47. Fallon

Every morning and night, Corey and I tear off each other’s clothing like it’s our first time sleeping together all over again, sighing at the first contact and losing ourselves and time as we chase pleasure. I kind of wish we were alone so we could spend our entire days in the bedroom, but as soon as we join the others, the disappointment wanes as they invite me to participate not just in conversation but into their group.

The rain sticks around Thursday morning, and we spend most of the day playing card games I teach them.

I’m in Corey’s room, changing my continuous glucose monitor, the smaller medical device I wear that reads my blood sugar every few seconds. It only has to be changed every ten days and has been a lifesaver on more than one occasion.

My phone beeps with a text, and then two more before I finish moving my site.

Kelly: I had no idea someone moved your car. I feel terrible, Fallon.

Kelly: For everything. I convinced you to come, and then I got so wrapped up in Corey and then Rafael and… I am really sorry. I was a shitty friend, and I had no idea about the guy at the bar or your car.

Kelly: Shit hit the fan last night.

Kelly: Becca’s been trying to find out who moved your car since you left, and last night, she learned it was Zoe.

I’m not shocked in the least. I assumed it was her, but learning that Becca didn’t know comes with a kernel of surprise.

I debate my reply, feeling that need to people please at the back of my thoughts where assurances are being formed and offered.

Me: Zoe’s a mean girl, and I’m done taking her shit. I understand why she’s upset, but

I erase my reply. I don’t want Kelly to get in the middle of this ridiculous drama.

Me: My week has been great. So maybe it all worked anyway.

This reply is even worse, bordering on being potentially catty. So rather than try and think of the right response, I walk away from the conversation and return to where I feel wanted and accepted.

The moment I enter the dining room, Corey grips my waist and pulls me into his lap. Warmth fills my body as I lean against him, and my thoughts about my team vanish.

Friday, I prove athleticism doesn’t translate to all sports when we play volleyball, which would probably be my least favorite sport if it weren’t accompanied by Corey being shirtless. Evelyn, however, turns out to be a badass, saving us from being annihilated. Later, when the guys make a trip to the store to pick up groceries for dinner, she divulges how she’d quit playing competitive volleyball after growing exhausted from giving so much of her time, energy, and sanity to a game she had stopped loving.

The pressure, unrealistic expectations, and ruined friendships are only a few of the commonalities we share that hit a little too close to home and my ruffled emotions.

Her story lives in my thoughts, distracting me from the movie Corey and I watch in an attempt to complete our shared project.

“Who wants to lose at poker?” Mila calls. “I’m accepting all bets tonight.”

Corey grins and reaches forward, closing my laptop.

It’s raining again tonight, but the only thing dampening my spirit is the reality that the week is nearly over. My season starts next Monday, and I’ll be required to practice eight hours a day for the next month, and August 1st, Corey’s season will begin, and he’ll be doing daily doubles while I travel for games.

The idea of not seeing each other every day, of this pattern ending too soon, makes my entire chest ache.

“Hey.” Corey’s voice is soft, slipping over the rough edges of my thoughts and somehow smoothing them. “Are you okay?” He brushes some loose strands of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger there, warm against my cheek.

I nod and press my face more firmly against his touch. “This week has gone by too fast.”

He swallows. “We’ll come out here again. Long weekends or just slow days. It’s not that far.”

It’s an eight-hour drive roundtrip and quite possibly the most important season of Corey’s career. He will be buried in practices and workouts, and I’m still stumbling and struggling through my own, but I don’t mention any of this. I don’t want to invite doubt or excuses for this not to happen because the beach house feels like a bubble. A private retreat where we are us, just like that first night back in May.

“We’ll need to find a new bar to play darts.”

He grins. “We’ll install one right here.” He points at the wall across from us.

Hope chases doubt to the recesses of my thoughts as Palmer yells up the stairs for us to come down, and though a part of me wants to ignore the invitation, I’m so relieved and grateful for this group of friends that I wrap my hand around Corey’s and lead us downstairs.

Palmer is shuffling a deck of cards at the dining room table, and Mila and Grey are arranging a dozen snacks as Hadley finishes cooking something at the stove that smells both sweet and spicy and completely amazing.

“How are your poker skills?” Palmer asks me. “Are you feeling lucky?”

I grin as I slide into one of the empty seats. “Always.” We don’t play poker much on family game nights, but it was the only game my friends and teammates wanted to play while traveling.

We’re in the middle of a hand when a hard knock on the door has everyone turning to look at Palmer.

“What?” he asks.

“Did you invite someone?” Mila’s voice teeters on being accusatory.

He shakes his head.

Nerves spill into my thoughts, wondering if it might be Kelly. Would she come over uninvited?

Corey pushes his chair back and crosses the distance to the front door. My breath is stuck in my throat as he pulls it open to reveal a man with a deep, raspy voice who greets him by name.

“Who’s that?” Evelyn whispers.

Hudson shakes his head.

Palmer, however, sits up straighter. “Corey’s dad.”

“Corey’s dad?” Mila’s voice would be a shriek if she weren’t whispering.

My internal voice is at the same pitch, realizing my things are strewn across the main suite, where the trashcan is filled with used condoms and wrappers. Embarrassment is a rash across my face as I consider shameful things like sneaking out a window or hiding under the table.

“Have we met his dad?” Nolan asks, looking contemplative.

The question strikes a match through my panic and has me looking around the table as Grey shakes his head.

“Does he have a bodyguard with him?” Hadley asks. “I’ve always wondered if rich people travel with their own personal security detail.”

“I doubt it,” Mila says. “Especially not here. He owns the house.”

“Why would he have a bodyguard?” I ask.

Hadley and Mila glance at each other and then at me.

“I like you even more,” Mila says. “Your naivety is charming.”

“I think I’m offended,” I admit.

“You haven’t looked up Corey on the internet?” Hadley asks.

“Should I have?”

More silent exchanges are shared.

Mila clears her throat. “Corey’s family is… upper crust.”

I shake my head. “What does that mean?”

Mila peeks at the door where Corey’s still standing with his back to us. “His family are the Bishops. They started National First Bank, one of the first banks in America.”

Shock can’t touch what I’m feeling.

“But he’s from Colorado,” I say, like this proves she’s wrong. I know next to nothing about banking or Corporate America aside from the fact that big pharma doesn’t blink when a child’s parents can’t afford the inflated price tags for medications required to keep their child alive, but I know enough about history to know Colorado wasn’t one of the first thirteen colonies.

“He doesn’t tell people…” Palmer says. “It’s nothing personal.”

“I didn’t know for a year,” Nolan admits. “Hell, sometimes I still forget because he never acts like those assholes who are born with silver spoons up their asses.”

The clipping of shoes has us all straightening. Corey’s father is a few inches shorter than him, with an angular face, a trimmed silver beard that matches his neatly combed hair, and wire-framed glasses. Despite our setting, he’s wearing a suit, his hands casually tucked into his pockets as he nods at us in greeting.

Corey swallows and raises his chin, matching his father’s posture.

“I’m glad this tradition lives on,” Mr. Bishop says.

Corey swallows. “Guys, this is my dad.”

“Conrad, please,” he says, placing a hand on his chest. A sleek gold watch peeks out from his sleeve. “And I’m sorry to interrupt. I know this week is sacred, but with Corey’s insistence on not taking calls during this week, I realized I’d need to stop by and talk to him in person.” His gaze flits across the table, stopping at the empty seat beside me before rebounding to me. He stares at me for a long second, a scrutinizing glint in his eyes before he turns to Corey and claps a hand on his shoulder.

I’m frozen, reluctant to stay or leave, so I look to the others, hoping they understand the situation better than I do.

National First Bank.

The Bishops.

Mila’s words replay in my thoughts, impossible to discern or forget.

“It’s a nice night. Why don’t we step outside?” Mr. Bishop gestures to the sleek glass doors behind us.

Corey’s discomfort is barely discernible, or maybe, I realize, I just haven’t seen him in many uncomfortable situations and can’t read him as well as I believed.

The two disappear outside without a backward glance.

“Should I pack my things?” I ask no one and everyone.

“I can’t believe he’s here,” Mila whispers. “He’s never been here.”

“I heard he has a toilet made of gold in his office,” Hadley says. “And a fleet of planes.”

Palmer scoffs. “No one owns a fleet of planes. It’s probably one. And maybe a chopper.”

I’m too dumbfounded to speak.

“I’ve never been able to get a read on his relationship with his parents,” Nolan says, peering at the picture windows that are currently mirrored from the lights inside. “He was dreading his trip to Colorado in May.”

“I think it’s complicated,” Hudson says.

“I read that he has a personal chef who travels with him and makes a specific cookie, fresh daily, just for him. No one else is allowed to eat them,” Hadley says. “I wonder if I could get one. I wonder what flavor they are?”

Grey stares at the door as Palmer sweeps up the cards and shuffles.

I lean closer to Palmer and repeat my question about packing.

He shakes his head. “No. He won’t be staying here.”

“Are you sure?”

Palmer nods without offering an explanation, and then he deals out cards, omitting Corey.

“My parents haven’t been out here since family weekend my freshman year,” Hadley admits. “Maybe his parents are just busy? Or they worry about being recognized. Do you think people know who they are?” She turns to Hudson. “Do people recognize your dad?”

Questions fire off in my head that I don’t voice, wondering who Hudson’s father is and if they think I know—if I should know.

Hudson shrugs. “Sometimes, but he’s still on TV.”

“Your dad’s on TV?” I blurt the question.

They collectively turn to me as though realizing I’m the outsider in every one of these conversations.

“He’s a sportscaster,” Evelyn says. “Retired from the NFL.”

I blink, unsure how to respond. I wish Callum were up here. Maybe he’d be willing to ask some of the questions that keep shocking me, but he went out tonight with a couple of guys on their team.

“Did he fly here?” Evelyn asks. “Is there an airport nearby? Isn’t the Outer Banks a giant sandbar?”

“He lives in New York,” Hadley says. “Though it sounds like he spends a lot of time in California and Delaware, where there are sister sites.”

“How do you know so much about him?” I finally ask.

“Once you spend a little more time with Hannah, you’ll understand.” Hadley shrugs.

“This can’t be good,” Nolan says. “Showing up out of the blue is never good.”

Grey’s gaze is unwavering as he continues staring at the door, ignoring his cards. I wonder what position he plays in football and if it’s defense because he looks ready to jump into action at any second.

“Has Corey said anything about Anna recently?” Palmer asks.

“He talked to her yesterday when we ran to the grocery store,” I supply. “He said she was tired but feeling well.”

Palmer doesn’t look relieved by the response. If anything, he looks more stressed out as he shares a look with Hudson that translates once again how close these friends are because they hold an entire conversation without a word.

Time drags on as we try to continue playing the game.

An hour passes before Corey and his dad step inside. Corey’s jaw is taut, and his gaze remains everywhere except on me as he pauses so his dad can bid us goodbye. Then, he follows him to the front door. The two say a few parting words, and then Conrad Bishop slips outside, leaving me with more questions than I had when arriving here.

“Everything okay?” Palmer asks as Corey takes his seat beside me.

He nods and picks up the playing cards dealt to him.

“Why’d he stop by?” Mila asks.

I could kiss her for her directness.

Corey leans back in his chair. “He wants me to encourage Anna to see an oncologist in New York.”

“Are things not going well?” Palmer asks.

Corey pulls in a weighted breath. “He thinks they’d provide better care. Plus, it would provide a reason for her to move like he wants her to.”

Another round of silent exchanges occurs, and I’m grateful to realize I’m not the only one who feels clueless based on the collective expressions of our group. But they accept his vague answer and don’t push for more details, so neither do I. Instead, I focus on the fact that I’ve been sleeping with a guy who has more money than royalty and on the way his father analyzed me.

Had that been disapproval in his gaze?

We continue playing, though conversation remains minimal.

“We should call it a night,” Corey says, tossing his cards on the table after Hadley beats us for a third time.

Grey gathers the cards and puts them away while Hudson and Nolan load the loose dishes into the dishwasher.

I’m more nervous than I was that first night at the bar as I follow Corey upstairs, everything feeling new again.

He closes the door behind us and turns to me. “You look upset.”

I shake my head. “Not upset. Dumfounded. A little shocked. Actually a lot shocked. I had no idea you were…” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. I’m not sure what he is. Is he an heir? A mogul? Is there a name for inconceivably rich? What had Mila called him? Upper crust. What in the hell is upper crust?

“What did they tell you?” Corey asks warily.

“That your family owns National First Bank.”

He grips the back of his neck. “It’s not like it sounds.”

I stare at him, unblinking. “Your family doesn’t own National First Bank?”

“It hasn’t been privately owned for fifty years.”

Once again, I’m clueless. I think of my parents’ painting company and then the multiple National First Bank branches I drive past in Oleander Springs alone.

He cants his head. “What are you thinking?”

“Are you like…” I shake my head. “A celebrity? An heir? I don’t know what any of this means.”

Corey shakes his head. “No. Nothing like that.”

I nod, but a part of me struggles to believe him. I can’t imagine the descendants of Disney or Pepsi don’t hold some kind of title or responsibility.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says again.

I shake my head, uncertain how to put into words all that I’m thinking. “That I’m intimidated, and I don’t want to be because I don’t think money should make anyone more important, but I’m also not entirely naive to the world and society. And I had no idea you are upper crust—whatever that means—or that you have friends whose fathers were in the NFL.”

Corey studies me.“I don’t want you to be intimidated. I don’t want this to change anything between us.”

“Does everyone at Camden know?”

Corey shakes his head again. “No. Most people have no idea. My mom moved us to Colorado, where her parents lived when she was pregnant with me because she hated being in the tabloids. Despite some of her faults, she kept Anna and me grounded and ensured we had a mostly normal childhood.”

“Mostly normal?”

He shrugs. “I won’t pretend my life hasn’t been filled with privilege.”

I want to mention how normal he acts. How down-to-earth and kind he is. I’ve known people with what I’m assuming is a small fraction of his family’s wealth act like entitled jerks. Corey is polite to rude waiters, rescues stray animals, and helps his friend do manual labor to remodel a basement.

“Fallon.”

I raise my eyes to his.

“Everything I’ve told you is the truth. I was planning to tell you about my family, I just didn’t want it to feel weird or like an expectation.”

I recall days ago when I was the one holding my breath, praying he accepted me when it was revealed that I have diabetes. He didn’t choose his family’s background any more than I did this disease, and it doesn’t change who we are—who we’ve become together.

I take a step closer to him. “It doesn’t change the way I look at you, it’s just … a lot to take in.”

Relief has his shoulders sinking a full inch as he reaches for me, gripping my waist. He reels me closer and runs his nose across my temple as I bracket his waist with my hands. “Believe me. I know. I’m still trying to take it in.”

“Why did your dad stop by?”

“He wants Anna to move to New York. He says it’s for health, but I’m pretty sure it’s also so she’s closer to the bank so she can take a prominent role once she’s ready.”

“I thought Anna was a veterinarian?”

He nods. “She is, but she double majored and has her master’s in finance. She wanted to take over his role but has been less motivated since working at the vet clinic.”

“You guys were out there for a while.”

“He wants me to help convince her to move forward again, but the last thing she needs is stress, and I told him as much.”

“How’d he take that?”

He shakes his head. “As well as most conversations go with him, which means he didn’t listen to a damn word.”

“Did you guys leave on good terms?”

Corey slides his hand around to my ass and pulls me flush with his body. “Good enough.”

My heart rate spikes. “What does that mean?”

“That we have two days left and so many things I’d rather do than discuss my father.” He kisses me as his fingers glide across my backside, successfully distracting me and reminding me that despite this new and somewhat significant detail, I know things about him that are far more important that don’t involve monetary details but the shape of his soul and heart.

“I’ve wanted to peel these shorts off you since you came downstairs after running with Mila this afternoon,” he confesses.

“Maybe I should wear them to the Heath Library.”

He runs his nose along the underside of my jaw. “You should.” He drags his teeth across my ear lobe, sending shivers down my spine. Desire has warmth spread across my skin as Corey slips his hands into the waistband of my shorts and slides them down my legs.

I reach for a condom, anxious for him to be inside me.

I barely manage to catch my breath before he tips me over the mattress and seals his mouth over me, making me forget everything except the way my heart races for him and how complete he makes me feel.