Taking Connor (4 page)

“Feeling better?” I tease as I start the car.

Scratching his head, he scrunches his face in embarrassment. “I’m sorry Demi. I’m not really that kind of guy, but . . .”

“Hey . . . eight years is a long time. I imagine anyone would be jonesing for some . . .” I stop myself. “Sorry,” I shake my head. “I just mean . . . I somewhat understand is all,” I explain stupidly. I’m babbling . . . why am I babbling?

“You do?” he questions.

Heat runs rampant across my face. “I mean . . . ya know . . . it’s been a while.”

“Oh,” he nods in understanding, his brows rising slightly.

“I mean . . . since before he died. He was really sick and on a lot of medication . . .”

Connor just stares at me as I verbally vomit. “Shit,” I groan. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I just meant don’t feel bad. People have needs. I get it. I’m right there with you . . .”

I pull my car out of the hotel parking lot, silence filling the cab. Inside my head, I’m waging war with myself. Who talks about their sex life with their cousin-in-law they just met? Their dead husband’s ‘pseudo’ brother at that?

“So, you haven’t . . . ,” he pauses as if searching for his next words. “Been with anyone since before Blake passed?”

I stare straight ahead, hating myself for starting this conversation. “Three years,” I admit gruffly.

He doesn’t say anything else, which I appreciate, but hate as well. It leaves me questioning, ‘is he dropping it because he doesn’t know what to say to me because I’ve obviously overshared, or does he think I’m selfish for complaining about it, not that I was complaining.

We make it home in eleven hours, and I’m wiped. We stopped at an auto parts store on the way after Connor figured out the issue with the AC. It needed a charge, so we stopped and got it charged. Unfortunately, it only lasted about four hours until it crapped out again.

“Must be a leak in the lines. I can fix that when we get back to town,” he promised after it went out again.

So we sweated our asses off until we hit Colorado, and the temperature dropped a bit. Pulling in the driveway of the two-story Victorian I own—well, Blake and I owned it together before he passed—I park the car, and we get out.

“The garage apartment is furnished and ready for you,” I tell Connor as he stretches, and my eyes watch him in the dimming daylight. Connor shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes in the garage and the house.

“This is a nice place,” he notes.

I can’t help but think about Blake. Once upon a time, this house was meant to be the home where we’d start a family together. But I guess some things just aren’t meant to be. He loved this house. He loved it because it had a neighborhood feel but sits on two acres with an amazing mountain backdrop. Most of the land is laid out behind the footprint of the structure and leads into the mountains. The neighborhood is small, one main street with houses on each side giving us privacy on the back of the property. I may not ever have a desire to sit on my back porch in my underwear or run around in my backyard naked, but if I want to, I can. No one would ever know. Or I could before Connor took residence in the garage apartment behind my house.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll give you a tour. But Blake said you needed to see something first.”

“He did?”

“Yeah,” I laugh softly remembering my late husband staring starry-eyed, imagining the day he’d present this to Connor. “He’s had this planned for a while.”

Reaching in the car through the driver’s window, I press the garage door opener that’s clipped to my visor. The garage door starts to rise and when it’s fully open, I enter and flip a switch to turn on the above head lighting. The light illuminates the walls that are lined with shelving where tools and instruments are kept in bins or are hung on pegs, and there’s a lift in the second bay, ideal for working under vehicles or changing the oil.

“Holy shit,” Connor murmurs as he steps inside. “Blake worked on cars out here?”

I snort. “Yeah right. He was a man of many talents, but mechanics was not one of them. He did this for you. So you could start working on cars and build yourself a business.”

“Are you serious?” His brows furrow as he runs a hand across the metal tool bench.

“He wanted to help you get on your feet.” I smile softly thinking of Blake obsessing over every detail of this garage. “I think he wanted you to be close, too. He really missed you, Connor.”

Sometimes, something happens that completely blows you away. Like witnessing a freak accident, how it sucks the breath from your lungs, your body frozen, unable to even contemplate breathing for a long moment. Or when you get that tingly feeling all over as the adrenaline sets in. Well, that’s how it feels to witness Connor Stevens cry. It’s sad and dark, yet beautiful and soft all at once. His dark eyes are clenched closed as tears stream down his face. He doesn’t whimper or suck in air. He hunches over placing his elbows on the workbench and holds his head in his large hands.

Gingerly, I approach, hesitant to touch him. Mourning Blake has been hell for me, but Connor was locked away in Arizona when his cousin passed. I imagine the grief has finally hit him now that he’s home. My hand rests on his back—incredibly hard and bulging with muscles—and I begin rubbing comforting circles. I should probably leave and give him a moment alone, but grief is a fickle thing. It feeds on loneliness and Connor is pretty alone right now as he just got out of prison. I promised Blake I would help Connor and I will.

“There’s more,” I whisper after a few minutes when I see his eyes are open, staring blankly at his hands.

He stands quickly, wiping his nose with his forearm, eventually grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to dry his face. When I saw him in his bath towel yesterday I didn’t notice he has several thick scars on his stomach. They’re about an inch in length. Tugging his shirt back down he clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring. Again.

I quickly speak, and hope he didn’t notice. “Over here.” I lead him to the far side of the garage and pull the tarp off of the Harley.

“Are you serious?” he gasps, shock laced in his tone. “He was supposed to sell it and pay my attorney with that money.”

“He kept it.”

“Who paid my attorney?”

“He did. He kept the bike for you.”

The tears begin again and this time he doesn’t hide his face from me. His lip trembles as he battles his emotion. Every feature on his face reflects his pain, and it looks like he’s almost pleading silently with Blake in a way. I can read it like an open book.
Why, Blake? Why did you do this for me?
There are other feelings that are coming across such as,
I’m such a piece of shit. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve a cousin like you
. I imagine it’s not easy to be a man and cry. After all, society doesn’t exactly list it as a sign of masculinity. Connor’s eyes hold such anguish, I can’t help it. His sorrow is so prevalent, it seeps inside of me and I start crying too. Unexpectedly, he pulls me to him and wraps me in his massive arms. He’s warm and hard, and I bury my face in his chest and sob. We spend several minutes wrapped in each other’s arms before I finally pull away, and we both wipe the tears from our faces. Connor lifts his shirt again, but instead of wiping his own face, he wipes mine.

“There now,” he croaks. “All better.”

“Thank you,” I respond hoarsely, his sweet gesture melting my heart a little. When my gaze meets his again, I see he’s watching me, almost examining me. I wipe my face and nose some more wondering if he’s looking at my makeup smeared or if I have something hanging out of my nose.

“I probably look a mess,” I sniffle as I wipe some more.

He steps toward me and takes my wrist in his hand, pulling it from my face. “Actually, you look really beautiful.”

Silence falls as we stare at each other, neither of us even taking a breath. Didn’t I just think the same thing about him?

Connor scrubs his face roughly with both hands and clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to get emotional. It’s just . . . a lot,” he says, as he looks about the room. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know he was putting all of this together for me. He was here, dying, worried about . . . me.” He runs a hand over his head and down his face.

“Why don’t I show you the apartment and let you rest? It’s been a long couple of days.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That sounds good.”

The apartment above the garage is small, basically one large room with a bed, television, and small kitchen area. There’s a tiny bathroom with a stall shower, in the corner and I half wonder if Connor will even fit inside to bathe.

“The fridge is stocked with drinks and a few other things. If you make me a list, I’ll pick up some other things for you at the store tomorrow.”

Connor stands in the room and stares. I wonder if it feels too confined for him after spending so much time in Tent City, outside. I imagine I’d want to sleep somewhere more open with more space if I were him.

“The bathroom is out of order right now. Plumber comes tomorrow to hook up the pipes or whatever,” I say. I’m not an authority on the subject, so I don’t bother trying to explain what I don’t know. “Oh, and these are for you,” I mention as I open the closest drawer in the kitchen and pull out the cell phone I had added to my account and business cards I had printed. Blake left no detail unattended under his instructions.

“This is your cell and the charger, and these are your business cards. They already have your cell number on them. That way when you’re out, you can give people your information and drum up some business. I posted a few fliers in various businesses around town a few days ago with your information. I hope that was okay,” I add. While Blake had this all planned, he couldn’t have known with one hundred percent certainty that Connor would want to work on cars when he came home.

He takes the cell, an Android, and eyes it. “You’ll have to teach me how to use this thing.”

I smile. “Of course I’ll teach you. Although I’m not as techy as Blake was, but I manage.”

He shakes his head and blinks a few times. “I could never repay you for this, Demi.”

I place my hand on his where it rests on the counter. “You don’t have to.” His gaze meets mine, and he’s staring at me like he’s trying to figure out the catch. I take my hand away and fumble with my keys.

“Here’s a key to the back door. There’s a bathroom just past the kitchen to the right when you enter.” I slip the spare key off of my key ring and place it on the small counter.

After a long moment of silence, Connor asks, “Do you mind if I open the windows?”

“Oh, of course not. It’s a nice evening. This place probably needs to be aired out anyway,” I say, as I open the window I’m nearest to. With a small wave, I tell him, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Turning to leave, Connor grabs my hand causing me to turn back.

“Thank you, Demi,” he whispers and kisses me on the cheek. I know I’m blushing as I nod and exit without another word. I’m realizing Connor Stevens isn’t at all what I expected . . . at least he doesn’t seem to be.

Slipping in my house through my back door, I opt to leave my luggage in the car and bring it in the morning. Exhaustion owns me, and my skin feels heavy with a day’s worth of sweat clinging to me. Not bothering to turn any lights on, I head straight upstairs and into the hall bathroom, closing the door behind me. The house feels a little stuffy, so I open the bathroom window to let some air in and turn on the shower. I undress, get in and stand under the hot water until it goes cold, forcing me to get out. Wrapped in a white towel, I head for the guest bedroom, tired out of my mind.

Ever since Blake passed, I haven’t been able to sleep in our bedroom. I can dress in there, but sleeping doesn’t happen. I’ve tried, several times, but the still and silence of the night blared in my ears, and my mind only wanted to think of him and how I missed him lying next to me. Before Blake passed, I knew I would miss him. He was my husband, of course, I would. But there are a lot of little things I miss, things I never thought I might, things I took for granted; the feel of his hand resting on my hip as he slept. How he’d roll over and press his back to mine, not exactly cuddling, but touching. He was always touching me. The way he’d always wake so early, and the sound of him in the shower would ease me back to sleep.

So, I tried the guest room. In this room, I found enough peace to sleep. And so, I’ve slept here ever since. Still wearing nothing but my towel, I move to the window and slide it open. The night sky is lit up with stars, and I close my eyes and say a little prayer for Blake. I hope wherever he is, he can see me, and I hope he finds great peace in seeing Connor come home.

I back away until my legs meet the bed and plop down, only to be jolted up and tumble to the floor. The room is dark, but there’s enough light from the moon to make out the silhouette of a very large man who has just jumped off of the bed in front of me.

My mind fumbles for what to do—I’m in nothing but a towel. Is this a burglar or a rapist? So, I scream. It’s blood curdling.

The man starts to run, hitting his foot on the bedpost and begins shouting obscenities. “Goddamn it! Son of a mother—”

“What the . . .” another voice says, and I crab crawl away from the bed.
There are two people in here. Oh my God.
They’re going to kill me!

“Demi?” The second voice rasps, practically sucking the scream right out of my throat as the nightstand lamp turns on.

“Wendy?” I gasp in disbelief. When I look to the right, Wendy’s husband, Jeff, wearing nothing but a pair of loose boxer shorts, is keeled over still cursing at his wounded toe.

“What the hell, Wendy?” I shriek as I stare at them.

“Shit. Are you okay?” she asks as she comes running around the bed in what I guess is Jeff’s undershirt while I adjust my towel.

“No, I’m not okay!” I boom. “You guys just scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here?”

Foot stomps coming up the stairs cause her to turn her head and Wendy doesn’t have time to answer because Connor comes barreling in the room aiming a golf club straight for Jeff’s head. “You mother fuc—”