Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
MY EYES ARE UP HERE, GRETCH
Gretchen
Drew
Glad you made it safe. Have a great time and don’t worry about us. We’ll talk when you get back.
Love you more.
The ping of my brother’s texts wake me from a deep sleep mere seconds before the memory of me awkwardly inserting myself into Connor’s conversation with Lauren plows into me like a freight train.
I could crawl into a hole and die, I’m so embarrassed.
Which is most definitely what I’d been thinking when I climbed into bed last night, shut off all the lights and promptly pulled the covers over my face.
Mercifully, with the lengthy day of travel and the time difference, sleep came quickly so I didn’t have to face Connor after he got off the phone.
The plan is to hike Devil’s Bridge today; a hike I’ve read online is quite intense, but with a stunning panoramic photo op at the end that, supposedly, makes the climb worth it. The earlier we can get started, the better, to get ahead of the heat.
I put on my glasses and climb out of bed. Careful not to wake Connor if he’s still asleep, I open the bedroom door. A sofa bed with sheets all askew greets me, but Connor’s nowhere to be seen. He’s probably one of those monsters who works out when he’s on vacation. Ugh. Diabolical .
Moving toward the kitchen to brew some coffee, I round the back of the couch, and my foot catches on a set of bare feet sticking out from underneath a blanket on the floor. I barely get my hands out in front of me in time as I pitch forward and nearly face plant into the wall. “Ow! Shit!” I shriek.
Startled, Connor jolts upward, hinged at the waist. He groans, loud and long, as he slowly eases himself back into a supine position.
I lean against the wall and clutch a hand to my chest, lungs heaving. Like a beacon, my gaze pans to Connor’s bare chest now fully exposed by the blanket having drifted down his frame. I’ve lost count of his abs when his pained sigh alerts me that I’m being a perv.
I rush to his side, kneeling by his head. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?”
Another low groan pours out of him as he rolls away from me, slowly pushing himself up. The muscles in his back clench with every movement. Too many seconds for comfort later, he finally gets to a seated position and adjusts the blanket over his lap. “You could say that?”
“What happened?”
“That bed”—he gestures to the sofa at his back—“if you can even call it that, was made by a bunch of evil minion elves in the devil’s workshop.”
A snort tumbles out before I can stop it. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I had to move to the floor because it jacked up my back,” he grits through a scowl.
I wince at the recollection of Connor’s career-ending football injury back in college. He’s told me how the pain can flare up, but I’ve never seen it firsthand. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. My back’s just stiff as a board.”
Connor finally meets my gaze, all the pained lines of his face slowly softening as the corner of his mouth ticks up. “Morning, Fish. How’d you sleep?”
“Hell of a lot better than you, apparently.”
After I fetch him some ibuprofen, I return to his side with the medicine and a bottle of water. Through a clenched jaw, he tosses back a few pills.
“I’m taking the couch tonight. You can’t have another night like this.”
“Oh, no. No way. I’ll sleep on the floor before I let you spend an hour on that death trap.”
“And I’ll max out my credit card and reserve a second room before I let you sleep anywhere but on the bed in there .” I point a disciplinary finger at the bedroom.
He squints at me and I smile in kind as I adjust my glasses. A slow grin unfurls across his face. “I really do like those glasses.”
Before my smile gives me away, I say, “For real though, do you need to lay low today? We don’t have to do the hike. We can stay in and order room service, binge some TV.”
“No, no. I’m fine. I promise. I just need to get up and moving to loosen up.”
His tone may sound final enough, but I’m still uncertain if he’s actually well enough to go or if he’s trying to appease me. “Okay,” I sigh. “Well, we probably need to leave by nine if we wanna beat the heat.”
He nods through another sip of his water. Putting the cap back on, he sets it aside and moves to stand.
“Wait. Let me help you.” I get to my feet and extend my hand.
He grabs it while I crook my other arm under his shoulder.
Together, we make it a couple inches off the ground before he reverses course and lowers himself back to the floor, tugging the blanket toward his waist. “You know what? I should do this by myself.” I open my mouth to protest, but he adds, “I’m not wearing any shorts, Gretch. ”
“Oh,” I mumble as my traitorous eyeballs hastily—and not discreetly—jump to where the blanket is draped over his hips.
His naked hips, I now realize. My skin prickles with heat as I force myself to look…
anywhere else. Unfortunately, anywhere else means jack squat to my brain because now I’m staring at his chest. Yup, still shirtless.
I finally meet his gaze, his little my eyes are up here, Gretch smirk right there to embarrass me. I pull my thoughts, and my face, into submission, the picture of a woman unaffected by rock hard abs and nine thread count blankets atop naked lower halves. “But can you actually do it yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. You take the bathroom to get ready and I’ll get myself situated out here.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
“Drew texted me this morning,” Connor says as he settles into the seat across from me after his first pass through the breakfast buffet.
“Yeah, me too. He didn’t tell me anything, though. You?”
He shakes his head. “He mainly just asked about you. I told him everything was fine here.”
I’m lost in worried thoughts about my brother and his wife as I turn my gaze back to the window overlooking the lavish pool area of the resort.
Other than a few early risers who have already claimed their poolside loungers for the day, the pool sits serene and peaceful against the desert backdrop.
Resort employees move about with carts of fresh towels and crates of liquor for the bar as they prepare for the day ahead.
“When are you planning to go see your birth mom?”
Covering my mouth with my napkin, I swallow down my food before answering. “Um, I was thinking we could drive out there tomorrow morning. Her address is about forty-five minutes north of here, in Flagstaff.”
He scoops up another bite of eggs. “Are you wanting me to just drop you off and come back or?—”
I freeze, fork stuck in a hover halfway to my mouth before I set it back down. My throat dries up and I reach for my water.
“Or,” Connor drawls, attuned to my reaction, “I can stay with you, if that’s what you want.”
My chest expands as I set the glass aside. “I don’t…um…” I shift my plate and move my knife a quarter inch to the right. “She doesn’t actually know I’m here.”
When I dare to look up, his expression is unbothered. And when he says, “Oh,” it comes out much less troubled than I feel.
“I haven’t talked to her yet.” Connor’s eyebrows lift infinitesimally, a gentle nudge to continue.
“I was gonna call her, but then I…I don’t know, I got nervous.
What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, remember me? I’m the kid you gave up.
So, how have you been?’” I force a laugh that’s more pitiful than funny.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to get here and then figure out the rest. It’s all I could make myself do. ”
I snap a piece of bacon with trembling fingers and then snap it again before dropping the crumbs to my plate. Connor’s countenance hasn’t changed at all.
“Well, obviously, I am the expert on this topic,” he mocks playfully, with a wink thrown in for good measure that is equal parts teasing and comforting. “There’s no one right way to do this, Gretch. We’ll figure it out together.”
He’s back to his breakfast, downing a sip of coffee and scooping up more eggs.
The anxiety I felt a moment ago retreats and, in its place, a quiet confidence washes over me.
I can have the world’s weight on my shoulders, barely able to stand under the pressure, and he just saunters up and tethers my yoke to his.
Doing it in a way that’s so imperceptible, I barely notice what he’s done before the load feels lighter.
He manages it all with a simple look or a comment that makes me smile without dismissing my fears.
It’s relief, validation and empowerment all wrapped into one .
In a rare moment of courage, I say, “You’re really good at that.”
He tilts his head. “Good at what?”
“That thing where you hear everything I’m not saying and find a way to give me exactly what I need without making me feel bad for not asking for it.”
Mouth tight, his jaw twitches. He sets down his fork, scratches his neck, then sips his coffee. His hat comes off so he can run a hand through his hair before quickly putting the hat back on, only to flip it around a second later. Connor Vining can fidget with the best of them.
He coughs into his hand and returns to his meal. Before he shovels more food into his mouth, he looks at me, earnest eyes holding mine in their compassion-laced grip. “It’s because I know you.”
My gaze searches his as everything unsaid—everything he’s holding back because I told him I wasn’t ready to talk—drifts in the space between us like planes circling a runway, waiting for permission to land.
How is it, after three years of no contact, he’s still my favorite person? How can I look at this man who broke my heart so thoroughly and still see a best friend?
“For better or worse, Connor, I think you know me better than anyone else ever has.”