Taking Connor

by B. N. Toler

  I ride him slowly, but I come quickly when he places his thumb on my clit. We never look away from each other and when I feel his body tense, feel him nearing his release, I do my best to memorize every single detail of this moment. I want to lock it away inside of me because there may come a time, very soon, that we will be forced to part ways; a time where I’m forced to let him go and move on with his life. If I’m convicted and sentenced, I now understand I could go to prison for up to eleven years. I would never ask him to wait that long for me, not after he’s just gotten out of prison himself and has barely had a chance to live again.

  His hips thrust up, meeting me as I ride him faster, his hands gripping my hips. “Don’t,” he growls as he thrusts harder. “You’ll never lose, no matter what happens.”

  His words, his expression, the way he knows me so well, send me flying high again and my orgasm breaks me into a million emotional pieces. When he finishes with a loud deep groan, I’m crying, again, but he sits up and crushes me to him, his hot breaths against my breast.

  “You’re mine . . . and I’m never letting go.”

  I hold onto him for dear life as I weep, not minding that I can barely breath because he’s holding me so tightly.

  Connor Stevens is my everything.

  And I’m about to lose it all.

  “Guilty.”

  Mrs. Jenson lets out a shriek of pained joy as my verdict is handed down.

  The word hits me like a forceful wave, doing its best to knock me over. My gaze moves down to the table, Jim’s yellow tablet paper strewn across it with little notes he’d taken. I’m in such utter shock I can’t even muster up a reaction. The courtroom is buzzing with murmurs and chatting, but I can’t seem to move or think. I’m going to prison.

  “Demi,” Connor says my name, sternly, demanding I turn around and look at him. But I can’t. I just can’t. If I turn around right now and meet that dark stare, I’ll melt into a puddle of tears.

  The judge bangs his gavel several times. “Order,” he booms.

  “Mr. Burgess, would your client prefer sentencing now or at a later date?”

  Jim places a gentle hand on my shoulder in question. Not looking up from the table where my gaze is fixed, I nod my head yes.

  “Mrs. Stevens,” the judge grumbles. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his stern one. Clearing his throat, he says, “I do not condone a person taking the law into her own hands. The evidence we’ve seen here today shows that Ned Jenson was killed by suffocation.”

  “Murderer!” Mrs. Jenson shouts.

  “Order,” the judge bellows as he bangs his gavel. “One more outburst and you will be removed from this courtroom.”

  The judge, dragging this moment out by pouring himself a glass of water and taking a drink, has me about to come out of my skin. How long will I be in prison? What will happen to my house? What will happen to Connor? I have to let him go. That last thought seizes me so deeply I have to fight the urge to lurch forward in pain. Twisting my neck, I glance over my shoulder and find him with his arms resting on the wooden divider, his head bowed as if he’s praying. I want to go to him, curl up in his arms, and never leave.

  “Is there anything you’d like to say before I hand down your sentencing, Mrs. Stevens?”

  Turning my head back, looking to the judge, I nod yes. “I’m sorry,” I croak, my throat tight with emotion. “But not for killing him,” I admit. Then I turn to the courtroom and look directly at McKenzie. Her blonde hair is braided down the side hanging over her shoulder. Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. Our gazes lock and a tear streams down my face as I address her. “I’m sorry that I let that monster hurt someone I love. Someone so innocent that relied on me and trusted me to protect them. I’m sorry I missed all the signs that said something was wrong. And I know sorry will never change what happened, but I hope someday you can forgive me.”

  “You’re apologizing to her?” Mrs. Jenson shouts as she stands. She’s always been skinny, but now she appears deathly thin. Her short hair is wild and unruly, and her eyes seem hollow from lack of sleep. “You killed my husband!” Someone sitting beside her grabs her arm and tries to get her to sit down, but Mrs. Jenson rips her arm away. Jerking up her purse she digs a frantic hand inside of it and yanks out a handful of individually wrapped candies.

  “Bailiff, remove her from this courtroom!” The judge yells as he hammers his gavel.

  “All he did was give those girls candy,” Mrs. Jenson moans through her sobs before she hums the handful of candy at me. The candy falls short, but the bailiff is quick to grab her before she manages to scoop another handful from her purse. As they drag her away, she continues to scream at me until they’ve dragged her through the doors and out of sight.

  The room is loud with whispers and gasps until the judge declares he’ll clear the courtroom if there’s not order. McKenzie is sobbing, and Jeff stands wanting to take her out to the hall, but she shakes her head no, adamantly. “I’m staying.” Then looking at me, her face pained, mouths, “It wasn’t your fault. I love you.”

  I nod once and look at Connor. His expression is hard and riddled with fear. He’s scared for me.

  “Mrs. Stevens,” the judge calls. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

  Turning back to face him, I take a deep breath. Closing my eyes, I say, “I’m ready for my sentencing.”

  “God, you guys are so disgustingly cute,” Wendy quips as she enters the kitchen and tosses some mussed up saran wrap in the trash. “Connor just told me to tell you how beautiful you look today.”

  I can’t help smiling.

  We are pretty disgusting.

  And incredibly happy.

  I peek out the kitchen window and see Connor, Jeff, and Dusty all standing in a little circle with beers in their hands. Connor has the biggest smile on his face as he talks, throwing his head back occasionally, and laughing.

  He’s happy.

  I’m happy.

  That’s all that matters.

  I try not to think about what might have been, about going to prison, because it’s behind me now. Turns out, Leslie’s testimony was what saved me from prison. The judge had mercy on me.

  I was convicted of Voluntary Manslaughter and given ten years of probation and required to perform five hundred hours of community service. My case received news coverage across the country, and many have questioned the judge’s ethics—Jim says he’s going to retire soon anyway. The judge couldn’t care less what people think of his ethics.

  My conviction was ten months ago.

  I took it and my sentencing gratefully, even though it meant losing my job as a teacher. Being unemployed is scary, but jail is scarier. I know everything will be okay, though, one way or another. I thought about selling the house, not wanting to live across the street from Mrs. Jenson, but she sold her home, extremely cheap as most people don’t want to buy a home where a murder has taken place. So Connor and I decided to stay for now. With me out of work and him growing his business, it just isn’t the right time.

  Wendy and I finish up in the kitchen and carry out the last two dishes. It’s just a small barbecue with the people we love most. As I place the bowl of potato salad on the table, Connor comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist pressing his mouth to my neck and whispering, “I want you.”

  Turning my head, I kiss him and whisper back, “Meet me in the house five minutes after we eat.”

  He growls and squeezes my hip before quickly sitting to hide his erection. I bend down and kiss his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I murmur. “I’ll take care of that.”

  The meal is fantastic, and everyone seems to feel the same. Not one of the Tuffman children complained, so that’s success in my book. It’s been the perfect, relaxing day. I think we all needed this. Connor and I aren’t the only ones that have had problems lately. McKenzie and Mary-Anne are seeing counselors now, and we are all doing what we can to support them, doing whatever we can to help them heal. They have a lon
g road ahead of them, but McKenzie already seems a little . . . lighter. I think finally making the secret known that she’s been carrying for so long has helped. Grayson will start special education Pre-K this year, and once Wendy and Jeff can get insurance, hopefully, they can get him more therapy. Dusty is still warding off my sister. Poor guy. Lexi loves nothing more than a challenge and Dusty is doing a damn good job of it. But when he doesn’t know I’m looking, I’ve seen the way he watches her. I think he may be a little more interested than he lets on.

  After the meal, everyone helps clean up, except Lexi, and a pretty intense volleyball game is happening in the backyard. Connor and I decline to join in, wanting to play a little game of our own in private. I’m grabbing the last of the dirty paper plates from the table when he leans toward me and growls.

  “You have two minutes to get that sexy ass of yours inside.”

  “Yes sir,” I say, with a grin.

  “I have to grab something. I’ll be right there.” He takes off for the garage, and I hurry inside hoping to have enough time to check myself in the mirror. I toss the plates in the trash and rush to the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair. I’ve missed feeling this giddy for someone, feeling so . . . alive. There was a time I thought maybe I’d never experience that again. After a few attempts, I’ve just perfected my sexy pose for when he enters when I hear a loud pop. It’s so loud I nearly jump out of my skin. What the hell was that?

  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. “W
hat 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.