Page 102 of Rebooting Conor Flynn

“I know, but she wouldn’t care if her solution had that unintended effect. Ashley only cares about Ashley.”

“Agreed. As long as she doesn’t claw her way to the top on your back again.”

I settled against the seat and closed my eyes. After the roar of the concert and the chatter afterward, I let the silence wash over me, the hum of the highway diluting the adrenaline in my body.

I exhaled the words on my lips. “For a second, I thought you posted the photos.”

“I already told you. I felt the same about you—just for a second.”

We both laughed...without much humor.

“Deleting those photos was one of the hardest bloody things I’ve ever done in my life.”

“I can understand why you didn’t use them—because of me, but why’d you delete them?” She turned her head to peer at me in the darkness.

I welcomed the shadows as I admitted, “So I wouldn’t be tempted to post them if you couldn’t come up with a plan.”

“That’s stronger than you think, Con. And even braver to acknowledge the reason.”

“And in the end, I didn’t have to do a thing.” I dug my phone from my front pocket and scrolled through my socials.

The photos of Ashley and Tomo had flipped the narrative on its head. People gushed over my integrity for not calling out Ashley for cheating first. They loved me again. They took back all the nasty, hateful things they were spewing about me earlier in the day.

I had my redemption arc.

Noelle’s phone buzzed in her hand, and she barely glanced at the message.

It buzzed again, and she didn’t even look at it.

Her phone rang, and she tapped to ignore.

I asked, “Is it bad?”

“It’s manageable.” She placed the phone face-down on her thigh.

It vibrated again and nearly danced off her leg.

I grabbed it and turned it over. My eyes popped open. Twenty missed calls and a stack of unread text messages. A weight pressed against my chest. I almost wish the photos hadn’t rescued me.

I got my reputation back, but whoever released those pics just destroyed hers.

***

We didn’t speak much the rest of the ride. How could I apologize for something that wasn’t my fault? Even though I couldn’t accept the blame, I also didn’t need to crow about my salvaged image.

The car dropped us at the side door of the hotel, and I grabbed her bag and my guitar. I walked her to her room and stood awkwardly outside.

It didn’t seem fair. We’d—I’d shrugged off one heavy mantle only to have another suffocate us.

She flashed her card key and grabbed the door handle.

I leaned in to kiss her. Her mouth opened beneath mine, warm and ready. Then her body stiffened, and she pulled away.

“Not tonight, Conor. I’m happy you’re out from under that black cloud, but I still need an umbrella.” She slipped into her room and shut the door.

I stood in the hallway for a second and ambled toward the elevator just slowly enough in case she changed her mind and threw open that door.

Didn’t happen.