Page 11 of Made Better Together

3

CONNOR

JULY 4, TWO YEARS AGO

“Bro, you need to come to this party with me,” Shane says over the phone. He’s been a soccer friend for years. We came through the US Youth program together, and he now plays for the Tolliver men’s team. “Everyone who’s around for the summer will be there.”

I’m in Orlando myself for two months, as has become my routine, but my siblings are all off doing their own thing. Landon’s in England for his girlfriend Rori’s Wimbledon matches, Grace is in LA for some meetings, and Rawley went to Miami, where his girlfriend Avery has a game for the Orlando Surge, our local WNBA team.

“Yeah, I’m in. Send me the address,” I tell Shane before we hang up.

I’m alone at Landon’s house, as a result of my siblings’ activities, on dog-sitting duty for his beagle, Grover. He and I have developed an understanding this summer—no sneaky behavior on my watch. No jumping on counters, stealing human food, or destroying furniture.

“I’m going to walk you, and then you’re going to be a good boy for as long as I’m gone,” I instruct him.

He takes on a serious look that only I seem to get, like he understands the command.

I appreciate the obedience and show him with a pat before slipping the leash on.

A party is a lot better than chilling here solo, and Shane had hinted last week that we’d hang out tonight, so I’d refused the invite to watch Avery’s game with Rawley. Not that I don’t enjoy WNBA games, but driving over four hours each way when I already go to a ton of her home games didn’t sound appealing.

Shane’s nothing like my Princeton soccer friends—he’s low-key and simply looking for a good time when he’s not on the pitch. It’s a breath of fresh air to hang with someone who operates on base instincts and not a deeply thought-out plan.

The address he gives me is in a residential neighborhood about fifteen minutes away. According to Shane, it’s the family home of a Tolliver women’s soccer player, Bree, and her parents are away on business or something. Hence, the freedom to invite a bunch of people over for the holiday.

When I pull up to the house, Shane texts that he’s inside. An intriguing question lingers in my mind as I walk past the string of parked cars on my way to the door. Would the Tolliver women’s player I already know be here today?

Only one way to find out.

The front door is slightly ajar, so I just walk in.

“Hey, Connor,” Shane shouts from across the living room. He waves at me to come over and is standing next to two women, neither of whom I recognize.

As I head toward him, I subtly look around. There are maybe two dozen people here, so it’s easy to confirm that Eden is not one of them. My shoulders slump. Damn.

“Glad you could make it, bro,” Shane says as I reach them. “You want a beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Might as well make the most of the night, anyway.

After he hands me the drink, he gestures to one of the women, who has long, curly brown hair. “This is our hostess tonight, Bree.”

“Thanks for letting me crash your party,” I say to her.

She waves her hand dismissively. “It’s nice to have a new face, instead of only the Tolliver same-old-same. Shane says you play soccer at Princeton?”

“Actually—”

“Oh God, I did everything I could, but I couldn’t get this wine stain out in the bathroom,” says a new female voice.

I turn around and—it’s her.

Eden Larsson.

“Let me see what we have in the laundry room, come on,” Bree says to her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Eden says to our group. Her eyes lift toward me for the first time, then widen with recognition.“You. I know you.”

“Yes.” I don’t elaborate, not feeling certain how I want to play this.