37. Mary
Chapter 37
Mary
“That would be my mother, Teresa.” Connor’s eyes are devoid of any emotion as if lost in some distant, unpleasant memory.
I trace the lines of Connor’s mother’s face. Young and beautiful, with blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. But her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Something about it seems forced.
My gaze darts between Connor, Ezra, and the woman in the photo. She resembles Ezra, yet I notice hints of Connor in her features, too—the sharp angle of her jaw, the piercing gaze.
“Remarkable resemblance,” I say. “Connor, you have her—”
“Her what? Her detachment?” His laugh is hollow. It’s a sound that tugs at something deep within me, a heartstring fraying from too much strain.
“I’m sorry.”
A flicker of pain appears on Connor’s face. “Don’t be. She’s not a part of this family. ”
Ezra’s voice trembles with barely contained emotion. “She’s our mother. Our family.”
Connor scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Family? Please. She abandoned us, Ez. Left without a fucking word.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Boys, please.” George places a hand on Ezra’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s not do this here.”
But Ezra shrugs off his father’s touch, his gaze never leaving Connor’s face. “No, Dad. I’m sick of pretending like she never existed. Like we didn’t spend years wondering what we did wrong.”
My heart clenches at the raw pain in Ezra’s voice. I want to reach out, to offer some sort of comfort, but I remain frozen in place.
Connor’s jaw tightens. “We didn’t do anything wrong, Ez. She did. And I’m not going to waste another second thinking about her.”
“It’s easy for—”
“Enough.” George’s tone leaves no room for argument. He levels both his sons with a scowl that speaks volumes. “We have a guest. Let’s not ruin the evening with old wounds.”
The silence that follows is heavy and suffocating. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my fingers toying with the hem of my skirt. I catch Connor’s gaze, and the storm brewing in his eyes makes my breath catch.
“I need some air.” Ezra stalks out of the room, the door slamming behind him .
I flinch at the sound.
George sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I apologize, Mary. This isn’t how I wanted your first dinner with us to go.”
I force a smile, shaking my head. “It’s okay. Family can be complicated. I get that.”
“Mary, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen?” Margaret asks.
I glance back at Connor, who gives me a subtle nod. Right. I should give them some space.
Rising from the couch, I press a soft kiss on Connor’s cheek, his stubble tickling my lips.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” My hand lingers on his arm.
He covers my hand with his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. A silent thank you. A promise that we’ll talk later.
I follow Margaret into the kitchen, the scent of roasted garlic and herbs enveloping me like a warm hug.
“Let’s pack up some food for you,” she insists, busying herself with Tupperware and foil. “Nothing goes to waste here, and it’s always better shared.”
“Thank you. Can I help with anything?”
Margaret glances over her shoulder, a kind smile on her face. “Of course, dear. Can you get some plastic containers out from the cupboard to your right, please?”
I nod and turn, taking out some boxes.
The pain in Ezra’s voice, the anger in Connor’s. It’s a lot to process .
Although I’m not the biggest fan of my own mother, with her expectations and demands, her constant reminders that I’m not and never will be enough, at least she’s still here, even if her presence feels more like a burden than a blessing. I know she means good and loves me.
I place the containers on the kitchen counter next to the plates of food.
“Seeing Connor like this…” She pauses. “Happy. It’s been a long time. And it’s because of you.”
“Me?” The word escapes in a whisper, disbelief lacing the single syllable. “I don’t know if I—”
“Of course, you.” She fills the containers up.
“Connor… he doesn’t talk about her much. His mother, I mean.”
Margaret sighs. “No, he wouldn’t. That boy… He’s got walls higher than the Great Wall of China. But he cares about you, Mary. I can see it in the way he looks at you.”
My cheeks flush at her words, and I duck my head to hide my smile. “I care about him, too. I just… I don’t know if I’m enough. If I can be what he needs.”
“Honey, you are enough just by being here, by trying. That’s more than most people would do. Those boys have been through a lot. Losing a mother like that changes you.”
“I can’t even imagine.”
“Connor took it the hardest. Ezra was just a baby, but Connor... he remembers. ”
My heart clenches at the thought of a young Connor, confused and hurt, wondering why his mother left. Wondering what he did wrong.
“He’s lucky to have you,” I say. “All of you.”
Margaret’s smile is warm, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Oh, dear. He was so suspicious when I came to look after him and Ezra. That boy is terrified of being abandoned again.”
It explains so much—the walls he puts up, the intensity with which he clings to me. The fear that simmers beneath the surface of his every action. He’s terrified that I’ll leave, just like she did. That one day, I’ll wake up and decide he’s not enough, not worthy of my love.
God, it breaks my heart. To think of the pain he must carry, the scars that run so deep they’ve become a part of him. And here I am, complaining about his protectiveness, his nagging, his need to know where I am at all times. I never considered the root of it all.
Fear. Raw, unbridled fear of being left behind. Of being abandoned like his mother abandoned him.
It’s not right, the extent to which he went. The cameras, the tracking, the constant surveillance. But I understand it now. He’s not trying to control me. He’s trying to keep me close, to make sure I don’t slip away.
How can I be angry with him for that? For wanting to hold onto the one thing he’s afraid to lose?
The click of a plastic lid seals in more than just leftovers.
“His mother, she…” I say.
“When he was a teenager, he found her. He went to her workplace, begging her to come back. She acted like she didn’t even know him. I had to pick him up from the police station. The confusion in his eyes…” Her hand finds mine, squeezing. “We’re lucky to have him. He’s a good man, Mary. A bit rough around the edges, but his heart is pure gold.”
A little boy begging for love and understanding, only to be cast aside like a stranger. What could have driven her to leave her family behind? Did she even realize the damage she was causing? The scars she was leaving on her sons’ hearts?
“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”
Understanding Connor’s past is like finding pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t realized were missing—each one simultaneously answering and complicating everything I feel for him. We both fear the same thing.
Connor’s wounds run deep, and they won’t be mended overnight. It will take time, patience, and understanding. It will take me being there, even when he pushes me away.
I love him. I do. But loving someone doesn’t mean ignoring the parts of them that are broken. It means helping them heal, even when it’s hard.
And it will be hard. I know that now.
But I’m not going anywhere. I’m not his mother. I won’t abandon him, no matter how difficult it gets. I’ll stand by his side through the good and the bad .
Because that’s what love is. It’s not a fairytale, not a perfect happily ever after. It’s a choice, a commitment to be there, even when it’s hard. And I choose Connor, broken pieces and all.
I just hope he can see that. That he can learn to trust me, to believe that I’m not going to leave. That I’m in this for the long haul, no matter what.
It won’t be easy. But then again, nothing worth having ever is.
“Love can heal, but it takes patience.” She releases my hand, offering a smile tinged with hope. “You seem to have plenty of that.”
“Patience, maybe. But—”
“Are you ready to go?” Connor steps into the kitchen.
“Uh, yeah.” I catch his eye for a moment, searching for signs of that little boy who begged for his mother’s love, but all I see is the man before me, a careful blend of strength and vulnerability.
“I packed up plenty of leftovers for you both to take home. Chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes, green beans, and cornbread. There’s a container of apple crumble for you as well.” Margaret hands Connor the bag with the containers.
“You’re an angel, thank you,” Connor grabs it. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” I say.
He reaches out, taking my hand in his, leading me into the hallway.
“Goodbye.” Our voices blend together.
“It was our pleasure,” George says. “You’re welcome here anytime. ”
Margaret smiles at us while Ezra offers a small nod.
We leave the house, and Connor leads me to his car, his hand still entwined with mine.
“Will you please take me home?” I ask.
His fingers tighten their grip. “I thought… we’ll go to my place this time.”
I rise up on my toes, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. “That’s what I meant. Home.”
He’s become my home in more ways than one.
Connor gives me another big kiss. “Home.”
The drive to his apartment is filled with silence, which makes me nervous. Especially after what happened.
“Are you over at Elijah’s place often? Or Brandon’s? Bash’s?” I ask.
“Often enough.” Connor fixates on the road ahead. “We meet a lot in the evenings and work out at the gym.”
“Sounds cozy.” 4 guys training at a gym. Cozy.
He glances at me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. “She left when I was seven. I promised myself that one day I would find her again and ask her why. And I did.”
I place my hand on Connor’s thigh. “I’m sorry.”
And I mean it with all my heart. No child deserves to feel so abandoned, so unwanted. The one person who should have stayed… didn’t.
Connor maneuvers into the parking garage beneath his building, the engine’s purr fading to silence as he cuts the ignition. For a moment, we sit there, the weight of his revelation hanging heavy between us.
I unfasten the seatbelt and reach out, my fingers brushing against his arm. “Connor.”
He flinches, and my heart clenches at the pain in his eyes. “She looked right through me, Blue. Like I was a fucking stranger.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have. “You didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
His knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. “I begged her. I fucking begged her to come back, to explain why she left. And she just walked away, calling the security on her own fucking son.”
I can’t even begin to imagine the depth of that kind of rejection.
“Connor, look at me.”
He does, and the raw vulnerability in his gaze takes my breath away.
“What she did… that’s on her. Not you. You were just a kid,” I say.
“I should’ve been enough.” His voice cracks, and it’s like a knife to my chest. “I should’ve been enough for her to stay.”
I cup his face with my hands. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough.”
“Then why did she leave? ”
“I don’t know.” I brush my thumb across his cheekbone, wiping away the single tear that’s escaped. “But it wasn’t because of you. It wasn’t your fault.”
Connor lifts me into his lap and buries his face in the crook of my neck.
I hold him close, running my fingers through his hair. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
There’s so much fear in that single word. So much doubt.
“I promise.” I press my forehead against his, our noses brushing. “You’re stuck with me, Milton.”
The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “I think I can live with that. But why? Why are you so willing to give yourself to someone like me?”
“Why do you doubt me so much?”
“I just want to make sure.”
“Because you’re worth it. And because I care about you. Deeply.”
“Even knowing…”
“Even knowing you stalked me? Yeah, I guess.” I lift a hand to his cheek, gently tracing the line of his jaw. “We all have our flaws and mistakes. What matters is that we learn from them and do better going forward.”
“I need to tell you something later.” His lips curve into a sad smile.
“Later?”
“Yes. ”
“Why not now?”
“Later. Trust me.”
“Fine.” I trust you.