Taking Connor (25 page)

“We had him tested,” she admits. “It was only testing through the school. He hasn’t been medically diagnosed yet. You were right, though. He’s high functioning autistic.” Her last words come out on a sob, and I quickly switched seats so I could sit next to her and hug her.

“I went to the library and looked up autism and took some questionnaires online. The results all came back strongly suggesting he might be autistic. So I called the school like you said, and they were able to get him in with the county’s behavioral specialist.”

“I know it seems like the worst thing in the world.” And it does. Most parents go through this; the feeling of hopelessness. And it’s not just parents of children with autism. It’s any parent that finds out their child has an enormous feat in life.

“I just can’t believe I missed it. How did I miss it?”

“You have five kids Wendy. I mean, cut yourself some slack. What’s important is we know now, and we can move forward and get him the help he needs. The younger you find out and start getting him help, the better it will be for him.”

“Jeff is beside himself. He just can’t accept it,” she whimpers.

I hug her tighter. “He will. In time.”

“I’m so sorry we were such assholes to you. Will you forgive us?”

“Of course, I will. I love you and the kids. And I’m here to help in any way I can.”

She sniffles against my shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I see Connor enter the kitchen, quickly tugging on his T-shirt realizing that we’re not alone in the house. When Wendy pulls away, she gives Connor an embarrassed smile as she wipes under her eyes. “Hi, Connor. How are you?”

“I’m good,” he answers with a sideways smirk. “You doing okay?”

“I am now,” Wendy says, squeezing my hand.

“There’s coffee,” I say pointing behind me.

“I’m going to head out and get to work, but thank you anyway.” He nods once at Wendy to say goodbye and rushes out the back door not giving me a second glance.

I frown, wondering what just happened. Is he freaking out? Or is it he’s embarrassed Wendy is here?

“So how was it?” Wendy asks, her previous sad expression having drained from her face, replaced by one of curiosity. She sips her coffee, watching me carefully.

“How was what?” I get up and head to the fridge, pulling out some fruit I cut up the day before and placing it on the middle of the table. Grabbing two forks, I plop back down in my seat beside her.

“I know he was upstairs. And I want to know everything.”

“Nothing happened,” I mumble around a piece of cantaloupe. “Just two people sleeping.”

“So you guys are . . . together? What happened to Vick?”

“A wife and kids happened,” I snort.

“What?”

Wendy stays an hour, and I explain the Vick drama, and where things are with Connor. According to her, she knew Connor and I would end up together all along.

“We’re not together,” I point out. “I don’t know what we are, actually,” I say thoughtfully. “I guess we’re feeling things out.”

“Well, keep me posted,” Wendy adds.

“Can I get the girls tonight? I’ll keep them until tomorrow evening.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Wendy sighs. “McKenzie is driving me nuts. I swear teenage girls are the devil.”

We hug once more, and I tell her, “Bring them over around two, okay.”

“Sure thing. See ya then.”

I clean up the dishes and fruit and head upstairs to shower and dress. When I come back down, I look in my fridge to see what I need for the girls tonight. I’m short on everything. When the screen door creaks and slams shut, I jump.

“Sorry,” Connor says, holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I shut the fridge and face him as he leans against my counter.

“You rushed out mighty fast this morning,” I note.

“Wendy was crying, and I thought I was imposing. And I thought . . . never mind.”

“No. What?”

He scratches the back of his neck and mumbles something.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I thought . . . maybe you woke up and snuck out to avoid me.”

My shoulders droop with his admission. I hurry to him and wrap my arms around his waist. “I came down to make coffee for us.” I chuckle. “I had this romantic idea that we’d snuggle and drink coffee in bed together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Well, Wendy showed up, and we ended up sitting down to have a much needed chat.”

“Everything okay?” he asks, brushing some hair from my face as she stares into my eyes.

“It is now. But just so you know, I’m very sober right now. And I still want you.”

His arms move around me and squeeze me to him. “Slow and steady,” he whispers as he grazes my cheek with a kiss. “What are your plans today?”

“Actually,” I pull away from him, “I’m keeping the girls tonight.”

“Babysitting. Nice.”

“Wanna join me as I venture into town and buy enough junk food to feed an army?”

“I think I’d like that.”

We decide to make a day of it and stop by to visit Grams. I’m not sure if she could tell by the smiles on our faces when we looked at one another or the way we couldn’t seem to drag our eyes away, but I could tell she knew something was going on between Connor and me because she grinned from ear to ear the entire time and kept waggling her eyebrows at me.

Afterward, we grabbed lunch and went to the grocery store.

“Damn, I loved these when I was a kid. Grams would never buy them.” He holds up a box of Lucky Charms, and I laugh.

“They’re so gross.”

He scoffs at me. “Clearly you have no taste buds.”

“Well, throw it in the cart, good sir. I’m sure the girls will love it too.”

He tosses the box in and rushes me, jerking me up and spinning me, kissing my neck as he does.

“Demi?”

Connor stops spinning us and drops me slowly to my feet as we stare at, none other than, my mother.

Shit.

“Hey, Mom,” I manage to squeak out.

“Hello, yourself,” she mumbles as she cuts Connor a lethal look.

“Mom, this is Connor, Blake’s cousin. Connor, my mother.” I motion my hand between them as I speak, my tone clearly lacking enthusiasm. I just know she’s going to humiliate me.

Connor holds out his hand to shake hers, but she just looks at it, then fixes her gaze on me. My face heats with embarrassment. I can’t believe how rude she is. I mean, I can, she’s an asshole, but I’m mortified by her behavior.

“It looks like you two are . . . close,” she notes with one judgmentally arched eyebrow.

Looking back at Connor, I smile. He looks severely uncomfortable. “We are,” I boast. I’m proud to admit that, too. Connor Stevens is mine.

“You know she could do better,” she spits, turning her attention to Connor.

“Mother,” I hiss. Looking around us, I notice there are three other people in this aisle with us, having stopped their browsing of the shelves when they heard my mother.

“You’re jail trash. Nothing like Blake.”

“Stop it,” I order, stepping in front of her. “How dare you talk to him like that.” My heart is pounding as anger rushes me. A fierce need to protect Connor; defend him takes over. “He’s a good man, and he is
my
choice and if you don’t like it, feel free to stay away from us.

She huffs in offense and walks past us. “I thought I raised you smarter, Demi.”

I want to yell something more at her, call her a name . . . something, but I decide it will only antagonize her more. My gaze moves to Connor, and I immediately hug him. “I’m so sorry. She is such a bitch sometimes.”

Connor backs away from me and shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, like usual. “She’s not wrong, Demi. You
could
do better.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t give up on this before we’ve even started, Connor. And just so you know, she didn’t like Blake either.”

He gives me a faint smile as he twists his neck and eyes the other people in the aisle with us who are pretending to look at items on the shelf but are really listening to us. Shaking his head, he starts pushing the cart again. “Let’s get out of here.” And gone is the happy and relaxed Connor Stevens. My mother has brought forward the brooder.

We head home and unload the groceries. Connor barely says a word, and when we’re done, he heads outside to the garage. I feel awful. Leave it to Gladys to ruin a perfectly good day with her unwarranted negative opinions.

When the girls arrive, we head out to get pedicures and when we return, Connor is still tinkering in his garage, working on the bike. When dinner is ready, I invite him in to join us, but he refuses saying he has to get something on the bike done. The girls and I eat and watch a movie until bedtime. When they’re settled down, I go outside to check on Connor only to find him getting on his Harley.

He doesn’t see me as he fires it up and takes off. My heart sinks. My mother got to him. I sleep restlessly all night, waiting for the sound of Connor’s motorcycle pulling in the driveway. It isn’t until the next morning that he returns while I eat breakfast with the girls.

“I want to see Mr. Jenson,” Mary-Anne insists.

“Maybe later I’ll take you over there.”

“I can go by myself,” she sasses. “He said I could come over whenever I want, and he’d give me candy.”

“You’re not going over there by yourself, twerp,” McKenzie snaps as she leans toward Mary-Anne and fixes her gaze on hers. “You go over there without Demi, I’ll knock you senseless.” Her tone is deadly serious.

“McKenzie!” I scoff. Where did that come from?

“I’ll tell Mom if you hit me,” Mary-Anne promises.

“No one is going to hit anyone,” I assure Mary-Anne as I give a pointed look to McKenzie. “I’ll take you over there later. I promise.”

“You two get dressed,” I tell them. I was up at dawn, unable to sleep, so I’m already dressed. Once they’re upstairs, I head outside in search of Connor.

He’s in the garage when I find him, throwing tools in drawers. I had to enter through the side door as both bay doors were closed. It was probably his way of saying,
leave me alone
. Too bad for him, I’m not listening.

“Hi,” I say, quietly. He stills but doesn’t turn to face me.

“Hi,” he replies gruffly.

“Are you . . . okay?” I ask delicately.

“I’m fine, Demi,” he retorts.

“Okay . . .” What do I say here? He’s obviously upset about something and trying his damnedest to give me the cold shoulder. Two nights ago I was sleeping in his arms. Now, he won’t even look at me. Has he changed his mind? Does he not want this anymore?

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. We were drunk and—”

I’m stunned when he whips around and walks up to me, grabbing my face and pulling it to his, our mouths crashing together. My arms weave around his neck, and I cling to him as he walks me backward and pushes me against the wall, pressing his body to mine.

Pulling away, he stares into my eyes. “I want you. I do. But I’m not good for you.”

My eyes narrow. “You are good, Connor. I see it every day.”

Pressing his forehead to mine, he breathes, “You love blindly, Demi. I’m a bad man. I’ve done bad things.”

“What are you saying, Connor? Have you changed your mind? Is this just your way of backing out?” My voice cracks and even I’m surprised by how emotional I sound.

“I think we should think about this,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin our . . . friendship.”

Pushing him away from me, I snort. “Wow.” It’s been two days and he’s already backing out. “I don’t understand. I’m just . . . confused. I mean, weren’t you just kissing me a second ago?” My emotions have taken a turn, and now I’m angry. What is this? How does a man kiss me like that then tell me he’s not sure we should be more?

“Demi—”

“Don’t.” I hold up my hand, stopping him. “Just . . . give me some space.” With that, I walk out of the garage just as Dusty pulls up on his motorcycle and parks.

“Hey there, Demi,” he calls as he cuts the engine off. I’ve just reached my steps, but not wanting to be rude to him, no matter how angry I am with Connor, I turn and muster up my friendliest smile for him.

“Hi, Dusty. Connor is in the garage.” I jab my thumb toward the garage and turn to take my first step when I hear Mary-Anne cry my name. “Demi!”

Whipping around, I follow her voice.

“Demi!”

She’s running up the driveway, her mouth covered in chocolate, her eyes brimming with tears. “What’s wrong?” I ask, frantic, searching her head to toe for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

“McKenzie and Mr. Jenson,” she cries, breathless, hiccupping with emotion. I have no idea what’s happened or what she means, but my heart catapults to my throat.

Grabbing her arm, I bend down and meet her gaze. “Stay right here. Do you understand?”

She nods yes and I sprint across the street, hoping to God McKenzie hasn’t done anything to poor Mr. Jenson.

When I was fifteen, I hit my head on a diving board and knocked myself unconscious. I was extremely lucky I didn’t break my neck. But I was unconscious for almost twenty-four hours. I remember when I woke up, in a haze of thick confusion, my mother explained to me what happened. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember anything. It was like one minute, I was walking the length of the board, and the next, I was waking up in a hospital bed.