Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It’s late afternoon on the sunny campus of Brown University. And Conrad Fisher is fucking buzzing.

He hasn’t felt like this in months. Couldn’t fathom feeling like this again after everything. And yet the feeling is vibrating through him now—like he’s sailing through the air.

And he’s allowing himself to lean into it. This idea of a second chance at things.

He’s smiling like he hasn’t smiled in months—and it almost feels fucking weird, the muscles in his face working like this. The way his heart is straining against his ribcage to be let out. All of it anticipation. All of it her. The girl who gave him the strength and focus he needed to do what he just did in that exam hall—with her flashcards, and her reward system, and her endless fucking energy that he can never get enough of.

Because maybe it’s possible. Maybe he can just let himself dare to hope for a minute—despite everything falling apart so completely the past few months—that life might allow him to find his way back to her.

Because he never left her. Not really. He doesn’t know how to do that. Isn’t sure it’s even possible for him. And he just needs to explain that to her. He just needs to find the words, and say the thing he didn’t say before, and never let her go this time.

And he’s almost there now—he can physically feel her moments away. His hands are tingling from the anticipation of pulling her into his arms.

He grips the strap of his backpack tighter as he rounds the corner.

*

There were probably a few different versions of how it could have played out, in another life, after Conrad saw his brother pressing Belly into the hood of his car with his tongue down her throat.

A version where he didn’t let the sight of them harden into something permanent inside his chest. A version where he didn’t let his anger fuse to his grief until he couldn’t tell which was which. Maybe a version where he didn’t quit the therapy his dad paid for—didn’t sit there with his jaw locked and his arms folded, waiting for the hour to run down.

But this was not that version.

Almost four years on, Conrad had found a path through things in other ways that worked for him. They weren’t ways a therapist would recommend—he was pretty sure about that—but his life wasn’t bad, he told himself. There were pieces of it that looked convincingly like a good life, in fact—the way you would describe one, when you were picturing what that might look like.

There was just a constant level of noise he had learned to live with now. A weird static of latent ambivalence toward everything outside of school and work, humming along in the background like elevator music as the motion of people and conversation played out around him.

And then, underneath that, the muffled sounds of the other stuff. His brother. Belly. But he never let himself think about that for too long. It was more a case of shoving it so fucking deep into his subconscious that the lack of air and light and language might eventually erase it completely.

And it wasn’t always possible—all the time, every second of the day—keeping that buried. Sometimes parts of it would claw back up and get loud. Mainly the parts that were her. Because that’s always how it had been for him, carrying her around in his brain his entire life. She was just a living, breathing part of it somehow. And since he couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t feel that way, he just sort of went along with it like it was normal.

Because for him, it was.

It didn’t change anything.

Conrad had been successful in avoiding spending much time around his brother and Belly these past few years. Distance had felt cleaner than trying to make sense of any of it. Easier than interrogating what right he had to feel about any of it. And he had learned pretty quickly that withholding himself was the only leverage he still had. The only control he could still claim over it.

He wondered if it bothered her sometimes. His absence.

He hoped it did.

But let’s get back to talking about that good life—the one Conrad told himself he had now.

He lived in California. He got to watch the sunset as he lay on his surfboard and glided his hands through warm water. He got to run under a bright blue sky every morning until his lungs burned. He got to choose a few people to orbit—enough to stay connected—enough to call a few of them friends. If he kept his body in line, his grades in line, his routines in line—then his head stayed quiet. Most days.

Although—right—he’d fucked up at the start of the summer during his clinic job, and he was angry about that, like he got angry at himself about things sometimes. But he’d find his way back on track. He always did.

And that was also how he’d ended up back east. In Cousins for a few weeks. An opportunity he didn’t really want, but had run out of excuses to avoid.

Besides, it put him closer to her.

“Come kill some weeks lying by the pool with me, Conrad.”

“Sure. Yeah, okay.”

“You could sound a little more enthusiastic about the idea.”

“I am. This is me enthused.”

“You’re terrible at pretending to feel things, Con.”

Nicole could still be a bitch. But he kind of liked that about her. The sharpness of it. One of a number of things he liked about her since he started seeing her again. Which all added up to a situation where she was calling herself his girlfriend now.

“Hey—I feel things.”

“Sure you do.”

“I feel things with you.”

“Oh?”

Maybe. Not quite. But sometimes he thought he could.

*

The last few weeks hadn’t exactly gone to plan.

But Belly was pressing ahead anyway—toward this thing she and Jeremiah had decided they were doing. And maybe it was strange—how she seemed to be more focused on her sheer determination to see it through, more than what it was they were actually doing. But her self-awareness around all of that was fleeting at best.

She was somewhere in June now. She never really knew quite where—it was always just a long, drawn-out inhale of summer and heat and the light never quite leaving the sky.

And she was happy.

Or at least, she wore happiness on her skin—big smiles and bright eyes and warm kisses planted onto her fiancé’s cheek. Sometimes it felt wound a little tight around her neck. But it still counted.

She had a life that had drifted into comfortable shapes the past few years—college, friends, family. Most of it threaded around Jeremiah. The boy she chose. The boy she loved. Finch had been exactly what she wanted it to be—loud and full and easy—with Jeremiah occupying her time, her bed, her headspace.

Most of her headspace.

And—okay—there had been a couple of things lately that had thrown her off course. If you really pressed her—like Taylor did sometimes—it was two things specifically. Two things someone might suggest she was still angry about.

She would disagree.

She was fine.

One of those things—she and Jeremiah had agreed to move on from. A mistake. A misunderstanding. Or both. And they were getting married now, which had a way of sealing things shut. Putting a firm lid on any insecurities before they had the chance to bubble inside her too long.

And then—the other thing. She didn’t care about that. Not anymore.

Conrad was in a relationship now. He had been for a while. And that was to be expected—years after everything splintered between the three of them.

Maybe it had just landed sharper with Belly at first because it was Nicole. Not a faceless idea she could blur out, but someone who added vivid detail to the things she worked really hard not to picture. Maybe it was just really confusing that Conrad never mentioned anything about Nicole last Christmas—when it turned out they were already together. When Belly spent thirty-six hours alone with him without a single fucking clue.

Instead, she found out a few months later through Jeremiah—shortly before they had a fight, he went to Cabo, then fucked Lacie Barone. Twice.

But mainly—right—Belly was fine about it all.

It had just been a fuzzy timeline since then—more like a fever dream than a straight line of events. Flashes of her vomiting outside a frat party, her brother lying unconscious in a hospital bed, words that sounded something like a proposal.

And she was still just catching up with it all. That would be why she was feeling like this. Like she was living slightly ahead of herself. Like the last couple of months had happened in a single breath that Belly still hadn’t quite let out yet—her lungs just continuing to expand.

So, she kept moving forward.

Because she was happy.

And so here she was. Sometime in June.

*

Conrad felt her before he saw her.

When he turned, her eyes were already fixed onto him from where her head was resting on the couch, an expression on her face like she was still half-asleep.

“Conrad?”

Which made him wonder if that was what was happening. One of them must have been asleep. Or both of them. That was the only way he could seem to make sense of it. Maybe she wasn't really there. Maybe this house was just a place they both stepped into together sometimes when they closed their eyes.

A different voice suddenly cut in. “Conrad—what the fuck?”

Right, no—Conrad was awake.

And blinking at his brother like he’d just appeared out of thin air—which he sort of had, from where he was hidden behind the couch lying on Belly.

“Uh—hey,” Conrad recalibrated in an instant. “I didn’t know you guys were coming.”

“Wait—why are you not in California?” Jeremiah got up and walked over to him. “Have you been here the whole time? I’ve been calling you, man.”

“Sorry, dude, I—” What the fuck is happening? “—I wasn’t really ready to go back yet.” He dragged some words of explanation together in his brain. “I’ve been so non-stop that I just wanted to…go offline for a little bit.”

Conrad could feel Belly’s eyes on him from where she was sitting up on the couch. And he focused hard on not looking back at her, as he cleared his throat and instinctively reached for the one piece of armor he had immediately on hand.

“And Nicole is staying at their lake house on and off,” he added, “So—I’m just sort of—hanging out here to see her.” He gestured vaguely towards the door as if she was standing there.

A silence settled for a few moments.

When he risked a glance back at Belly, she was no longer looking at him.

But his brother was, with an expression on his face like he was still processing something.

Conrad rubbed the back of his neck. “So, are you guys just here for the weekend?” His voice came out a little too obviously strained.

“Uh—we were just—thinking of spending some time here over the summer,” Jeremiah replied.

Conrad’s gaze was pulled back in Belly’s direction as she got to her feet. “Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath, “we just figured it’d be easier to plan the wedding from up here.” Her eyes finally met his again as she said the words, and it was a few seconds before he could look away.

“Right—the wedding, yeah.” And that came out with the exact amount of edge he intended. He caught her wince. And he was almost pleased about that, which he didn’t love. “So you guys are really doing it, huh?”

“Uh—yeah, it’s happening,” Jeremiah laughed awkwardly, clasping his hands together.

Conrad nodded. “So, what—you guys are just—both going to be hanging out?” He tried to ask the question lightly, like that would be absolutely fine. Like it wouldn’t be the worst fucking thing to have happen to the fragile calm he’d been slowly rebuilding for himself these past couple of weeks.

“Actually, I’ll have to go back to Boston for work midweek. So it’s—it’s mainly Belly staying here.”

Fuck.

That was in fact the worst fucking thing.

“Work?” Conrad asked the question as if that was the part his brain had latched onto from everything Jeremiah just said. As if that was the reason his chest was tightening.

“Jere has started interning for your dad,” Belly said.

His eyes darted down to where she grabbed Jeremiah’s hand.

“And he’s killing it,” she added, glancing up at his brother with an expression on her face that made Conrad’s stomach knot.

Conrad could feel himself nodding.

He just needed to get out of there. So he could digest what the fuck was happening.

“Well, that’s—” he kept nodding, “—good for you, I guess, man.”

“And you?” Belly asked. “What about the clinic job? When does that start?”

“Oh, yeah, um—” He shrugged. “That didn’t work out.”

There wasn’t much point in lying about it. Nicole knew. It would come out eventually.

“Oh,” Belly replied, blinking. “I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, dude, that sucks, sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Conrad cut across them both. “It’s not a big deal. And I get to be here to hang out with Nicole for a few weeks, so…”

Didn’t he already say that bit about Nicole? Maybe a second time was too much. Or maybe it was completely normal.

“Yeah, man,” smiled Jeremiah, “Sounds like a better way to spend the summer to me.”

“Yeah,” Conrad laughed, glancing across at Belly again.

There was a distance in her eyes. A shadow across her face that he didn’t really recognise.

He was stuck staring at her for a few seconds, which he didn’t realise he was doing until his brother cleared his throat and spoke again.

“Hey,” Jeremiah said, “if you have a minute, I would love to talk with you about some stuff.”

Conrad snapped his eyes back to him. “Yeah, dude—I was about to go for a run,” he said, his body angling toward the door now, “but let’s just chat when I get back.”

It was probably a little fucked up—the way Conrad knew he had no intention of doing that. The way he had been immediately calculating ways to stay away from them for the rest of the day since the moment his brother got off the couch.

Conrad was finally moving toward the door, desperate to put space between himself and Belly before the tightness in his chest turned into something visible.

“It’s good to see you guys,” he heard himself say, without turning back.

*

It was all in his head again.

His feet were pounding against the road and his lungs were burning and sweat was slicking down his spine. But he couldn’t seem to outrun it.

It was back full force. Replaying on loop. Reliving what happened at his mom’s memorial last month.

Conrad wasn’t deluded—he knew it was going to be hard. Everything about the day.

Nicole had offered to come with him, her disappointment obvious when he said no, but that would have been a little bit fucking intense—the first time he brought her along to something with everyone and it was his mother’s memorial. So he went alone. For that reason. No other reason. Not because he was worried she might actually feel the physical vibrations in him when he saw Belly again.

Because there she was. Standing there. In a dress the same lilac-blue as his mom’s hydrangeas. Like she was wearing them. And her hair was a little shorter than he remembered from a few months ago, scattered across her shoulders. But the shape of her eyes was exactly the same, as they locked onto his. And when her lips parted, he swore he could feel her breath coming out of them from yards away.

And Conrad immediately knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. His eyes scanning every detail of her all the way down to that little fucking band-aid on the back of her leg.

He remembered being fixated on that band-aid.

He remembered continuously fighting the urge to crouch down, curl his fingers around her ankle, peel it off, and press his lips against the skin underneath. Everyone else around him was muffling tears and sad smiles as they shared memories about his dead mom—and Conrad just stood there, repeatedly thinking about doing that.

So, yeah—it was probably a good thing he didn’t bring Nicole.

She had been distant with him—Belly. She had felt completely different to when he saw her last Christmas. But then—of course she did. Whatever they’d shared together in that sealed space of time was like stepping into the fleeting warmth of a parallel universe that neither of them belonged to. And now here they were, back in the cold reality of it all again.

The early part of the afternoon was mostly just a blur of that. Distance and band-aids and conversations he was only half-in.

And then there was the lunch. And he couldn’t quite replay that in the same detail. He can only remember the rush of blood in his ears.  

And then his brain jumps to the last moment of it all. His numb fingers opening the car door. Everyone driving off in different directions. His chest too tight. Words ringing in his ears.

We’re getting married.

At least, after that, Conrad was able to pretend to Nicole that it was all about his mom—the reason he didn’t answer her calls for two days. The reason he lay on his bed with the curtains drawn, staring at the wall until the light shifted and he couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The reason he forgot to eat for nearly twenty-four hours straight, his body hollow.

Just his grief working its way back up to the surface.

Which it was.

Just a different kind of grief.

*

Belly somehow knew Conrad wasn’t going to come back that afternoon.

And when Jeremiah texted him an hour after he left asking if he was around for dinner, he replied to say he was at Nicole’s place, and that they should eat without him.

“Are you sure it’s okay that I stay here?” Belly asked later, pushing food around her plate as if the motion of it might settle the nausea that had been creeping up on her all evening.

“What do you mean?”

“Now that Conrad’s here.”

Jeremiah shoved a forkful of rice into his mouth. “Of course it’s okay,” he replied, chewing.

“I get the feeling he doesn’t really want me around.”

“Conrad never wants anyone around,” Jeremiah shrugged, “Apart from Nicole now, I guess.”

The name sliced right through her. Belly wished it would stop fucking doing that.

And then she and Jeremiah finished dinner talking about different things. Work stuff and wedding stuff and how he might be able to shave time off the drive back and forth between Cousins and Boston over the next few weeks.

They opted for an early night, because it had been a long day—because Belly’s head was throbbing, and her eyes were aching, and she couldn’t stop reliving all the contradictions of what it felt like to see Conrad walk into the room earlier.

She fell asleep to the sound of Jeremiah’s breathing. To the weight of his arm draped over her waist, familiar and warm. To the same images replaying on a loop in her head—her and Conrad downstairs, snow pressed up against the windows, the fire low and steady. The quiet of it.

The way nothing happened.

The way it almost felt like it never existed at all.

*

When Belly came downstairs the next morning, Nicole was standing at the counter wearing one of Conrad’s sweatshirts and pouring a coffee.

Belly froze.

The floor tilted under her feet.

Her stomach tightened. She felt heat rushing up through her chest.

The mug Nicole was using was one of Susannah’s—the one with the chipped handle—and she was holding it like it belonged to her, her hip leaned into the counter, braids pulled back loosely from her face. His sweatshirt hung low on her thighs, sleeves pushed up.

Everything about her made it look like she was doing something she'd done a million times before. Like it was all familiar to her.

And then Nicole looked up and smiled, easy and unguarded.

“Oh—hi,” she said. “Morning.” Her voice was warm. Normal. There was no hesitation in it.

And she was instantly the Nicole that Belly remembered—confident, beautiful, at ease in her own skin. It was like the air around her hummed with the quiet assurance of it.

“Hi,” Belly managed from where she was standing in the doorway, surprised by how steady she sounded.

“Con told me you guys were here,” Nicole said with a smile. “We came back late last night, think you guys were in bed.” And then Belly could barely process what was happening before Nicole was crossing the room and pulling her into a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

Belly went stiff for half a second before she remembered how to move. She felt sixteen again—all awkward limbs and too aware of her own body.

“Yeah—you too,” she replied, the air ringing in her ears.

“It’s been a while,” Nicole stepped back, her eyes flicking over Belly quickly. “You look great.”

She felt transparent, like everything about her was suddenly visible in a way she didn’t consent to.

“Thanks,” Belly replied, stretching a smile onto her face as she tried to swallow down the thud of her own heartbeat, “You too.”

Nicole smiled again, easy and controlled, and turned back to the counter, taking a sip of her coffee.

Belly crossed the kitchen and rested her hand on the back of a chair, grounding herself in the solid wood beneath her palm. This was all suddenly feeling so fucking surreal, she was half-surprised her hand didn't travel straight through it like a ghost.

Her body was humming with it—a low, contained panic that she couldn’t settle. And she knew she should say something else now. She knew she should be talking more.

But then footsteps sounded in the hallway before she could gather her thoughts.

Conrad appeared in the doorway. Freshly showered, hair still damp, expression neutral.

“Hey,” he said, polite. Normal. His eyes flicked from Nicole to Belly and back again, quickly. “Morning.”

Nicole smiled at him, familiar and unselfconscious. “Hey.”

Belly said nothing. She just stood there. Like an idiot. Completely unsure of what to do with her body. Like if she let go of the chair she would immediately tilt off axis.

And then Nicole set her mug down and crossed the kitchen toward Conrad, reaching up to touch his shoulder. “Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he responded, quietly, his head turned slightly away from Belly as he said it.

“I could feel you moving around most of the night.”

“Right, yeah—I was just hot.”

She watched as Nicole stretched up to press a brief kiss to his jaw, Conrad’s hand lifting up to her waist as she did it.

Belly looked away immediately, her chest tightening. And then her feet started to move, her body clearly done with this long before her mind had caught up.

She was halfway to the hallway before she realised she was trying to leave without saying anything at all.

“Oh, hey, Belly—” Nicole’s bright and breezy voice again.

Belly stopped. She turned back slowly, every instinct in her body pushing for this to be over. Whatever this was—the morning, the kitchen, the sudden clarity of it all.

“—before you go, what are you guys up to today? I thought maybe we could all hang out? It's been so long. So much to catch up on.”

“Uh—” she stuttered, and then nothing useful came after it. She could hear herself faltering, could feel the heat creeping up her neck. Because what the fuck. No. Why. “I think—um—”

“They’ve got wedding stuff to do,” Conrad cut in.

And Belly’s eyes snapped to him before she could stop herself. He was looking back at her. She wasn't sure exactly what she could see in his expression.

Probably because she could see nothing. There was nothing there at all.

Nicole’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Then she laughed. “Right—fuck—congratulations,” she added. “I should’ve said that already.”

She nodded stiffly and pushed a smile onto her face again. “Thanks,” she said, “Yeah, it’s—there’s a lot to do.”

“Well,” Nicole said, bright and decisive, “we should still get lunch later. All of us. There’s that place down by the marina that just reopened.”

Belly felt the shape of the afternoon forming into something unbearable. And she was scrambling for something. Anything. But all she could feel was the slow closing of options.

She glanced at Conrad, waiting—because surely he’d step in again with an interruption or a diversion. He would hate the idea of it just as much as she did. She knew he would.

Wouldn't he?

But he didn’t give her anything.

“Yeah,” she heard herself say instead. “Lunch sounds good.”

Nicole smiled, satisfied. “Perfect.”

And just like that, it was settled.

*

Jeremiah seemed delighted to have Nicole around.

It was grating, in fact, how much his face lit up when Belly told him they were downstairs.

“I don’t think we actually have time to go to lunch,” Belly had said, as she sat on the edge of the bed, twisting the hem of her T-shirt in her fingers, like she could wring sense back into the last five minutes.

“But didn’t you just agree to it?” Jeremiah had frowned, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he lay there in bed.

“Yeah, but—I mean—we have a lot to do today.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, Jeremiah, we do. Like an entire wedding to plan.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her. And it was the kind of look that made something shift uncomfortably in her chest for a second. Something knowing flickering behind his eyes too quickly for her to grab onto. “We have time for lunch, Belly,” he said then, and there had been a firmness to it that felt a little off. “It’ll be rude not to.”

And so—here they were.

The four of them walking along the boardwalk towards the marina, like this was any kind of normal thing to be doing. Two brothers with their respective girlfriends just hanging out.

Just lunch.

Because that’s all it was.

They took a table outside. The sun was brutal. Too bright. The kind that flattened everything into harsh lines and made you aware of your own skin. Belly felt like she was being slowly baked under the stretched canopy above them.

Jeremiah and Nicole slipped into conversation almost instantly. Effortless charm meeting effortless charm. Laughter landing easily between them like they’d rehearsed it. Belly quietly wondered if she and Conrad even needed to say anything at all.

She looked across at him.

He was sitting directly opposite her. The closest she’d been to him since they got to Cousins. Close enough to see the faint shadow along his jaw, the crease between his brows as he stared down at the menu he clearly wasn’t reading.

He hadn’t looked up in at least five minutes.

And it felt strange—to suddenly be this close to him—to have him feel this familiar. She knew the set of his jaw. The way his fingers flexed slightly against the laminated edge of the menu. The extra blink when he was uncomfortable but refusing to show it. He wanted to be here about as much as she did. There was something almost soothing about that. Sharing the discomfort. Like there was still something left between them to share.

Her eyes traced the line from his shoulder down his arm to where it rested along the back of Nicole’s chair. And everything that felt so intensely familiar about him suddenly snapped in an instant.

He wasn’t hers to read anymore.

And he hadn't been for a long time, she quietly reminded herself.

The volume of Jeremiah and Nicole’s laughter surged back into her ears as she dragged herself out of her head.

Belly needed to speak. Needed to say something before her monosyllabic demeanor became a little bit too fucking obvious to everyone.

And she was about to do that, before Jeremiah got there first.

“So—tell us again how you guys got back together this time,” he said, grinning as he brought a bottle of beer to his mouth.

Belly winced.

Because they were never really together before. Conrad and Nicole. Not like that. So it was kind of an irritating way to ask.

She wondered if it bothered Conrad too. It didn’t look like it bothered him.

Why would it?

“Oh, I mean,” Nicole shrugged, looking at Conrad briefly, “There’s not much more than what Conrad’s probably already told you.”

The uncomfortable moment that followed likely went over Nicole’s head—the three of them painfully aware that Conrad had told them next to nothing. Most information about Conrad’s life filtered down secondhand—through Laurel, through Adam. Small snippets, never details. They knew nothing much about his life at all.

All they knew was that Conrad had eventually mentioned Nicole to his dad a few months ago. And that eventually made its way to Jeremiah. And then to Belly.

“As in—Nicole, Nicole?” Belly had asked when Jeremiah first told her months ago.

“Yeah. I guess they reconnected.”

“But—how—how did… Since when?”

“My dad said they met up last summer.”

“Last summer?”

She remembered the way the walls had pressed in then. The way Jeremiah had looked at her as she visibly scrambled to catch up. The flush that burned fierce across her cheeks.

And Jeremiah could see it all. She knew by the way his eyes had narrowed and his jaw had clenched.

“It's good news, right?” he said, “He’s obviously happy.”

She’d nodded. Because what else was she supposed to do.

She still couldn’t quite recall how long it took from there for the fight to break out between them later that evening, as they sat in her dorm room. Something about flights and Cabo and spring break and words screaming around and around in her head because he has a girlfriend now and it’s Nicole and he’s been with her for months and does he love her already or—

Belly was yanked back to the present moment by Jeremiah’s hand closing over hers on the table.

“Tell us again, anyway,” he said, easily.

His fingers felt too warm against her skin.

“Um, okay,” Nicole smiled. “I was out in San Francisco last summer for this photography program I got into through Columbia—” She stirred her straw, glancing sideways at Conrad. “—and I knew Conrad was out there from the one Instagram post he’d made in like three years—”

Belly instantly knew the one. A surfboard in front of a sunset. No caption. She cringed at how ridiculous it was now, looking back—the irrational, completely nonsensical feeling that shot through her when he posted it last year. How for even a second she thought he might have been thinking about her—might have posted it for her. Knowing she would have looked at it. Which she did—more times than was remotely appropriate, as if she was trying to decipher a code.

“—and we started messaging,” Nicole finished lightly. “And it kind of went from there.”

“Who sent the first message?” asked Jeremiah.

Nicole glanced at Conrad, amused. “He did.”

Belly’s stomach dipped. For some reason, she wasn't expecting that.

Jeremiah laughed. “My brother made the first move? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that.”

Conrad shifted in his chair. Just slightly.

“So what—you guys just started hooking up right away?” Jeremiah continued.

“Jeremiah,” cut in Belly, laughing awkwardly as her stomach twisted, pressing her knee into his under the table. “Jesus.”

“What?” He lifted his hands innocently.

Nicole laughed. “I mean—yeah. First time we saw each other again was at my friend’s gallery opening. Free bar. It escalated.”

She said it so casually.

Belly wanted to throw up.

Conrad cleared his throat. “So, how’s the internship going, Jere?”

The redirect was obvious.

Nicole noticed it. Belly saw it in the quick flicker of her eyes.

Jeremiah appeared to hesitate a moment as he held Conrad’s gaze—then he let it go.

“Oh yeah, you know Dad,” he shrugged. “He mainly has me doing coffee runs. Lunch pickups. Shit like that for now. Although—”

He launched into a story.

Belly watched Conrad.

He wasn't really listening, she could tell. He was nodding in the right places. Taking a sip of his water. His finger tapping on and off against the condensation on the glass.

Nicole leaned closer to him while Jeremiah talked.

Conrad seemed to register it a second late. He stilled. Then, casually, he slid his hand from the back of Nicole’s chair down and under the table.

Belly didn’t see where it landed. She didn’t need to. Her knee. Her thigh. Just skin on skin.

Nicole’s shoulder dipped slightly. Her hand moved too.

Belly’s eyes dropped to Jeremiah’s hand still resting over hers.

The right person. The right hand.

This was right.

And it was all just normal—wasn’t it? The four of them sat here like this.

It didn't feel fucking normal.

Belly felt like someone had severed her spinal cord and arranged her body in a scene entirely of their own choosing. Everything staged around her in a way she didn’t consent to. All she wanted to do was get up and leave. But she couldn't. That wasn't an option for her.

She wondered if Jeremiah could feel it. If he could feel the static under her skin. If he could see how obvious she was being.

"—so I just need to put in the hours, I guess,” Jeremiah was saying, somewhere off to the side of her head.

“I guess that'll be hard,” said Nicole, turning to Belly now, “Having Jere work in Boston while you're staying here in Cousins.”

Jeremiah squeezed her hand. “It will,” he answered for her, “It fucking sucks. But it’s all for the wedding, so—it’s worth it.”

Belly thought about Conrad’s hand still on Nicole under the table.

Then she turned to Jeremiah and smiled. “It is,” she agreed, “Totally worth it.” She surprised herself with how warm and convincing she sounded. It was almost impressive.

Jeremiah leaned in and kissed her cheek. Belly felt herself turn into it, catching his mouth briefly with hers.

And then Jeremiah sat back in his chair and took a deep breath.

“Speaking of the wedding,” he said, “I have something to ask you, Con.”

Belly’s heart stopped.

Wait.

No no no.

She had no idea he was planning to do this now. In front of everyone. That wasn't the plan. That wasn't how they agreed he would do it at all—

“Are you gonna be my Best Man or what?”

Belly’s eyes snapped to Conrad.

He went completely still.

His mouth parted slightly. But no sound came out.

And then his eyes flicked to Belly.

Nicole filled the silence. “Wow, Con,” she laughed brightly. “Best Man.”

“It would be co-Best Man, actually,” Jeremiah added, “With Steven.”

Conrad darted his eyes back to him. He blinked. And then seemed to find some words. “Right—co-Best Man. Yeah. With Steven.”

Belly could hear it. How he was repeating it all back to himself. Like he was trying to help it land on his brain.

“Yeah, dude,” nodded Jeremiah, “It would mean a lot to me. To both of us.” His hand tightened briefly around Belly’s.

Conrad looked back at her again. Just for a second. And something passed across his face that she couldn’t quite name before he smoothed it away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course, man. I’d be honored.”

She felt Jeremiah’s body relax next to hers, felt the relief in him as he exhaled.

Belly was biting her lip so hard it was starting to sting.

Nicole wrapped her arm around Conrad’s shoulders. “I told you he’d ask,” she smiled.

Belly noticed Conrad’s cheeks flush slightly.

“You’ll look great up there,” she added near his ear.

He gave her a small smile in response.

Then he looked back at Jeremiah. “I guess I better start working on my speech,” he said, louder now. Deliberate.

Jeremiah laughed. “Yeah—just don’t embarrass me.”

Conrad’s smile held as he looked back at his brother. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The words landed a fraction too flat. Then Conrad brought his glass up to his lips and downed the rest of his drink.

She glanced over to Jeremiah, his grin fixed in place as she felt his posture tighten.

The waiter arrived then. Plates clattering down onto the table. The noise seemed to break something in the air.

Nicole launched into asking questions about the wedding. Logistics. Venues. Bachelor parties. Guest lists. Jeremiah answered her enthusiastically. And Belly nodded along. Smiled. Laughed when she was supposed to laugh.

She didn’t look at Conrad again.

Not when Nicole’s hand slid higher up his shoulder. Not when Conrad leaned down so she could say something in his ear. Not when Jeremiah squeezed her knee beneath the table like they were solid. Like everything was set.

She just sat there.

The sun still too bright. The marina too loud.

*

Belly could only remember fragments of the walk back from the marina.

She remembered the glare of the water. The way the sun bounced off it so violently she had to squint. Jeremiah’s hand resting at the small of her back. Nicole’s laugh carrying in the air. Conrad walking half a step in front of everyone else, hands shoved into his pockets.

But she couldn’t remember what she’d said. Or if she’d said anything at all.

Back at the house, she stood under the shower for a long time. Let the water run cold over her shoulders until her skin cooled.

She thought about how easily the words had come out of her mouth at lunch. “Totally worth it.” Like her voice had been borrowed. Like it had slipped free before she’d had a chance to check whether it was true.

Water streamed down her collarbone. She closed her eyes.

And suddenly she was somewhere else entirely. A different table. A different lunch.

“We’re getting married.”

She could still hear the strain in her own voice when she’d said it.

The silence that followed had been violent. Her mom’s face shifting from confusion to fury in half a minute. Steven swearing. Adam saying something sharp and incredulous. Jeremiah’s hand crushing hers, adrenaline roaring in her ears so loudly she thought she might pass out.

And then Conrad.

The way he didn’t say a single word. Just sat there. Completely still. Like he was gone. She could still feel the emptiness of it echo in her bones. And she’d almost felt it again today.

What was it she was seeing?

Maybe it wasn’t pain. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was indifference.

Maybe he just didn’t care anymore.

Do you want him to care?

Belly opened her eyes and braced herself against the tiles.

Fucking stop.

This had to stop. She had to stop. Whatever it was burning across her brain. Just confused, broken fragments of feelings bouncing around that didn’t mean anything anymore—just glimpses of the past all stirred up by being around him again. Being in this house again. Seeing him with someone else.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, pressing her hand into her stomach and taking a deep breath.

She just needed to shake it all out. It would be completely fine. The last twenty-four hours had just been unexpected, that was all.

She was completely fine.

The rest of the day came in quieter pieces.

Jeremiah suggested they go back into town for a bit—and Belly said yes before her brain could start arguing with her. They walked through the little shops. Bought ice cream. Stood too long in a bookstore. Let the day burn itself out in the most ordinary way possible.

She laughed when Jeremiah made a stupid comment. She kissed him back when he leaned in. She didn’t let her eyes drift. She didn’t let her mind do that thing where it started pulling the thread and unravelling everything.

When they got back, Conrad and Nicole weren’t there. And Belly didn’t let herself wonder where they’d gone.

She and Jeremiah ate something easy. Watched a movie on the couch. His legs stretched out across hers. His hand on her thigh.

Just the two of them.

The way it's always been.

She just needed to find her way back to that.

She just needed to feel it, she told herself, as she took Jeremiah’s hand and pulled him upstairs before the movie finished. She just needed to remember, as she climbed on top of him on the bed—his hands gripping her hips, his mouth at her throat, the familiar rhythm of him inside her—like muscle memory. Like something she could do without thinking.

She wasn’t thinking. Not about anything else. Just this. She told herself. As she squeezed her eyes closed and moved her hands away from the unmistakable curls of his hair, and back down onto skin that could have been anyone’s.

*

Conrad had read the same sentence four times.

Transcatheter mitral valve repair has demonstrated a statistically significant reduction in rehospitalization rates in—

He blinked.

Rehospitalization. Best Man. Mitral valve regurgitation. It would mean a lot to us. Left ventricular remodeling. You’ll look great up there.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and exhaled slowly through his nose.

Fucking focus.

Nicole had left Cousins that morning to go back to New York for a few days. She’d kissed him in the kitchen like everything was fine. Like she hadn’t felt the tension humming under his skin all weekend. Like she hadn’t noticed the way he’d barely slept.

Jeremiah had driven back to Boston that afternoon. He left loudly. Hugged him too hard—“Text me, man”—like they had both suddenly decided to pretend everything was fine between them now. And maybe it could be. Maybe it should be. He didn’t even fucking know anymore.

Either way, now the house was quiet.

Conrad adjusted his seat at the kitchen counter, laptop open, journal article pulled up, textbook beside it. Plate half-finished in front of him.

Cardiology was clean. It made sense. You insert the catheter through the femoral artery. You navigate under fluoroscopic guidance. You visualize the defect. You fix it.

He leaned forward, elbows on the counter, and forced himself back into the paragraph.

Mitral valve incompetence leads to progressive atrial dilation due to—

He heard her footsteps down the stairs. His jaw tightened, like his body was pretending it hadn’t been listening out for her all evening.

He made sure not to look up immediately.

“Oh—sorry,” he heard her say from the doorway, “I’ll come back later.”

He glanced up then. Allowed his eyes to move over her once. Controlled. Just registering information, nothing more. Her hair pulled back loosely. A college T-shirt hanging soft against her collarbone. Her bare legs.

“Why?” he asked, as he forced his eyes back to her face.

“Uh—I don’t know,” she stuttered, half-turned back toward the stairs, “You’re studying. I don’t want to—um—disturb you or whatever.”

“So?” he said, gesturing toward the fridge, “You can still eat.” His voice sounded normal. He registered that with mild surprise.

Belly hesitated for a second longer—glancing back at the stairs, and then toward the fridge. “Okay,” she nodded.

He felt himself watching her before he could stop it. She crossed the kitchen, pulled down a bowl off the shelf. Opened the cupboard, took out the cereal box.

Of course.

“You’re doing cereal for dinner?” he asked, forcing his eyes back down to his laptop before she could catch him staring.

“I mean—yeah, it’s quick.”

“Real food can be quick too.”

“It is real food.”

He looked up—gave her a brief half-smile—couldn’t seem to help himself. “I’m not sure Frosted Flakes have enough nutritional value to qualify.”

Her smile flickered back at him.

Fuck.

“Hey—Frosted Flakes have seen me through a lot of summers in this place.”

“I remember. You used to write your name on the box.”

She laughed.

And the sound hit him low in the chest in a way he absolutely had not prepared for.

For a second—just one—he saw it. Her leaning against that exact counter. Him grabbing the cereal box out of Steven’s hands before he could finish it and sliding it across to her.

He dragged his eyes back to the article.

Ventricular remodeling following ischemic injury—

He saw her pull out a stool in his periphery to sit further down the island, tucking one leg underneath herself the way she always used to. He didn’t have to look to absorb her. The smell of cereal and milk. The faint citrus of whatever shampoo she was using now.

The air around her was warmer. Or maybe that was just him.

“You studying for something specific?” she asked.

“Uh—not really,” he cleared his throat, tapping a pen against the counter, “I mean, I just try to keep up-to-date on the stuff I’m interested in.”

“What stuff is that? Aside from general doctor things.”

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her. “General doctor things?”

She shrugged, spoon clinking lightly against the bowl. “You know. Stethoscopes. And…” She trailed off, spooning cereal into her mouth.

“And what?”

She shrugged again, chewing.

“Can you not name any more medical instruments, Belly?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and swallowed. “I absolutely can.”

“Go on then.”

“Scalpels.”

He felt himself smirking. “That’s it? That’s your list?”

“Defibrillators,” she added, defiantly.

A huff of laughter slipped out of him before he could stop it. “That’s a good one, to be fair.”

“So—what’s the interesting reading?”

He glanced back at the screen.

“Mitral valve repair. Outcomes data.”

Her nose wrinkled faintly. “Oh. Sounds—thrilling.”

“It’s numbers,” he replied. “Failure rates. Readmission stats. Complication profiles.”

“Light bedtime reading.”

“Exactly.”

She smiled at him again through another mouthful.

He snatched his eyes away. Tried to read again.

He could hear her spoon hitting the bowl. Soft scrape. Pause. Scrape again.

He could see that she had taken out her phone now. Was scrolling through something as she ate. Maybe checking her messages from his brother. Maybe playing that stupid little farming game he’d seen her playing a few times. He was pretty sure she was the only person that still played that. He had wanted to tell her that, each time.

He shifted in his seat and let his eyes flick sideways for a fraction too long.

Her T-shirt had ridden up when she tucked her leg under herself. He could see a faint bruise, high on her thigh. Yellowing at the edges. He catalogued it automatically. Healing. Three, four days old.

He looked away. He did not need to be noticing that.

He dragged his attention back to the paragraph and forced himself to read a full sentence through.

Didn’t absorb it.

Her stool scraped back against the floor. Water ran in the sink. He could feel her moving around the kitchen without looking—knew exactly where she was from the sound alone. The bowl set down. The tap off. The faint rustle of the dish towel.

Then there was a silence.

He kept his eyes on the screen.

She wasn’t leaving.

He could sense the weight of her standing there. The way she shifted slightly on her feet when she was thinking. The inhale she took but didn’t let out.

He wrote down some words in the margin of his textbook. Barely knew what they were.

She was still hovering.

Come on. What are you doing?

“Conrad?” her voice sounded hesitant. “Can I ask you something?”

Fuck.

He exhaled slowly through his nose. He pretended to finish reading a sentence on the screen, just to buy himself a few extra seconds, then he lifted his eyes up to meet hers.

She looked nervous. Her weight shifted onto one foot, fingers tugging restlessly at the hem of her shirt. A strand of hair had slipped loose near her temple. But her chin was tilted up—just slightly. He knew that look on her. The quiet, stubborn resolve of following through with something she’d already decided on.

He leaned back slightly in his chair. Kept his voice even, despite the spike of his pulse. “Sure.”

She swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“When we saw each other at Christmas.” Her fingers tightened briefly at the hem of her shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Nicole?”

Conrad felt something small and sharp press under his ribs.

He blinked once, keeping his expression neutral. “About me and Nicole,” he repeated, trying to clarify the question for himself.

“Yes,” she said.

He let a beat stretch between them.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, a small shrug of one shoulder. “Didn’t seem relevant.”

He wasn't doing this with her.

Her brows pulled together. “Not relevant?”

“It didn’t come up.”

She stared at him like she didn’t believe him. Like she was trying to get into his head.

I don’t fucking want you in there.

“Why does it matter?” he asked then, sharper than before. And it took him by surprise—the sudden irritation bristling across his skin.

Her mouth opened, then closed again. “Because it was weird.”

“Weird for who?”

“For me,” she said. “It was weird for me.”

The tone she was using wasn't accusatory. It wasn't dramatic. It just sounded—honest. And he didn't like that. It was somehow worse. He could feel something inside him twist in response.

“And why was it weird for you, Belly?” he asked, quietly.

She looked at him like he’d just asked her something unfair.

“Because,” she started, then stopped. “Because I didn’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she echoed.

“You didn’t know,” he repeated. “Now you do.”

She exhaled sharply. “Conrad.”

The way she said his name made his skin tighten.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter now. Done pretending to read.

“You want honesty?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t look away either.

“Tell me, Belly,” he said, voice calm in a way that felt almost clinical, “Did you ever tell my brother I was here with you in the end?”

Her face went still.

“I know you said you would,” he continued, eyes fixed on hers, “If he hadn’t lost signal when he called. So I’m just wondering if you ever got around to mentioning it.”

Her throat moved as she swallowed. “I—” she started. Nothing came after it.

He watched it all quietly landing with her. And then after a few seconds, he nodded. “Right.”

He leaned back in his chair, picked up his pen like the conversation was over.

But then she spoke again.

“That’s not the same thing,” she said. “I wasn’t hiding you.”

He let out a short breath that almost passed for a laugh. “I mean—that’s exactly what you were doing, Belly.”

“No,” she insisted. “That’s different.”

“How?”

She didn’t answer.

He could feel the frustration building now. Less controlled. Less neat. He hated that she could pull that out of him in under five minutes.

“You didn’t tell him,” he said, before he could stop himself, “Because it was easier not to. Because then you could have it both ways.”

Have me and my brother both ways.

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” His eyes sharpened. “But you standing here asking me why I didn’t disclose my girlfriend to you at Christmas—that’s fair?”

And Conrad realised that was the first time he’d called Nicole his girlfriend out loud. To her.

Her cheeks flushed. “I just thought—”

“What?” he cut in. “That I owed you a heads up?”

“No,” she frowned, “Stop doing that. I’m not saying you owed me anything, Conrad. I just—” she shook her head, “Last Christmas—it was just…” she paused. “I thought we were—” She stopped herself.

He waited. He could see her fighting with whatever that sentence had been about to become.

“We were what?” he asked, voice low.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Yeah. You do know.

He stared at her for a few moments. Took in the way her jaw was steady, even as her eyes looked a little too bright. The way her shoulders were squared, but her fingers were still curled tight into the fabric of her T-shirt.

“Okay then,” he nodded.

And suddenly he felt really fucking tired.

He looked away first. Let his gaze drop back down to the laptop screen. He clicked the trackpad once. Twice. Like it could make her leave.

But he could feel her still standing there. Waiting. Like there was something else she wanted him to say. Something softer. Something that would smooth the edges of what had just happened.

He wasn’t going to give it to her.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said finally, not looking up. His voice had gone flat again. Safer that way.

There was silence.

He heard her swallow.

“I don't…want anything from you, Conrad,” she said quietly.

His throat tightened. “Then what are you doing?”

Another pause. Longer this time. He forced himself to glance up again. She looked different now. The defiance still there in the set of her chin—but underneath it, something else he recognised instantly. Too easily. She was hurt.

It landed somewhere deep in his chest and lodged there.

“Nothing,” she said eventually. The word sounded smaller than she probably intended. “It doesn’t matter.”

And for a fleeting moment—one searing second—Conrad almost told her that it did.

Almost told her that Christmas mattered so much to him he was completely fucked up by it for weeks. That leaving her in that house felt like tearing skin. That he never made it to Chamonix to see his dad and brother. That he never made it back via New York like he promised to see Nicole.

That he’d wanted to pretend—like he had for that small slice of blissful time he shared with her—that none of those other people fucking existed. Just her.

That sitting across the room from her and doing a crossword made him so happy it was borderline obscene. That watching a movie next to her on that couch, their legs almost touching, had taken every ounce of restraint he had. That standing beside her in the kitchen making dinner—passing her the salt, brushing shoulders by accident, listening to her hum under her breath like it was the most normal thing in the world—had nearly broken him.

That nothing happened—not a single fucking thing—and somehow everything happened. In a way he still couldn’t fucking process.

But he couldn’t tell her any of that.

So instead, he just watched her quietly leave the room. Watched her walk from the counter across the floor. Watched her hand curl briefly around the doorframe as she passed through it. Listened to her footsteps fade and the house swallow the sound of her.

And then she was gone.

Conrad brought his eyes back down to his laptop screen.

Prolonged ischemia secondary to sustained blood flow restriction results in irreversible tissue damage.

He read it twice.

And kept reading.

*