“Goddamnit!” Connor growled from downstairs just moments before a loud crashing sound frightened the hell out of me.
“What the—” I questioned, jumping up from the bed, and started running down the stairs. My heart raced as I feared the worst.
“Shit!” I found Connor mumbling to himself as he looked at the spilled contents on the kitchen floor.
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
He spun around, facing me, his eyes going wide for a moment before narrowing in … shame? Embarrassment, maybe?
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Sweetie, I think the whole damn building heard that,” I countered. “What are you doing?” My eyes went to what appeared to be some sort of soup concoction on the floor with the black soup pot in the middle of it all.
“Screw them,” he growled.
“Connor?”
“I was trying to make that beef stew or soup you made weeks ago, all right?” he grumbled, tossing his arms up in despair. The look of despair in his expression pulled at the muscle inside of my chest.
Taking a step closer, I stopped and finally took a good look at him. At all of him.
“Oh my God!” I blurted out before doubling over in laughter. The laughter came out of nowhere, and every time I thought it died down, all I needed was another look at Connor standing there in my Queen of the Kitchen apron, which was adorned with colorful cupcakes and pink frills, to start cracking up all over again.
I don’t know how long it took for me to sober up, but doing so consisted of me wiping away tears.
“I can’t believe you’re wearing my apron.” I giggled some more, still unable to totally stop.
“I haven’t heard that laugh in weeks.”
That did it.
The sincerity in his deep voice tugged at something else inside of me, and the laughter was replaced by some other force when our eyes connected. It was at that moment, I also realized that Connor wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath the apron. Letting my gaze move lower, I saw he was wearing my favorite pair of grey sweatpants. And for the first time in nearly a month, my body felt like a light switch turned on.
“Started to believe I’d never hear it again.”
I dipped my head before peering back up at him. He was standing directly over me. “I was starting to believe that I'd never laugh again,” I confessed, rising up on my tiptoes, allowing my lips to meet his. Apparently, the fear I’d been having about never being able to be physically intimate or vulnerable again was unfounded.
But Connor pushed away from me, turning to the floor. “I need to clean this up.”
Sadness now filling my chest cavity, I merely nodded. “I’ll make us something.”
He snorted. “No way. You’re supposed to be resting. Taking it easy. I’ll just order us—”
“No.” I shook my head adamantly. “I’ve rested enough and I can’t eat another take out meal. I’d almost rather eat whatever it was you spilled on the floor, than have another delivery order up here.”
Stepping around Connor and the mess on the floor, I went to the refrigerator, pulling it open to see what there was to cook. For a man who hated cooking, Connor sure kept a well-stocked fridge. I pulled out some Brussel sprouts and chicken thighs to bake, and took out a few sweet potatoes from the basket on the counter to prepare. All the while, I watched Connor clean up the mess on the floor, stick the soup pot in the dishwasher, and then remove the apron.
That familiar tingling sensation began throughout my body as I observed him in the middle of the kitchen, shirtless, in only a pair of sweatpants. He moved closer, staring me down as well. Tilting my head upwards, I closed my eyes, readying myself for the inevitable. However, all I felt was his arms move over my head and then the material of the apron around the back of my neck, as he placed it on me, tying it at the back. Blinking my eyes open, I stared up in confusion.
“I’m going to take a shower.” He stepped back, giving me one last lingering look before turning and heading up the same stairs I’d just come down.
Shaking the negative thoughts that started moving through my head, I went back to preparing our dinner, all the while trying to convince myself the inevitable wasn’t happening. Still, as I prepped and seasoned the chicken to go in the oven, I couldn’t shake the thought that what was between Connor and I really was over.
Chapter Twenty
Connor
“I’m heading out for a few—”
“Are you cheating on me?” Resha demanded as she stared at me from the balcony couch where she’d been working for the past hour.
My first response to that idiotic question was total and utter confusion. My second was to lift her from that damn couch and shake some damn sense into her. Luckily, I decided to go with my third reaction, which was to ask, “A stór, what in the hell are you talking about?”
I was just barely able to contain the anger in my tone.
She remained silent for so long, I started to believe she wouldn’t answer me, and that shit just wouldn’t fly.
“Don’t get shy on my now, baby. You had enough words in you to ask that dumbass question, now backup why you would even think such a—”
“Because you’re always going out every Tuesday evening at the same time. And it’s not for a work thing or meeting. I know your schedule.”
I lifted an eyebrow, cocking my head to the side.
Pushing out a heavy breath, she tossed the blankets that’d been covering her body to the side, standing.
“Yeah, I did it. I called your assistant and asked her if your Tuesday meetings were on your schedule and she said no. In fact, she said she had strict instructions to always keep your Tuesdays clear.” She moved closer, coming to stop directly in front of me, arms folded, appearing defensive. “Look, Connor, if that’s what this is, if you’re seeing someone else, just tell me. I know what we’ve experienced the last month or so could be detrimental to any relationship, and I obviously haven’t been the most intimate person lately because—”
“Have your coat and shoes on in the next five minutes.”
She blinked, looking astonished.
I moved aside, glaring at her, waiting for her to follow my abrupt instructions. “You can either do it yourself or I’ll do it for you.”
With a crease in her brow, Resha moved passed me, heading upstairs. Two minutes later, she came down the stairs in a pair of tennis shoes that were, naturally, designer, and a pink and purple color that matched appropriately with her off-the-shoulder striped sweater and dark denim jeans. Even sitting around the house, she had a natural style about her that many women wished for. I carefully watched as she put on the long, burgundy coat that hung from the coat rack by the door.
“Ready?”
She nodded, obviously still confused but willing to allow me to take the lead. Taking her hand into mine, I led us onto the elevator, and down to the garage level of my building, where my car was parked. Typically, I’d take my motorcycle for this trip—it allowed me to think and clear out my mind, both on the way to where I was headed, and while driving back home—but since Resha was with me, I opted for my SUV. Not for one moment had I forgotten that the fucker who was stalking her was still out there, on the loose. So far, checking the records of the security staff and the property management company of her building had revealed nothing.
“Where are we going?” she finally inquired after about five minutes of driving in total silence.
“To answer your question,” was all I responded with. Glancing over, I saw her tuck her bottom lip into her mouth. She wanted to ask more but was afraid to. I didn’t say anything, partially because I was still pissed that she could even think that I’d want to see someone else. And secondly, because I was mentally kicking my own ass for not being up front from the beginning. I was about to reveal a secret with her that only one other person in my life knew.
Fifteen minutes later we pulled up to the parking lot of a huge brick building. Surrounding
the building was a spacious yard, that in the summer was filled with green grass and colorful flowers. During the winter, however, as it was, patches of snow were visible, only showing few spots of dried, dead grass. The scene was still nice for people who liked that sort of thing. I made out two people on the walking trail around the building, one pushing the other in their wheelchair.
“What is this place?” Resha questioned as she squinted, peering up at the bronze plate across the top of the front entrance that read ‘Williamsburg Nursing Home and Rehabilitation Center’. Resha turned to me. “What’s this?”
“Where I go Tuesday evenings.” Taking her hand in mine, I led her across the parking lot and down the sidewalk that led through the front entrance. As soon as I entered the door, the receptionist smiled at me.
“Mr. O’Brien, nice to see you again,” the older woman intoned before her warm, brown eyes moved to Resha who was standing beside me.
“Mrs. O’Hare, this is my lady, Resha McDonald,” I introduced, wincing a little when I said her last name.
“Ms. McDonald, a pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well,” Resha responded before turning to me, still confused, obviously.
“Is he awake?”
“Sure is. He’s in his room at the moment, wasn’t feeling too well earlier.”
I frowned. “Is he coming down with something? Need to be taken to the hos—”
“No, no.” She waved me off. “He just didn’t sleep well last night.” She shrugged. “You know how it goes sometimes. He was a little grumpier than usual this morning from lack of sleep. He rested this afternoon after I reminded him that it was Tuesday and you were coming to see him.”
Guilt filled my chest as I nodded and turned to pass through the main doors, after signing in along with Resha. I still held her hand in mine, and she was silent as we made our way down the long hallway, her free hand moving over to cup my wrist, signaling her questioning and how uncomfortable she was with not knowing what was happening.
We turned right, and passed a number of doors before stopping at room 132. I knocked lightly and pushed the door open. The first person I noticed was a nurse’s aide, who I was familiar with.
“Mr. O’Brien.” He nodded and stepped aside.
“Samuel,” I called.
The man sitting in a wheelchair at the window shook his head a little, mumbling.
I nodded at the aide and he turned Samuel’s wheelchair.
“Samuel, it’s me, Connor.” A small smile crested on the man’s face. I turned to Resha. “Resha, this is Samuel. Not Sam, Samuel.”
“No! Don’t call me Sam,” Samuel slurred but was adamant as he slapped the side of his wheelchair.
“N-Nice to meet you, Samuel,” Resha spoke before turning to me and then back to the dark-haired man in the wheelchair. At first glance, anyone could see that he was younger than me, so the last place one would expect him to be was a nursing home.
“R-R-R-”
“Resha,” I stated, helping Samuel out. Letting Resha’s hand go, I moved to Samuel, kneeling next to him. “Samuel, this is Resha. She’s come with me today to meet you. Is that okay?”
For a split second, Samuel’s eyes focused as he looked Resha up and down. He didn’t say anything, but he braced his hands on the side of the chair, placing his feet on the floor instead of the footholds. When I realized what he was trying to do, I depressed the lever that held down the wheelchair’s brakes, to allow Samuel to push off of it to stand.
“H-H-Hi, R-R-Resha,” Samuel managed to get out as he stood up from the chair.
Resha moved closer, taking the hand he extended to her. “Hi, Samuel. It’s nice to meet you.”
“C-C-Connor my friend,” he told her. “H-H-He your friend, too?”
Resha’s coffee-colored eyes moved to me before returning to Samuel. “I suppose so.”
My chest tightened in anger.
“You’re p-p-pretty, I-I-I think.”
“Easy, Samuel,” I stated, rising from the floor. “That’s my woman you’re trying to seduce.” Taking his hand, I freed Resha’s from his hold. No, I wasn’t jealous, per se, but I didn’t like any man but me touching her.
“Samuel’s right. We’re friends,” I turned to Resha, hoping that somehow this made sense. I couldn’t say the whole story right then but I would later. I just needed her to see where and how I spent my time on Tuesday evenings when I was away from her. The only reason I’d leave her, even for a few hours out of the week. It was to follow through on a commitment I’d made many years ago and I was nothing if I wasn’t a man of my word. Even when it hurt to leave the woman I loved while she was in such pain.
But Resha must’ve understood how important this was to me. She must not have needed the words right away because she went along with Samuel and I as he showed us the old baseball trading cars he’d had since he was a kid. This was something he did every time I visited, no matter how many times I’d seen it. Then he turned on the television in his room, turning to the fighting match he had the aide record and waited to watch specifically during my visit. It was a few hours before Resha and I left, having stayed to enjoy meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and string bean dinner they always served on Tuesday nights.
“That’s where you go on Tuesdays,” Resha stated as I got behind the wheel of my car in the parking lot of the nursing home.
Sticking the key into the ignition, I turned to her to explain. “Samuel is a fighter. Was …” I corrected. “About ten years ago he was an up-and-comer in my division. For a year and a half, his trainer and manager had been asking me to put him on my list of fights. I was only doing about two to three fights a year. I’d made enough money and earned enough clout that I could spend most of the year training and still get paid millions for doing a single fight. Plus, I had my businesses going by then. I didn’t need fighting to pay the bills any longer. I was already considering retirement but fighting was all I knew so I kept at it.
“One year, I finally decided to take the fight. It’d be worth a lot, and what the hell?” I shrugged. “What I didn’t know was that Samuel was already suffering from a severe concussion, from a fight he’d had earlier that year. Instead of taking more time off like his doctors advised, his manager kept pushing him to fight. On the outside, he looked fine, but he wasn’t. He lasted all of three rounds in the fence with me. I knocked him out. A knockout wasn’t unusual, and I expected him to wake up with some smelling salt. He didn’t. I stood there in the middle of that cage and watched as medical staff rushed to his aid. Later that night, I went straight to the hospital to find out that Samuel was in a coma. Doctors gave him about a fifty percent chance of waking up. Over the next few weeks, brain scans revealed that even if he did wake up, he’d never be the same. I felt like total shit.”
Pausing, I stared Resha in the eye. “Samuel’s entire team abandoned him in that hospital. He was no longer of use to them, and couldn’t make them any money so they left him there to die. He came from a rough background, his family had been living off of him and when he couldn’t provide for them, they left him, too. Eventually, the small amount of money that he had saved ran out and he was to be shipped to a state facility. I couldn’t live with that shit on my conscience. The money I earned from the fight went to pay his medical bills. After a month in a coma, he woke up. I paid to move him to this nursing home so he would be taken care of and receive the rehabilitation he needs.
“I come every Tuesday to visit him because no one else does. I was him once. Had my circumstances been just a little bit different, it could be me in that damn room and not Samuel. I got lucky. I had Buddy who never forced me to take on a fight I wasn’t ready for. Who made sure I got paid double what I was worth, and who introduced me to businessmen who showed me where the real money was, so I didn’t have to always put my body on the line. I retired after that last fight with Samuel.”
“How come you run the Underground?”
I nodded. It was a reasonable question in light of
what I’d just revealed. “We all need an outlet of some kind. Most of the guys in the Underground don’t want to fight for a living, they just need a place to let their demons out. But one of our only rules is that we don’t allow headshots.”
“That was your rule.”
I nodded. “I’ve seen what repeated blows to the head can do to a person.” I looked back, through my rear window toward the nursing home.
Resha’s hand covered mine. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
Her admission pulled my gaze from the building to hers. Cupping her face with both of my hands, I questioned, “How the fuck could you even consider that?”
“You always just said you were going out, and …” She trailed off until I shook her face slightly. “You’ve barely touched me in weeks.” She pushed out a breath as if the admission nearly killed her.
“Baby, you were healing.”
“I know, but …” She pulled back.
“But what?”
“But it’s been weeks. Physically, I’ve gotten the all clear from my doctor. But lately, every time I get close to you and think you’re going to kiss me, you make an excuse. Like the other day in the kitchen, you had to go and shower. If you’re not attracted to me anymore, just say so—” The last half of that sentence was pushed back down where it came from when I pressed my lips to her, effectively cutting her off.
Moving her hand to my crotch so she could feel the growing monster in my jeans, I pulled back. “Does that feel like I’m not attracted to you anymore?”
Looking dazed and a bit confused, she shook her head.
“Baby, I had to make that shower a cold one and jerk off while I was in there … twice.”
“Why?”
“To keep myself from mauling you. Seriously, every goddamn night you lay in bed next to me I have to remind myself not to give into my animal instincts to rip every inch of clothing from your body and make you scream my name like I’ve been yearning to hear for weeks now. I didn’t want to push you too fast. I know you’re still hurting from losing our baby. We both are, by the way.”
No Coincidence Page 25
