Taking Connor

by B. N. Toler

  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—”

  “Connor, don’t!” I cry springing from the floor, almost losing the small towel wrapped around me. The club stops mid-swing as Jeff stumbles back into me, tripping us both, causing us to crash to the floor, my towel falling open as he lands on top of me, his back pressed to my bare body.

  “We’re her family!” Wendy yells as she jumps in front of Connor. I’m clinging to Jeff for dear life with one hand while my other hand blindly and frantically searches for the towel I’ve lost.

  Jeff, realizing our extremely awkward predicament, moves to roll off of me, but I jerk him back. His large body is the only thing covering me and my nakedness right now. “Jeff, if you move I’ll kill you,” I growl, and his body stiffens, but he remains still. “Wendy! I need my towel. Now!”

  Wendy’s gaze moves to where her husband and I lay on the floor, and her eyes widen to the size of saucers. Her eyes dart across the floor. When she sees the towel and grabs for it, she reaches out for Jeff’s hand at the same time to pull him up. “You better close your eyes babe,” she warns and yanks him up, tossing the towel to me. I quickly glance toward the door and see Connor has left. Thank God for that. Wendy shoves Jeff out the bedroom door, his hands are covering his face, and his shoulders are hunched as if he’s just been pepper sprayed.

  “I’m so sorry, Demi. I nearly peed the bed when I heard you screaming,” she laughs.

  “You?” I question. “I sat on your husband.”

  “God, I’m sorry.”

  I don’t tell her it’s okay because right now I’m mad as hell. I just had my best friend’s husband lying on top of my naked body.

  Wendy pushes her curly blonde hair behind her ears and fixes her brown eyes on me. “Are you okay?”

  Am I? I guess I am other than having the living shit scared out of me. “What are you doing here?” I ask for the five thousandth time.

  “Jeff’s mother offered to keep the kids tonight, but she wanted to stay at our house because she says they break too much stuff at her house. With Jeff in between jobs, we didn’t want to spend the money for a hotel. I didn’t think you’d mind. I left you a voicemail.”

  I’m not upset they’re here; they’re always welcome in my home. However, I would have liked some forewarning, but I can’t be mad at her—just the situation.

  “I just had your husband pressed against my naked body,” I moan in embarrassment. Wendy rolls her eyes.

  “He’ll be living off that for years,” she jokes making me cringe.

  “Not to mention Connor probably saw me naked,” I gripe.

  “Oh, poor Connor,” she mock gasps. “I’m sure seeing a beautiful naked woman was just awful.” I roll my eyes . . . again. “Get dressed,” she moves toward the door. “I gotta make sure Jeff didn’t break his toe.”

  When I head downstairs after dressing, I find everyone in the kitchen. Jeff is leaned against the counter while Wendy sips a glass of juice. Connor is standing with his arms crossed by the back door. Wendy smiles brightly and takes Jeff’s hand, leading him out of the kitchen.

  “It was lovely meeting you, Connor,” she says. “I think I’ll just get Jeff to bed. It’s been a bit of a stressful night for him.”

  “Goodnight,” Connor replies. “Nice to meet you both.”

  As they pass by me, Jeff has his eyes squeezed closed and head turned away from me.

  “I have clothes on, Jeff,” I tell him.

  “Sorry about all that, Demi,” he murmurs as they keep going. “I didn’t see anything.”

  When they’re up the stairs and out of hearing range, I sigh and look to Connor.

  “Well, now that you’ve been properly welcomed home,” I joke. “I am so sorry about all of that.”

  He takes a deep breath and releases it. “I heard you scream and . . .”

  “Thank you for coming so quickly. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  Connor’s mouth curves slightly on one side and his gaze meets mine. “It was quite the welcome home party,” he chuckles, and even I join in as my embarrassment begins to subside. I can’t imagine how crazy he thinks we all are. Our gazes remain locked even as our laughter begins to ebb.

  “Do you like to sleep in or are you an early bird?”

  “You don’t get to sleep in when you’re in prison. I don’t think I could sleep in if I tried,” he replies, his gaze leaving mine and darting to the floor.

  My chest tightens with his words. Through the rollercoaster of an evening we’ve had, I seemed to have forgotten where he’s been and what he’s done. He’s a felon. A violent one and if I’m honest, it scares me somewhat. But on the other hand, I know it’s only the stereotype freaking me out—once a violent felon means always a violent felon. And that makes him dangerous. But I don’t feel that when I’m with him. Quite the contrary. I actually feel . . . safe.

  “I’ll make breakfast in the morning. I think the plumber will be here early so just come on down and join us. Wendy and Jeff are early birds, too.”

  He doesn’t agree, but simply nods once and says, “Goodnight,” as he exits the back door. After he leaves, I crawl on my sofa and cover myself with the throw. My guestroom is taken, and there’s no way I can sleep in the master. But lumpy sofa or not, my exhaustion quickly consumes me, and I drift off to sleep.

  “You, in no way, did that man justice when you described him to me on the phone the other day,” Wendy murmurs, before sipping her coffee.

  Ignoring her as I don’t want to discuss just how attractive Connor is, I ask, “Where’s Jeff?”

  “Shower,” she answers simply. Standing, she grabs a piece of bacon off the paper plate near the stove where I’m cooking.

  “Would you like to help me here or is this like a vacation for you?”

  “Vacation?” she snorts. “I’m away from my kids
. This is like staying at a five-star resort.”

  “Demi!” An all too familiar voice yells as the sound of the screen door to the back porch squeaks open and slams closed.

  “In the kitchen,” I huff, realizing this morning is going to be anything but relaxing. Poor Connor is going to get the full brunt of just how overbearing and nosey my family is.

  Lexi, my baby sister, strolls in the kitchen, giant sunglasses covering her eyes that undoubtedly are red and smeared with makeup as she recovers from a massive hangover.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her as I fork another piece of bacon on the plate.

  “I was on my way home from a friend’s house,” she mumbles as she pulls a coffee mug from the cabinet and begins pouring herself a cup.

  “Did you manage to get out before he woke up and asked for your number?” Wendy grins from where she sits at the kitchen table. Lexi’s mouth pops open as if she’s insulted.

  “Are you implying I was leaving a one night stand?”

  “Not implying,” Wendy clarifies.

  Lexi snaps her mouth shut and shrugs. “It went something like that.” Plopping down on the chair next to Wendy, she asks, “So where’s the jailbird?”

  “Shhh!” I hiss at her. “He’ll be down any minute and don’t say shit like that in front of him.”

  “He just got out of jail,” Lexi yawns. “What else do we have to talk about with him? Politics? World news?”

  “Lexi, I swear if you make him feel uncomfortable I’ll tell Mom you’re having sex with anything that has a penis!” I threaten.

  “Morning,” a deep voice calls and I nearly jump out of my skin when I realize it’s Connor. He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a fitted black T-shirt, showcasing his muscular body. It takes a moment before I realize I’m staring at him, my eyes tracing each of the intricate tattoos that run down his arms.

  “M-morning,” I stutter. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Pretty good, thanks.” There’s an awkward beat of silence as the two of us just stare at one another until Lexi clears her throat.