Taking Connor (33 page)

I walk briskly out of the bathroom and when I reach the back porch I see the backyard is empty. Where did everyone go? My heart starts pounding when I hear someone yelling, but I can’t make out who it is or what they are saying. But whoever they are, or whatever they’re saying, they sound distressed. I rush down the steps, the screen door smacking closed behind me and round the corner of my house, stopping dead in my tracks. Connor’s about twenty feet away, his back is to me, and he’s standing right in front of Mrs. Jenson.

Mrs. Jenson is here.

And she’s holding a gun aimed at Connor.

My heart is in my throat as dread and fear choke me.
Please don’t shoot him
, is all I can think,
Please, God, please don’t let her hurt him.

“We would have been married forty-one years today,” she says through gritted teeth. Then her gaze moves to me. “You!” she shouts as she whips the gun at me. Connor immediately moves to stand in front of me as Mrs. Jenson stares at me, wide-eyed with rage, her frail arm shaking from the weight of the gun.

“No, Connor,” I gasp, but he ignores me and reaches back, pulling me to him, my front to his back.

“You ruined my life,” she sobs, balling her free hand up into a fist and biting it in what appears to be an effort to contain her emotion.

“Please put down the gun,” Connor says, to her calmly.

“My husband is dead,” Mrs. Jenson continues, her voice hoarse. “I can’t show my face in this town ever again with the lies you’ve spread about him.”

“Mrs. Jenson,” Connor pleads calmly, lifting his hands in the air as he walks toward her. I grab the back of his shirt and pull him back.

“Don’t,” I beg.

He turns his head slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the insane lady pointing a gun at us, and says, “It’s okay, baby. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” I want to scream at him,
I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about you
, but before I can respond, Dusty rounds the front of the house, creeping quietly so he doesn’t alert Mrs. Jenson he’s sneaking up on her.

Connor stops trying to approach her and instead attempts to keep her busy until Dusty can get closer. In the distance, police sirens blare, but they’re still a good distance away. She could easily fire off a few rounds in seconds. “Why don’t you put the gun down and let’s talk about this,” Connor wages.

“Move out of the way,” Mrs. Jenson orders, wagging the gun to indicate what she wants. “It’s her I’m after.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Connor replies, his voice direct and stern. He doesn’t even seem nervous. How is that possible?

Dusty is directly behind Mrs. Jenson now, and he gives a nod to Connor letting him know he’s about to grab her. Dusty is on her left side, so when Connor whips his head to her right as if he sees something, she reacts by turning that way which gives Dusty the opportunity to grab her and Connor a chance to sprint in and help.

It all happens so fast. When Dusty tackles her, it’s a blur of grunts and tattoos, and an old woman crying in pain. Connor moves in to aide and in the span of mere seconds, just before Connor reaches her, her gaze meets mine dead on, a sort of calm almost washing over her despite the fact she’s being taken to the ground. The look rocks me to my core. It speaks volumes.

She has nothing left to lose, and I . . . I have everything to lose.

Then two shots ring out.

The courtroom is silent. Every once in a while someone coughs or adjusts in their seats causing the old wooden benches to creak. I’ve been on the stand for forty-five minutes now. Mrs. Jenson’s defense attorney is a real dick, but now the prosecutor is up, and he’s digging into me, really making me relive every single moment of that horrific day.

I knew this was what would happen when it was time for me to testify; I knew I’d be forced to share these brutal memories. I went to the cemetery before I came today, looking to draw strength from two of the best people I’ve ever known. But seeing two Stevens’ headstones, side-by-side brought me no solace. I ended up dropping to my knees, sobbing as I gripped a headstone with each hand. I’ve always considered myself a strong woman, but the last few years have humbled me. I’ve been scarred emotionally, and I find myself terrified of losing another loved one.

“Demi, tell me what happened after the shooting,” Michael Harris, the prosecutor says.

“Connor was in a lot of pain. Dusty had me press my hands over one of the gunshot wounds while he held the other.”

Just hang on man. The paramedics will be here soon,
Dusty assured Connor.

Look at me, baby. Keep your eyes on me,
I begged him as he struggled to breathe, his injuries paining him.

“By the time the paramedics arrived, there was so much blood . . . I just knew he was going to die. I just knew there was no way someone could bleed that much and live.” I clear my throat and inhale deeply, doing my best to keep from getting emotional. I don’t tell him how when I saw that first medic I felt some hope. I had to hope even though I knew the worst was yet to come. As soon as Connor found out they weren’t going to let me ride in the ambulance with him, he flipped out, fighting his restraints, hurting himself more. He refused to go without me.

“She can follow behind us,” the young medic said as he tried to hold Connor down. “Please sir, you’re worsening your injuries.”

“I’ll ride in the car with her,” Connor insisted. That wouldn’t have happened. He was too hurt for that and he knew it, but he wanted me in the ambulance with him and wasn’t going without me.

“Just let her ride with him. He’s fucking dying. Go!” Dusty boomed at the paramedics.

As they slid the gurney inside, the young one looked at me and said, “You keep him calm. He’s in trauma.”

“What happened on the ride to the hospital?” Milton asks, staying focused.

I swallow hard and close my eyes. “Lots,” I respond. “I remember Connor’s bloodied hand in mine, how slick it felt . . .” I have to pause and swallow the lump in my throat. “There was so much blood.” A tear trickles down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away as Milton grabs a box of tissues from the corner of the stand and holds it out for me. I take one and wipe under my eyes before clearing my throat.

“So in the ambulance, you remember feeling scared?” he pushes.

“Objection,” Mrs. Jenson’s attorney calls out. “He’s leading the witness, your honor.”

“Sustained,” the judge mumbles.

“Let me rephrase,” Milton grumbles cutting a look to the defense attorney before meeting my gaze again. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember thinking that this couldn’t be happening, that I was in some kind of nightmare.” Milton presses on, and somehow I warp back to that day; the sound of the instruments banging around in the back of the ambulance, the heart monitor beeping, the way Connor kept his gaze locked with mine. I could barely see him through my tears, but I knew he was watching me, drawing strength from me. There were a million beautiful words shared in that fixed stare; another one of our silent conversations.

I love you
, he’d said.

Don’t
, I warned.

This may be my last chance to tell you
—

It won’t be
, I interrupted.

I’m sorry
.

For what?
My eyes blurred with more tears as I fought back my sobs.

For leaving you this way.

My chest wanted to burst open with the pain. Goodbye wasn’t an option. I leaned over and kissed him as he sucked in a ragged breath.

“Please keep the oxygen mask on,” the paramedic scolded him as he placed it back over Connor’s mouth.

The paramedics were working on him, the tiny moving box riddled with loud sounds as we raced to the hospital, but I only heard Connor and our silent words.

He was saying goodbye to me.

He was dying.

He was leaving me.

Mrs. Jenson got two bullets in him, right in his chest and upper abdomen before Dusty punched her, knocking her unconscious.

Thank you,
he whispered squeezing my hand. His arms were strapped down by his sides, and he couldn’t see, but he could feel. My hand kept sliding in his, his blood wet and thick between our palms, but I held on for dear life as if the act would tether him here, as if he couldn’t leave so long as he held my hand.

I didn’t know what he was thanking me for, but I was relentless in pushing him to fight.
Thank me by living. Stay with me. Please, Connor
.

Kiss me again
, he ordered. My face was soaked with tears, my nose running, hair stuck to my face and neck, but I leaned in as I sucked in shaky breaths from crying and slid his mask to the side and pressed my lips to his.

You were like an angel that day
, he mumbled against my lips, his eyes hooded as he fought the exhaustion he was feeling.

I kept my face in front of his, so he could see me, even though he seemed to be staring off. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I wanted him to keep talking. If he was talking, he was living.
What day?
I managed.

The day I got out. It was like walking straight out of hell and finding an angel waiting for me on the other side.
He let out a wet cough and winced from the pain.
My redemption. I didn’t use to believe in that shit, ya know?
He managed after a second.

What shit?

Angels and shit. But I know he sent you for me. I know he thought I deserved something special like you. He was looking out for me.

More tears, they just wouldn’t stop. He was telling me he believed Blake sent me for him. That Blake was looking out for him.

He didn’t just send me for you
, I whispered.
He sent us to each other
.

He closed his eyes for a moment. His mouth curving into subtlest of smiles. Then, I’ll never forget it as long as I live. Connor turned his head and pointed his dark gaze right at me.
You
, he said in a soft, but hoarse voice.
Always you, Demi
.

Then . . . he flat lined.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stevens. I know that was difficult to share,” Mr. Milton says, as I wipe my face, multiple balled up tissues in my lap. Several people in the courtroom are sniffling with me, wiping their noses with tissues.

“No further questions your honor,” Mr. Milton bellows out.

“You may step down, Mrs. Stevens,” the judge permits.

As I step down, I look over to Mrs. Jenson. She’s staring off into space, really working hard to appear insane. I want to run up to her and throttle her.

“We’ll take a recess. Court is adjourned until 9:00 am tomorrow.” The judge announces as he bangs his gavel.

Mr. Milton places a soft hand on my shoulder as I approach and squeezes gently. “You did great,” he confirms. “I know that wasn’t easy, but making the jury feel your pain makes it all the more likely to get a guilty verdict.” We watch as Mrs. Jenson is cuffed and led out of the courtroom.

“Will I need to testify again?”

“No, I don’t think so, but I’ll let you know if we need you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Milton.”

I walk briskly out of the courtroom, desperate for a familiar face, a hug from someone I love, and fresh air. My eyes feel puffy, and I know I probably have mascara spread everywhere, but I don’t care. I was just forced to relive the worst day of my life, and all I want right now is to forget about it. I just want to submerge myself in the things in my life that are good right now. When I fly out the doors, Lexi, Wendy, Jeff, Dusty, and McKenzie practically jump out of their seats and surround me. Wendy and Lexi hug me tightly.

“Are you okay?” Wendy asks.

I pull away and wipe under my eyes once again. “I think so,” I murmur. But I’m not. I’m not okay. Because I need to see him. I should see Connor right now. I need to touch him and feel him. But he’s not here.

Looking around, I ask, “Where . . .”