Chapter 27
“This isn’t the way to Tamara’s apartment.” I crane my neck behind me, trying to figure out where Connor is taking me. He doesn’t respond, so I turn to him and ask, “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
That’s all he says. It’s stern and clipped, and I huff out a breath, exasperated. Apparently, grumpy Connor is back with us. It only takes a couple more minutes until I realize we’re heading toward Katie’s apartment building. Toward his apartment.
“Why are we going to your place? I want to go home. And what the heck are you even doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in a plane on your way to Sweden right now.”
He pulls into an empty parking spot on the street and turns the car off. He turns in his seat, resting his elbow on the steering wheel.
“Tamara is at work today, is she not?” he asks, clearly already knowing the answer to the question. I scowl at him, and he chuckles. “I’m not kidnapping you, Aves. I just don’t want you alone after that test. The nurse said it could be a while before you’re feeling like yourself.”
He still didn’t answer my other question.
“Connor. Why are you here?”
The fact that he’s missing out on watching his sister at the Olympics for the first time fills me with guilt. He should be on that plane, on his way to cheer her on.
“You had an important test today, Aves. The thought of you going through it alone didn’t sit well with me so I rescheduled my flight for a few days from now. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal? It’s the fucking Olympics, Connor.”
My breath hitches, and he clocks it right away. He knows why this conversation is hard for me. She made it. I never did. Not only did this stupid fucking illness take that from me too, now it’s taking something away from him, too.
“I’m still going. I promise. Just a few days later than I anticipated.”
I chew on his words for a moment, scared to open my mouth again because I’m afraid I might cry, and I’m sure as shit not breaking down in a car to him again. Somehow, I muster enough attitude to respond.
“You better still be going.”
Connor shakes his head, laughing quietly to himself, then motions his head behind him toward the apartment building.
“Just come inside with me. Don’t fight me on this. I can drop you off at home later once we know you’re in the clear. I just really think you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
The desperation in his voice flips a switch in me. I told Tamara I’d be more open to letting people help me and Connor is already doing so much. What’s one more thing?
“Fine.”
Connor’s eyes light up like I just handed him the Stanley Cup or something. I find it both adorable and annoying for some reason. Reaching down, I grab my purse at my feet and hear Connor close his door. I go to open my door but Connor is already there.
The door swings open and his hand reaches for me. “Here. Let me help you.”
As much as I don’t want to, I let him help me out of the truck.
I know he won’t stop trying to help, so it’s better not to fight it at this point.
I set my purse on my seat and grab the oh, shit handle in the truck.
Grabbing his hand, I step down onto the pavement, and he keeps a hold of my hand, his rough calluses scraping against my palm.
Instead of letting go, he takes a step toward me, and I suck in a breath. His face is so close to mine, I freeze. Is he about to kiss my cheek? I don’t dare turn my head, even though something in the back of my mind is screaming at me to do so.
I brace myself for contact but instead of leaning into me, he reaches behind me.
He pulls back and in his hand is my purse.
Right. He’s not going to kiss me again. It’s been weeks since he kissed me at the courthouse and he only did that so we didn’t look suspicious.
I’m not sure why I was thinking he would just now.
But damn, that kiss was perfect. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
I’m well aware of how pathetic that may sound but that doesn’t change the fact that it plays on loop in my head while I’m lying on the couch alone at night.
Connor loops my purse around his arm and grabs the door to close it, still refusing to let go of my hand.
“Ready?”
We walk hand-in-hand together to the entrance of his apartment. I’m pretending I’m still holding his hand because I need his assistance, but deep down I know that’s not the case. It feels good. It feels natural.
I’ve made some wonderful friends here in Green Bay already, and I know I’ll always have Tamara. But there’s something totally different about being around people and being physically known by someone.
This illness not only cost me my dream, but it cost me my mental health.
For the past two years, the loneliness I felt wasn’t loud.
It didn’t ache or echo in obvious ways. It kind of settled quietly into the spaces that no one else could notice.
It was in the empty stretch of the bed when Bryan would rather sleep anywhere else but with me.
It was in the way that no one reached out to me for a hug without thinking.
But with Connor, it’s automatic. He’s always there before I even expect him to be.
I had people in St. Louis. I have people now. There’s laughter and noise. I’m finally starting to fill my calendar with plans. But no one has held me in so long. I didn’t realize how touch-starved I’d become until his hand found mine.
Suddenly, I’m all too aware of every moment I went without this. Contact. Every time I’d fold in on myself because there was no one to lean into. Every night when I’d fall asleep untouched, unheld, like I trained myself not to need it.
Connor brushes his thumb over the top of my hand, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Like he’s trying to tell me he’s still here.
He’s got me. Butterflies swirl in the pit of my stomach.
How long has it been since someone threaded their fingers through mine like this? Like they simply belong there?
Not only do I feel the warmth of Connor’s hand, but there’s something else. Recognition? It feels as if my body is inhaling something other than fear for the first time in years.
My fingers tighten around his instinctively before I can stop them.
I feel almost desperate for his touch. Because this simple, steady pressure of holding hands with him…
it’s been what’s missing. Not just conversation or company, because I have that.
It’s human touch, the quiet reassurance of someone choosing to stay connected, even in silence.
We make it to the elevator before I even recognize we’ve walked through the lobby of his building. You know when you’re driving somewhere and by the time you get there, you barely remember what you saw along the way? You’re just happy to get there? That’s what this feels like, being here with him.
Connor scans a key fob once we’re in the elevator and I turn to him with a raised eyebrow. “The penthouse? Really?”
He squeezes my hand and shrugs. “It might not be the fanciest apartment building in town, but I still like my privacy.”
Fair enough.
The elevator ride is too short, yet too long. I’m hyperaware of our proximity, the scent of his cologne or body wash invading my senses. He smells of leather and something else I can’t quite name. Whatever it is, I fucking like it.
We slow to a stop, and I find myself wishing the doors won’t open.
Just five more minutes. I don’t want him to let go.
I don’t want there to be space between us.
And yet, realizing I’m wishing these things about Connor, causes me to panic.
I can barely take care of myself. I shouldn’t be thinking this about anyone, let alone him.
The doors slide open, and I exhale a breath.
As soon as we step into his apartment, we both seem to realize we’re still holding hands because at the same time, we let go.
Our fingers trail across each other’s in the most dramatic fashion, both of us watching as it happens like we’re in some sort of soap opera or something.
As soon as we’re apart, I fold my arms, hugging myself because I already feel the loss of him. That feeling doesn’t last long, though. Because as soon as I turn my head to take in the space, I go completely still.
My eyes catch on one detail, then another. The colors, the style, the layout. The stupid little things that no one else would think twice about.
My stomach drops.
Because I know this place.
I shouldn’t.
But I do.