by Gina Azzi
“I didn’t want to bother you. I know you have a lot going on.” He yawns, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to wake himself up.
“Come here.” I open my arms, stepping forward again. “I don’t give a shit about this dress. I just want to be with you.”
This time, he melts into my embrace. I tighten my hold around his waist, laying my ear against his heart so I can listen to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. “Is your dad okay?”
“Yeah.” His hand runs down the length of my hair. “Just a rough night,” he murmurs the words but I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me, or himself, of their truth.
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is.”
Silence hangs between us and I focus on the sounds of our breathing.
“I hate that things have been awkward between us,” I finally admit.
Connor sighs, his hand cupping the back of my head. “It’s my fault.”
“No.” I shift to glance up at him. “It’s been me too. I’ve felt you pulling away and I didn’t do anything to pull you back to me. I didn’t know what to do.”
Connor nods, licking his lips. “I knew this was going to happen.”
“What?”
He chews the corner of his mouth, his eyes darkening the way they do when he’s frustrated. “We barely spoke for two years and then, in two weeks, we’re back in each other’s beds, talking about the future. It’s just…it’s a lot.”
“What are you saying?” I ask, my stomaching tightening until I feel like I could double over.
“I’m saying, I’m fucking this up with you and I don’t know how not to.”
“Just, say what you mean. Be straight with me.”
“I’m worried about L.A.,” he whispers, his voice breaking.
“The premiere? Why?”
“I’ve never left Pop before. Not since his diagnosis.”
My heart sinks and I realize that while I’ve been hinting to Connor that I want to extend my stay in L.A. to be with my family, he’s been agonizing over leaving his dad for even twenty-four hours. “Connor, I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be. You should go spend time with your family and friends. Of course you should. It’s just that I can’t extend my stay. And the thought of you being there, partying with your friends, seeing Bryce, eating dinner with that slimy Carlo, it makes me uncomfortable. But that’s my fucking issue, not yours. I don’t want to make you feel badly about it. Or guilty. So, instead, I just…”
“Said nothing at all.”
He shrugs.
“We need to be honest with each other,” I remind him.
“I know.”
“I don’t know how you’re feeling if you don’t tell me.”
“Yeah.”
“I understand if you don’t want to come to L.A., but I would love for you to be my date to the premiere if things settle down with your dad.”
Connor lifts his mouth in a wry grin. “Me too.”
I hold out my hand, which he takes. “Come on.” I drag him toward the bathroom.
I flip on the shower, pulling my dress over my head as steam fills the small space.
“What are you doing?” Connor asks, his hands at the button of his shorts.
I unclasp my bra. “Showering with you. We need to make the most of the time we have. I know we’ve both been busy, but I don’t want to let you just pull away.”
“You’re not. Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with all the things I feel for you, Low. I’m so fucking scared I’m going to mess it up that I’m messing it up.”
“Self-fulfilling prophecy?” I reach forward to unbutton Connor’s shorts for him.
“Or self-sabotage.”
I inhale sharply at his confession. Glancing up at him, I see the severity in his expression and it scrapes at me. “Don’t do that. Don’t give up on us before we have a chance.”
“I won’t. Just don’t give up on me. Please. I swear, I’m trying to work through all the shit in my head. I need you, Low. I need you so much more than you need me.”
“That’s not true. I need you too, Connor.”
“I don’t know why L.A. is proving to be such a big hurdle, but it is.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you.” I give him a hard look before stepping into the shower. Connor follows a moment later.
Steam and heat rise between us as the water streams over my hair, causing it to hang over my shoulders, stick to my upper back. Connor steps forward, pushing my hair out of my face. Droplets of water cling to his forearms, his hard chest, slide down the ridges of his abdomen.
My hands find his hips and pull him under the stream of water with me.
Cocooned together, the hesitation of earlier, the misgivings between us, evaporate. I focus on the present, on standing in the shower with this incredible man who owns my heart and inspires my soul.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers against my skin, his hands sliding up my back, his fingers latching in my hair.
“I’m sorry too.”
He shifts, his nose brushing against mine, before he kisses me. His mouth is hard and unyielding. His kiss is desperate and hot. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling myself up onto my tip toes, my breasts pressing into his chest. He growls, lifting me until my legs wind around his torso. With one hand, he holds me, while his other arm braces against the shower wall.
“This part was always easy for us,” I murmur before his lips find mine once more.
He crushes his mouth against mine and I drop my head back, reveling in the onslaught of his possessiveness. His apology. His need.
When his mouth moves down my neck, my head collides with the shower wall. Still, Connor shifts me higher in his arms until he latches onto my breast and I buck against him.
My fingers grip his shoulder blades, pure muscle and coiled tension.
His mouth is desperate. There is nothing gentle in his touch. Instead, it’s like he’s trying to convince me of his fervor for me. I melt under his mouth, desperate for more. For everything.
“We just struggle with the emotional part,” I mutter, my eyes closed as the hot water envelopes me.
Connor stops his delicious exploration of my body. My eyes pop open and I find his gaze, my breath stuttering in my chest.
His eyes are black, his expression severe. For a moment, he looks like he was carved from marble instead of flesh and blood standing before me. His lip curls, his eyes bleed and I wait, my body craving his touch, my heart yearning for his truth.
“I never struggled with it, Harlow.”
I swallow.
Drops of water sluice across Connor’s face. He looks so sexy, so untouchable, so intense, like a warrior preparing for the ultimate battle. He works a swallow and his eyes pierce my soul.
“I love you, Harlow Reid. I love you so fucking much, I’m petrified.”
His words rock through me and a joy I’ve never known, a relief larger than the Milky Way, explodes inside of me. I open my mouth to tell him my truth but Connor’s mouth slams over mine. Our kissing turns frantic, our fingers gripping, our hands feeling, our mouths tasting.
Connor makes love to me in the shower. It’s savage and desperate and so fucking real it simultaneously hurts and soothes. He claims me as his and I make him mine and we declare each other until we’re us.
Complicated. Determined. Reckless. Authentic. And so true that I know with certainty no man ever has or ever will own my soul like Connor Scott.
20
Connor
Toweling off in Harlow’s bathroom, I already feel better than I did when I got the call at three-thirty this morning.
Pop’s condition is worsening, and watching pieces of his memory and personality fade away is agonizing. It makes me shudder to think about what the future will be like without him. Several of the nurses at his care facility have encouraged me to speak to a therapist, but the thought alone makes my stomach feel funny. What the hell would I tell a therapist
that isn’t glaringly obvious? I’m scared my pop is going to forget me completely and disappear from my life the same way my mom did, albeit under entirely different circumstances. I’m petrified that when he takes his last breath, I won’t know how to move on without him. Swallowing the bitter truth, I pull on the clean sweats and T-shirt I left at Harlow’s last week.
“How you doing?” she asks as I enter the kitchen. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, her long legs on display since she’s wearing the tiniest shorts known to humankind.
“Better.” I smile at her, gratefully accepting the mug of tea she passes me.
“I don’t keep Dr. Pepper around.”
“You’re a smart woman.”
“I am that.” She tilts her head toward her living room and I follow her, taking the seat next to her on the couch. “Can I bring you and your dad some dinner tonight?”
My neck swivels toward her. “Huh?”
“I understand if you don’t want me to. And I don’t want to encroach on your time with Cameron. But, I’d like to see him again. It’s been a long time and he…well, I have a lot of memories of him.”
My throat clogs with unexpected emotion and I swallow it back down. Jesus, what is wrong with me? Ever since Harlow showed back up in my life, my emotions have been running rampant, catching me off guard and pissing me off. I used to be a fearless fighter. I didn’t take anyone’s shit and I didn’t spend hours of precious time thinking about other people’s feelings. Now, I can’t rip my thoughts away from Harlow. I can’t tear myself away from the depressing, foreboding truth about Pop.
Harlow’s hand slips into mine. I look down, surprised by how fragile and small her fingers are compared to mine. Still, she has so much more of a quiet strength than I possess and I hate that I keep drawing from it.
“I’d like that,” I say finally, figuring that after last night, Harlow’s presence can only serve to cheer Pop up.
“I love you too, you know.”
My gaze snaps to hers.
Her expression is serene, her eyes glistening. “I’ve loved you for such a long time that it’s hard for me to reconcile your words toward me now with your words from before. It makes me nervous about trusting your feelings for me. I hate feeling needy, like I constantly need reassurance from you that you really care about me, that you love me. But I do. I don’t just need the actions. I need the words too.”
“Harlow.” I reach up to cup her cheek. “I’m so fucking sorry I keep messing things up between us. I swear, I’m trying. But that doesn’t seem like enough. Not when you’re confused about how much I care for you. Not when you feel like you can’t trust me.”
Her hand wraps around my wrist, keeping me anchored to her cheek as she leans into my touch. “We need to do better, Connor.”
“I know. I will.”
“I want this weekend to be fun for us. Let’s go to L.A. and dive into it. Just a weekend of good times without all of this stress and uncertainty and fear. Remember how much fun it was when we would just be together?”
“It still is.”
“I know. But this weekend, let’s lose ourselves in it.”
Biting the corner of my mouth, I nod as I memorize the lines of her face. Beautiful and smart and so damn soulful, Harlow Reid keeps extending me chances. This time, I won’t disappoint her.
“Okay.”
I’m visiting with Pop for about forty minutes when a soft knock comes from his door.
“Linda? That you?” Pop asks, calling out my mother’s name.
I wince, my throat tightening. Even as his mind slips, he remembers her. Some things truly aren’t fair. She isn’t deserving of this honor, and he isn’t deserving of the pain and disappointment that her absence continues to cause.
“Nope. It’s me.” Harlow pushes into the room, balancing take-out boxes on her open palm.
I bite back a grin when I see them. Harlow is many things. A cook isn’t one of them.
“Oh, well, hello there,” Pop greets her, his eyes clear although I can tell from his expression he doesn’t remember her. However, after last night, the fact that he is calm and chatting is a miracle in itself.
I stand to take the boxes from Harlow, murmuring thanks, and place them down on a table.
“Pop, this is Harlow.”
“Reid.” He snaps his fingers. Surprise flickers across Harlow’s expression as my breath gets stuck in my lungs.
He remembers her. Maybe just for this one second, but that is more than enough.
Right now, he knows her.
“Yes, I’m Harlow Reid,” Harlow says, sticking out a hand.
But Pop opens his arms and she dips down to give him a hug.
“I remember you, darling. You were the first one to catch my boy’s heart.” He guffaws loudly, an entirely different person than twenty-four hours ago.
Harlow giggles, Pop’s smile widens, and a strange mixture of relief and elation swell in my chest. He really remembers her. Me. Us.
“I like the sound of that, sir. How are you doing?” Harlow asks, taking a seat on the other side of Pop. She leans toward him and he turns more in her direction. Before I know it, the two of them are deep in conversation.
Flabbergasted, I plop back down in my chair as my head swivels between them like I’m watching a damn tennis match.
He doesn’t just remember her – he likes her. He’s always liked her.
Harlow’s laughing at something Pop says, her eyes bright, her shoulders relaxed. “He didn’t!” she gasps.
Pop nods seriously. “He did. Ruined Mrs. Hart’s entire flower bed.”
“Connor!” Harlow scolds me, mirth dancing in her expression.
I grin. Pop is recalling a story from when I was a kid and dug up our neighbor, Mrs. Hart’s, flowers, convinced there was treasure buried beneath.
“What did you do?” Harlow turns back to Pop.
He shrugs. “What else could I do? We had to replant them. That’s when I learned about my green thumb, you know?” He shows his thumb to Harlow as she nods along. “Started my own garden the following spring.”
“That’s fantastic. My mom never gardened, but my grandmother had a green thumb too.”
“Oh yeah? Where does she live?”
“In Georgia,” Harlow says, not mentioning that her grandparents passed years ago.
“Hm,” Pop comments, nodding as he stares at her.
Several moments pass. I see the shift as it happens. His hands inch closer toward the center of his body, his expression changes, growing harder. His eyes cloud over, as if he’s trying to hold onto a thought but he can’t quite grasp it.
Harlow opens her mouth to say something, but Pop cuts her off.
“I’m sorry, dear. What’s your name?” he asks. My stomach sinks.
Harlow doesn’t waver for an instant. She smiles and responds, “Harlow Reid, sir. It’s lovely to see you today.”
Pop nods slowly, murmuring to himself.
“Would you like some supper, Mr. Scott?” she asks gently, reverting to formalities. Every time she saw Pop, he insisted that she call him Cameron, the way all my friends did. But now, she knows Cameron will seem too familiar for him. Now, he’s Mr. Scott.
Pop smiles and Harlow stands to fix him a plate.
Inside, my heart aches and my body feels cold.
He’s slipping away and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do about it. The truth hurts. Almost as much as knowing that without Pop, I don’t have anyone in the world to call mine. I’ll be an orphan. Yeah, that’s not a big deal at thirty-one, but it’s still not a reality I considered until this moment.
It still hurts.
Harlow carries a plate over to Pop’s recliner where he sits and eats his dinner, lost in his own mind.
“Come eat,” she beckons to me, pointing to the plate she made me.
Her generosity, so unexpected and sincere, expands the feelings I’m grappling with. The back of my throat stings, my eyes burn, and I have no appetite.
/> “Thanks, Low,” I manage to say, sitting down on the chair she pulled out for me. I push the salad and Italian sausage and peppers around my plate, unable to eat any of it.
“I like Fredo’s sausage and peppers best,” Pop comments after a moment.
Harlow’s expression softens, her eyes so tender, I want to reach over and hug her. “I remember,” she says quietly to Pop.
He makes a noncommittal sound and finishes his plate.
After dinner, I can tell he’s growing tired. While Harlow cleans up our supper, I help Pop get ready for bed.
“Hey Pop,” I say cautiously.
He fiddles with the cuff of his pajama shirt.
“I’m heading out of town. Just for the weekend,” I remind him for the eighth time this week. “You going to be okay? I’ll be here tomorrow but I just want to remind you that for two days, I won’t see you.”
He waves a hand dismissively, shuffling toward his bed. “Hand me the remote, will ya?” he asks, easing his body down until he’s seated on the mattress.
I pass him the remote control.
He stares at the blank television screen for a long minute.
“Want to watch something specific?” I ask.
He looks at me, his eyebrows furrowed. “Have fun in California, Connor.” He smirks, his old self suddenly appearing. I hold my breath, unsure how long he’ll see me and remember. “Don’t come back without your girl,” he chuckles, flipping on the television.
Within a few minutes, he’s engrossed with the program. Harlow and I slip out of his small apartment quarters.
After saying goodnight to reception, we step into the parking lot.
It suddenly dawns on me that Pop’s facility is a ways from the nearest L stop. “You walked all the way here?”
“It was nice. The weather’s beautiful.”
“Carrying all those boxes?”
She smiles at me, wrapping her arms around my arm and squeezing. “It was nice to see your dad again.”
“Thank you for tonight. For dinner. For coming,” I murmur, guiding her to my truck.
The heat of the day has receded and a welcome breeze kicks up around us.
