the cigarette. “Coach says you need to cut back for conditioning.”

Garrison looks at me. “The lacrosse coach has this delusion that I can run a mile faster than my older brother. God forbid I fall behind Hunter Reagan Abbey.” He spins the cigarette between his fingers. “Birthplace: Mt. Olympus. Age: Unidentifiable. Handsomest fucker there is.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or just bitter.

Maybe both.

Before I can say something, Barry adds, “Cutting out cigarettes would help though.”

Garrison gives him an irritated look. “Or I could just cut out lacrosse. How about that?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Don’t talk like that. You know we need you for state this year.”

Garrison just takes another drag of his cigarette, more agitated. I remember his questionnaire answer about lacrosse being his favorite sport but hating it the most of his brothers. I wonder how deep that hate runs.

Barry briefly glances at me before disappearing into the stall.

Then Garrison hops off the counter and douses the cigarette in the faucet. “Calculus in ten.”

Ten minutes? I check my watch, realizing it’s almost time to go. I tuck in my blouse and button it higher while he fixes his tie.

I catch him glancing at me.

He catches me glancing at him.

His lips rise. I feel mine pull upward too. And I’m beginning to realize something.

I really like being in the company of Garrison Abbey.

20 BACK THEN – September

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GARRISON ABBEY

Age 17

I slump down in the back storage room of Superheroes & Scones. I’m not on break. Not even fucking close. Unless this place gives breaks after only an hour stocking comics.

Unlikely.

I just needed to escape for a second. My fingers instinctively slip into my leather jacket for a cigarette, but I quickly ditch the attempt. I don’t need to ruin the good thing I have going here by infusing Groot plushies with cigarette smoke.

I reach for my other pocket instead and slide out my phone.

A cardboard poster of Thor pokes my back. Pushing it away, I readjust and discover a bare patch of cement wall to lean against. Not like there’s much. The fucking storage room is crammed with shelves of comics and merchandise, half of which is packed in boxes. It’s easy to hide back here.