by Gina Azzi
I remember the statistic Eli shared with me. While the reality is that Cameron probably won’t be there long-term, it’s obvious Connor is wishing he’ll be around forever.
“What about the gym?” I ask.
“What about it?”
“Could you refinance?”
He blows out a breath that sounds like a strangled sob. “I wish.” He scrubs a hand over his face like he wishes he could hide. When his eyes connect with mine again, they’re so dark, they’re bottomless. “I was a fucking idiot with money. Instead of investing my earnings when I was on the UFC circuit, I bought the gym. Instead of building it slowly, I kept expanding and expanding. I’ve already mortgaged the shit out of it. Now the whole venture is sinking.”
A wave of helplessness washes over me as I stare at Connor. He looks so desperate, so afflicted, that I reach out a hand and squeeze his fingers. “What about…”
“What?”
I chew the corner of my mouth, knowing he’s going to hate the next words out of my mouth. “What about Eli?”
“No.” It explodes from his mouth like a bullet, sharp and straight. His eyes flash.
“Connor, I’m sure he would—”
“He doesn’t know. About the gym, I mean.”
“What?” I gasp. “How did you, why wouldn’t you—”
“Because, I know he’d help. Hell, he’d fund the whole damn thing. But I…I will take care of my pop. No one else. Me.” He pulls his hand away from mine and smacks the center of his chest.
“You need to prove to yourself that you can,” I murmur, understanding the reasons driving his decision. They’re the same reasons I don’t drop my stepdad’s name.
He scratches his cheek, glaring at me miserably. Then, he nods. “Jesus, we’re a fucking pair, huh?” His fingertips tap against the table, nervously, like he’s not used to sharing any of the real pieces of himself which I know from experience, he’s not.
So when he feeds me this morsel of truth, I lean forward until the table is cutting into my chest. I hold my breath, worried that the slightest shift in air will cause Connor to clamp down on his tongue and continue bearing the weight of his truth alone.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Don’t do that.” His tone is sharp and I suck in an inhale.
“Don’t do what?”
“Pity me.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Everyone does, and they don’t know the half of it. But I can’t bear it from you, Harlow.”
“Then tell me what you need from me?” I ask, the question bolder than I feel, especially when his sharpness cut through my chest like a knife.
“I need you to treat me the way you always have. Not like a charity case because my pop is dying and I’m about to have no goddamn family.”
My throat burns at the realization that Connor is about to lose the only family he’s ever really had. I nod, taking my time chewing my pancakes. “So...” I glance at Connor, hating the vulnerability that flares in his expression and clinging to it at the same time. “Not like the guy who lost in the last round?” I risk the dangerous joke at an attempt to lighten the mood.
Connor’s eyes flash darker than midnight as I hold my breath.
Then, he bursts out laughing, the tension between us evaporating. I smile back, mostly in relief.
“Yes. Exactly like this, Low.”
“You got it, Scott. As long as you don’t treat me like the social pariah who was publicly cheated on in broad daylight.”
Connor grins. “Deal.”
“Has your mom reached out at all?” I ask, knowing Connor’s mom left when he was a kid. But surely, she reached out now that Cameron is sick.
“No. I don’t expect her to.”
“Have you heard from her since…”
“Never.” Connor sighs, his gaze heavy and hurting when it connects with mine. “I don’t remember her much. She left when I was five. Ran off and remarried the guy she was having an affair with. Pretty much broke Pop’s heart. It destroyed him. He worked his ass off, always trying to give her everything she desired, meet every damn need she had. And in the end, she chose someone else.”
My stomach twists as dots in my head start to line up. Connor’s dad worked hard to offer his mom material things, a plush lifestyle. Does Connor think all women want those things? Is that why he feels like he has nothing left to give?
Working a swallow, I say, “But he got you.”
“Yeah,” Connor chuckles humorlessly. “He got me. But really, I’m the lucky one. You know the worst part? She never looked back, never looked for me, never even fucking cared.” He pauses, glancing up and thanking our waitress as she tops off his coffee mug. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
My fingers dig into the edge of the table as I process everything Connor shared. My heart aches for him, for the boy he was and the man he’s become, and the hurt he experienced as both. “Sometimes mothers have no idea the power they wield,” I murmur, picking up my knife and fork.
Connor looks up, his sharp eyes swirling with questions.
“They act so powerless,” I continue, “when they’re in these relationships, marriages, whatever, that don’t bring them happiness. But to the kids, they’re everything. Sometimes, they throw it all away and still, are too self-absorbed to realize the destruction they caused.”
Connor clears his throat. “I’m better off without my mom. I hated when she left, cried about her for months. But Pop, there are none better than him. I’m glad my mother left me because she left me with the best.”
“You’re lucky,” I admit, running the bite of pancake on my fork though a river of syrup before popping it in my mouth. “My dad left me too, but he passed, so I can’t even be angry with him. It wasn’t his fault. But he didn’t leave me with the best.”
“Things still tense with your mom?” Connor asks, curiosity thick in his tone.
“I love my mom. I really believe she tried her best, but it was too hard for her— single parenting, managing her grief after Dad passed, worrying about finances. Marrying Kent was the easy way out, and she took it. But when she did, she stopped being my mother and started being his wife.”
“You were jealous?” Connor questions, clearly trying to get a pulse on my relationship with my mother.
But that’s pointless. Freud couldn’t get a pulse on my relationship with Debra Reid-Kinsley.
“I was hurt. The woman she became after,” I pause, forcing the emotion welling in my stomach back down by shoveling a mouthful of pancakes into my mouth, “was nothing like the woman who baked chocolate chip cookies on snow days and read me bedtime stories. I didn’t recognize her anymore. With each year, she drinks more, cares less, and our disconnect becomes more pronounced. It’s ridiculous.
“I always swore I wouldn’t become some stupid, Hollywood socialite who cares more about my waist size and touching up my highlights than I do about real issues, like equal pay for women and sexual harassment in the workplace. And then, boom, I fall in with Bryce and suddenly, I’m everything I never wanted to become. I’m my mother. And I was okay with it. Even now, I crave her approval.
“I know how I sound, but one of the reasons why I was so happy things with Bryce were good, were progressing toward marriage, was because my mom was finally proud of me. And I didn’t want to disappoint her.”
Ugh. Now that I said it out loud, I realize how stupid it… my mom sucks. But admitting that does nothing for me. It doesn’t ease the pain from her rejection or soothe the hurt from her anger over my losing Bryce.
Connor’s hand reaches across the table and settles over mine. His touch causes some of the knots in my chest to loosen. “I’m sorry you don’t have the relationship you want.”
I nod, grateful he didn’t criticize or defend my actions. Instead, he let me confide in him and knowing I can trust him, after not being able to trust more of the people in my L.A. circle, is more than enough. “I’m sorry your mom lef
t.”
“Don’t be. I made out okay. Maybe even better than if she had stayed.” Connor offers me a small smile and it warms me from the inside out.
I smile back. “If there’s anything you need, with your pop, with your new ideas for the gym, with anything, I’m your girl.”
He snickers, quirking an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re my girl now?”
I blush, averting my gaze.
Connor stares at me for a long moment. “Want to hear a ridiculous confession?”
“Hell yes.” I rub my hands together for the juicy info and hunch closer.
“I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I bought a copy of a magazine that had you on the cover.”
“Oh God.”
Connor bites his bottom lip. “I bought it because you looked so damn beautiful in the picture. You looked so much like you, like you do right now.”
His words flow through me, causing a confusing mixture of emotions to sweep my body in their wake. Shame. Relief. Hurt. Pride. “Did I really change that much?”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. For a long time, you just seemed…empty. Standoff-ish. Even from afar. Even from the cover of a magazine.”
The word “empty” slaps me in the face, causing the shame to flare, stamping out the other emotions. Empty. Here I thought I was a master at hiding behind designer clothes and perfect makeup, but even Connor could see the cracks from the cover of a tabloid.
I avert my gaze, processing his words, their meaning. Silence hovers between us for a long stretch.
When I look back up, I gasp at the expression on Connor’s face. His eyes are dark, his expression severe. Intense.
He licks his bottom lip, the corners curling upward. “I see you, Harlow Reid. The real you. The sassy, independent, fierce woman. In the past, I’ve done a shit job at acknowledging it. But I see you.”
It’s late when Connor pulls into Eli’s driveway. He shifts the car into park and we sit for a long beat.
Connor turns toward me. “Got an early morning?”
“Yes. I’m waking Eli’s ass up by 9AM. He really shouldn’t have invited me to live in his home.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure Zoe’s happiness at having you here more than makes up for it.”
Chuckling, I nod. “It’s so good to spend time with her again. I forgot what it’s like to have a real girlfriend. I missed her more than I realized.”
“Didn’t you guys talk all the time when you were in L.A.?”
“Not all the time. But, it’s just different being in the same place with someone. You know?”
Connor shrugs, his hand running over the steering wheel before he drops it to the center console. “I’m glad you’re here, Low.”
“Me too. I’m going to start looking for a place tomorrow.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. I can’t stay with Eli and Zoe forever.”
“I know. But it’s only been a minute. What’s the rush?”
I bite the corner of my mouth, not wanting to spill Zoe’s secret. Deciding to play it safe, I manage, “They’re a young family and—”
“Zoe told you.”
“Wait, she told you?” I exclaim, pointing at him.
We both burst out laughing.
“Guess we’re going to be an aunt and uncle again.” Connor grins, leaning back in his seat.
“I’m really happy for them.”
“Me too.” He rubs his lips together. A thoughtful expression crosses his face and we sit in silence again.
The longer the silence stretches, the more aware I become of it. Is Connor thinking the same things as me? Is he wondering if he’ll ever have what Eli found with Zoe? Is he thinking about what it would be like to welcome a child into the world? Reaching over, I squeeze his hand and a shiver dances up my spine when he flips his hand, palm up, and clasps my fingers in his.
“Do you need help apartment hunting?” he asks, his voice low.
“I’m not going to turn down local insight, if that’s what you’re offering.”
“I’m offering. I’m going to visit Pop for breakfast tomorrow since I missed him tonight. Does tomorrow night work?”
“That would be great. I’m free any time after four.”
“Four?”
“Come on, you know Eli doesn’t put in full days anymore,” I snicker.
Connor leans his head against the headrest and rocks it back and forth. “True. I’ll still be at the gym then. Want to swing by and then I can introduce you to a few people who may have some spaces up for rent?”
“Yeah, yes, thank you.” I bounce in my seat. This is all coming together much faster than I anticipated. It should scare me, the way my life derailed and bounced back all in a week’s time. But instead, I’m excited for the new start.
“Cool. See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely. I’ll come to the gym at…”
“Six?”
“Done. Thank you for dinner, Connor.”
“Anytime, Low. And hey, since you’re a local now, if you ever want to get a workout in, any time, come to the gym.”
I tip my head at him. “You want to train me, don’t you?”
He chuckles. “I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But for real, don’t pay membership at some fancy downtown spot when you’ve got a local joint that’s free nearby.”
Warmed by his offer, I thank him before remembering the financial stress he’s crumbling under. “Connor, you can’t keep trying to help people at the expense of yourself.”
“This isn’t that.”
“Yeah, it is. You’re always trying to do right by everyone, you forget to take care of you.”
“I’m fine, Harlow. Really. I just, I want you to be happy here.”
I stare at him. His expression is solemn, his dark eyes ringed with emotion in the moonlight.
This is the part where I leave his car but for some ridiculous reason, I don’t budge. Connor and I have spoken more truths in the past few hours than in the entire two years we hooked up, and I don’t want the moment to end. Instead, I want more. More truth, more realness, more him.
Tonight, he showed me more emotion than he ever has before. He shared more of his past, his life, himself. What does that mean? Are we embarking on a real friendship? Or is this the start of the relationship I’ve yearned for?
“What are you thinking about?” he asks after a moment.
Biting my lip, I glance at him. “Why are you being so real with me now? So open? Why not two years ago?”
He sighs, regret flashing in his eyes. “Because I was an idiot.”
“And now?”
He reaches out slowly, his large hand cupping the side of my cheek.
It’s impossible not to lean into his touch. His palm is warm and soothing against my face.
“Most days, I’m still an idiot. But I’m trying hard not to be.”
“I don’t know how to do this with you,” I admit.
“Be friends?”
“Is that what we are?” I ask, hating the hurt that laces my words.
Connor sighs, his thumb brushing along my cheekbone. His hand is calloused and capable, the type of hand that fixes things when they’re broken and holds things together when they can’t be repaired. I lean into his touch because I can never not lean into his touch. “We’re us, Low. I don’t what it all means, but I know that when I’m with you, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
His honesty centers me. It’s not the answer I want because deep down, some part of me wants him to declare his undying love for me. But it’s the answer I want because truthfully, I’m not ready for anything more. I think he knows that too.
The truck suddenly feels too small, the space confining. Connor’s frame seems to expand, until I feel his touch everywhere, breathe in his scent, and hold onto his heat.
“Harlow,” he whispers and his breath fans across my lips.
I have no idea when we both shifted closer but we did. My eyes pop open. Our mouth
s hover a few inches apart, inhaling each other’s exhales.
He hesitates, his eyes shuddering closed. “I don’t want to take advantage of—”
“You’re not. See me, Connor. I need you to.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before his mouth meets mine. His lips mold to mine in an instant, and a jolt of electricity followed by a surge of peace settles throughout my limbs.
It’s a homecoming I didn’t realize I needed.
And this time, we’re both sober.
Connor kisses me slowly. His hands frame my face, cupping my cheeks. His lips shadow mine sweetly, delicately. My lips part and his tongue sweeps in, meeting mine with a spark of passion and a gleam of intimacy.
I fall into his kiss as effortlessly as I did the first time he kissed me. Without thought or consideration or question. Connor Scott causes my mind to calm and my humiliation to fade. He fills up the empty parts of Bryce’s betrayal and makes me feel like me again.
My hands reach up and wrap around his, fusing us together as he continues to kiss me like I’m the most prized possession in all the land.
For the moment, I believe him.
6
Connor
The sound of my fist connecting with the bag centers me.
I jab again, trying like hell to block out the noise in my head and let my instincts take over.
Jab, cross, hook.
The bag swings back and I swear, clenching it between my hands and dropping my forehead to the leather. Sweat drips down my face, pools in the center of my back. My shirt is sticking to me.
I’ve been at it for over an hour. Working out my emotions in the gym is nothing new. To be honest, it’s the only way I know how to work out my emotions at all.
