Taking Connor (28 page)

It’s five in the evening before I’m allowed to sign Connor out. When he sees me waiting for him, his mouth flattens, and he shakes his head. Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. The day matches our mood; dreary. I feel like I haven’t seen the sun in years.

Connor stares out the window as the rain pelts against my car, the wipers swishing on high speed. The windows are beginning to fog, but I’m still able to see after wiping the glass with my hand. The ride home is silent. He hasn’t spoken a word to me—not one word.

Finally, we make it home, and as I park the car and switch off the ignition, he turns his head and stares straight ahead at the garage.

“How’s your head?” he asks, gruffly.

I try to tame my sigh of relief. He’s talking to me. That’s something at least. “A little tender, but better,” I answer him.

“Where’d you get the money?” His words are tight, his voice deep. Clearly he’s unhappy that I’ve bailed him out—as I knew he would be. But I don’t care.

“I took it out of my savings.” I only had to put down 25,000 to bail Connor out, but if he were to run, I’d be stuck with paying the total 250,000.

“And what if I take off? Disappear?”

“You wouldn’t do that,” I affirm.

“But what if I did?” he persists. “You’d be stuck paying 250,000 dollars.”

“Then I’d put the house up to cover it,” I answer simply and unapologetically as I begin digging through my purse. I don’t need a thing out of it, but it’s a distraction—I can’t look at him. But Connor isn’t having any of that. When he grabs my arm, stopping me, I look up and meet his hard gaze.

“You shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Hurt and anger surge through me. “I didn’t need your permission,” I snap. “I know you’re innocent, and I’d spend every last dime I have to help you.” The admission came easily. I don’t think until I said it that even I realized the lengths to which I’d go to protect Connor.

His chest rises and falls once with a deep inhale. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“I don’t understand why. It’s just a big blank spot in my memory. One minute I was walking across the street and the next I was sitting in the ambulance.” I look at him, my eyes pleading. “What happened Connor?”

“You really don’t remember?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“I swear, I don’t. You don’t believe me?”

His gaze softens. “It’s better you don’t remember.”

“Please tell me,” I beg.

He doesn’t answer my request. Instead, he pivots. “You shouldn’t have wasted your money.”

Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him. “I’d gladly spend my money on a man that spent eight years in prison hiding a truth that should have been revealed a long time ago.”

His jaw tics and his eyes dart away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Suddenly, I’m livid. He knows exactly what I mean. “Right,” I laugh with disdain. “You’re going to lie to me too?”

Connor says nothing but stuns me when he gently pulls my arm causing me to lean toward him. “I don’t want to.” He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face and my heart flutters when his gaze moves down to my mouth.

“Then don’t,” I plea in a soft whisper. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t,” he murmurs, his hooded eyes still trained on my mouth. “I’m trying to protect you.”

I can’t help darting my tongue out to lick my lips, not realizing how inviting that might look to him. Or maybe, subconsciously, I do know. Maybe I want him to see how badly I want him to kiss me. “I know you didn’t kill him, Connor.”

“You can’t remember anything. So you
don’t
know that,” he argues as his thumb moves back and forth, gently brushing against my arm. In a different setting, another moment, I’d be too lost in his touch to respond with an appropriate answer, but not today.

“Yes, I do!” I state loudly.

“You just don’t want to believe I’m capable of doing it, but I am. I’ve done it before Demi, and I don’t regret it.”

My heart is hammering in my chest. He just admitted to killing someone with no regrets. His words should terrify me, send me fleeing from my car, but I stay planted. And I plan to continue to do just that, until he says, “Blake wouldn’t have wanted . . . this.”

Narrowing my eyes, I tilt my head and ask, “This?” I know what he’s saying. He’s finally admitting there is something between us; acknowledging the elephant in the room. But even so, I’m going to force him to say it.

Connor finally meets my gaze, his dark eyes seeming pained. “This,” he says, quietly as he squeezes my arm gently.

I can’t help lashing out at him. “That didn’t stop you last time,” I argue. “If Dusty hadn’t pulled up that night . . . we . . . would’ve . . .”

“Would’ve what?” he challenges.

I glare at him. He thinks I won’t say it. But he’s wrong. “You would have taken me right there on that counter. You wanted me every bit as badly as I wanted you.”

He smirks a little. “You mean on the night you pretended not to remember?” His eyes feel like they’re burning mine he’s staring at me so intensely.

Okay. I lied about being blacked out, and he’s calling me out on it, again. He never believed me anyway, and I already owned my mistake so why are we rehashing this? So I don’t bother trying to explain why I lied. I just own it. “Yes, that night,” I answer.

Dragging his gaze from mine he lets out a long breath as if he’s amping himself up for whatever he’s about to say. “It was better that it didn’t go that far.”

I’m wild with anger as I rip my arm from his grip and whip the driver’s side door open. I crawl out, stumbling as I do and slam the door. Humiliation blankets me. I’ve been such a fool. Connor doesn’t want me and he just used Blake as his copout. I make a beeline for the house, tears burning my eyes when I’m jerked back.

I’m wild with anger as I rip my arm from his grip and whip the driver’s side door open. I crawl out, stumbling as I do and slam the door. Humiliation blankets me. I’ve been such a fool. Connor doesn’t want me, and he just used Blake as his cop out. I beeline for the house, tears burning my eyes when I’m jerked back.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t give him the chance. “Fuck you, Connor,” I hurl the words as venomous as possible at him. He flinches but doesn’t let me go. I may be humiliated, but I know deep down I’m not stupid. There is something there . . . something we’ve both been fighting, but Connor isn’t brave enough to seize it. “You spent eight years in prison for a secret that could have possibly freed you. That man you killed deserved what happened to him. Hell, he deserves worse. And Blake,” I’ve never been so angry with Blake. How could he? “Blake was wrong. He was so fucking wrong to let you rot in that prison. I’ll never forgive him for it.”

“Don’t say that,” Connor shouts at me. “You don’t mean it. You have no idea what happened.”

“And you,” I continue, ignoring him. “Don’t use Blake as an excuse to turn down what I’d give you happily. You rejecting me is on
you
, not him.”

I move to run, but Connor pulls me back and holds me by the arms. The rain is relentless, pelting against us, dripping from our noses when he bends down to meet my line of sight. His voice is calmer, huskier when he asks, “What are you willing to give me?”

I swallow hard, the intensity of his dark stare bearing down on me, sucking the breath from my lungs. “I’d give you every piece of me,” I admit quietly, letting all the fight drain from me as he holds me steady. “My heart, my body, it’s yours Connor . . . if you want it. If you’d just take it.” My voice cracks with emotion on the edge of a sob. “I’d give you my all.” He leans toward me slightly and my belly clenches as I prepare for his lips to meet mine, but then he pushes away from me and rubs his head with both hands, letting out a loud groan as he turns his back to me.

Rejection.

My stomach knots and the tears keep coming. I watch him for a moment, unable to move. I need to. I need to run inside my house and lock myself inside where I can suffer in my embarrassment and misery. He paces toward the garage, his hands still on his head leaving me standing here soaked and broken. My hurt anchors me to the ground, and I feel it everywhere—beneath me, over me, inside of me. I’m nothing but heaviness. Finally, with a deep breath I shake myself and spin around, but I don’t run. I take the first step and force myself up. Then the second. And I don’t look back. Opening the screen door, I walk inside and let it slam behind me. I’m numb—and empty. Toeing off my shoes I kick them aside and then peel off my soaked T-shirt, flinging it on the porch swing. I should hang it up, but I could care less about what I should do right now. I just want my bed. Unbuttoning my jeans, I tug them down and step out of them before kicking them to the side. I’m set to flee to my bedroom, but something stirs inside of me, something rises and stiffens my backbone. It screams at me, rallies my courage and will, even in the face of humiliation and rejection.
Fight for him.
Has anyone ever fought for Connor?
Ever?
Maybe it’s the foolishly romanticized idea that most women create; the idea that you fight for love—or maybe I love a man the way I want to be loved. I’d want to be chased to the ends of the earth. Maybe I wouldn’t want someone to give up on me. Whatever it is, this feeling, it drives me.

I’m back outside and halfway down the stairs before I realize what I’m doing. Connor has just reached the top of the steps that lead to his garage apartment when he turns having heard the screen door slam behind me. I’m at the bottom of the stairs, and he’s still at the top, wide-eyed as he stares down at me in nothing but my bra and panties.

“Do you think you’re so noble?” I shout at him. “Wasting your life in prison to hide Blake’s secret? Do you think you deserve to suffer for what happened to him? I know you didn’t kill Mr. Jenson. I don’t know how I know, but I know. So why Connor? Why are you doing this?”

His fists clench at his sides as his jaw stiffens before he takes one step down. “You don’t know what you’re talking about Demi. You couldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand!” I cry, taking a step up, but he holds his hand out, indicating he doesn’t want me to.

“I can’t!” he shouts back at me, stunning me when his voice cracks.

“Why?” I ask, my chest aching as I watch Connor battle this secret, this demon, alone.

His chest rises, his nostrils flaring. He’s angry now, frustrated I’m pushing him to talk about something he clearly does not want to talk about. He barrels down the steps causing me to take one back. Connor is much taller than me, but with the added height of the step he’s standing on, he towers over me, seemingly five times bigger than normal.

“Because you keep trying to see something in me that isn’t there. You want me to be your man Demi?” he chuckles, the sound thick with ridicule. “You don’t even know the ugly in me. You couldn’t look at me the same way if you did.”

“Then I must be ugly too!” I argue, my voice on the edge of yelling. “My ugly wants your ugly. It craves it. We’re not so different, and you know it. I would have killed that man too!”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

“No,” I reply adamantly. “I want to. I know something bad happened . . . I saw something . . .” I shake my head in frustration. “I know it’s in here, I just can’t remember.”

He looks away for a moment, then returns his stare to me. “I’m no good for you.”

“Why don’t you let me make that decision for myself?” I counter with equal tone.

He groans and shakes his head. “Please . . .” he begs as he looks away from me. “Please go back inside. I can’t be near you . . .” he gestures his hand at me, his gaze fixed on the garage wall, “when you look like that.”

I want to let out a loud and shrill scream I’m so frustrated right now. But instead, I fight back with words. “What does it matter what I look like?” I laugh in disdain as I shrug. “You don’t want me anyway.” Then, I run back to my house and up my stairs, letting my tears fall freely.

“Demi,” he shouts after me, but I don’t stop. I’ve barely entered the back porch when I hear the screen door slam before it creaks open again, causing me to whip around. Connor tromps right up to me. It’s not hard to tell he’s pissed. The moment he enters it’s as if a bomb has gone off; a tidal effect of heat that only happens that first second after impact. I feel it wash over me, and it almost blows me over. But I plant my feet, attempting to appear strong and unaffected even though my tear filled eyes say otherwise. His white T-shirt is drenched, plastered to his firm body, showing every curve of muscle.

He says nothing.

Neither do I.

We just stare, our chests rising and falling as we watch each other. His fists are balled up at his sides, and he’s leaning toward me slightly as if he’s battling himself whether to go all the way to me or not. Finally, his eyes leave mine and move down my body. My dark hair is curled and stuck to my skin, my bra and panties are the only things covering me, and I have to fight the urge to raise my arms and cover myself. Moments ago, outside, I didn’t care how bare I was, but now . . . he’s close. But I want him to see this—to see me. When his bottom lip disappears between his teeth . . . I know.

He wants me.

This time, I don’t ask. I’m tired of watching him deny something he clearly desires. I slam my body into his. His arms weave around me and squeeze me tightly to him as our mouths collide. Frenzied, lost in the moment I climb his body and hook my legs around his waist as his hands move down and cup my ass. He squeezes my flesh hard, and I gasp as a thrill runs through me. His lips melt into mine; the rain still wet on his mouth mixed with his sweat and breath makes me heady. He stumbles backward until his legs hit the porch swing then he sets me on my feet. Dragging his soaked shirt over his head he tosses it aside; it smacks the concrete floor as he watches me. I’ve seen him shirtless before, but not like this. Not with his body tense, aching in need . . . for me. Slowly he reaches down and begins unbuckling his belt, but stops and jerks his gaze to mine.

“Is it—”

I seize his mouth with mine, swallowing his words as I smack his hands aside and take over undoing his belt and pants. Slipping each of my thumbs so that they catch his boxers with his pants, I tug them down as I kiss his chest and his stomach until I’m face to face with his erection. I lick my lips, prepared to take him in my mouth, but he yanks me up as he kicks his shoes and pants off. As he runs each of his rough and calloused hands from my shoulders down my arms, I tremble. Slowly, he sits on the swing, placing his hands on my hips to prevent me from following.