Chapter 2 #2
“Connor reads to me at night sometimes,” Meems explains.
I bite back a smile. I would pay good money to see broody Connor reading spicy romance to his posh grandma. “Some of them have audiobooks,” I offer.
“Meems enjoys my discomfort,” Connor replies dryly.
“And Connor pretends to hate the books, but he never says no to reading them,” Lucy stage-whispers.
My heart squeezes at the fond smile that softens both their faces. This is the kind of familial love I’ve never had, and I’m shockingly, painfully jealous. Even the Terror’s villain is beloved by someone.
Lucy’s eyes light up. “Tell me all the juicy library gossip. How are those saucy twins? Did Victor get the A he was hoping for on his English essay? Is Everly staying out of trouble?”
“Who are Victor and Everly?” Connor asks, like he can’t help but involve himself in the conversation. This is probably the most I’ve heard him speak at any given time.
“They’re teens who live in the group home a few blocks from the library. They’re my favorites,” I explain before I turn back to Lucy. “Victor got his A, which isn’t a surprise, and Everly made it through last week without losing any privileges.”
This is part of our weekly routine. I always take a break when Lucy arrives, and we sit in the coffee shop, drinking weak brew while I fill her in on the library gossip before we talk books. She’s endlessly interested in the community programs I’ve developed.
Connor moves to sit in one of the empty chairs. He says nothing, just listens and observes.
I share the previous week’s adventures, and we discuss last week’s books before I tell her about the new ones I brought while we finish our tea.
I set my empty cup on the table. “I should probably head home so you can have your evening.”
“Would you mind reading me a chapter before you go? Connor tends to skip the spicy parts,” she whispers.
“Your heart is too important to tax with excessive spice, Meems,” Connor replies.
I steal a glance at him and smile at the blush coloring his cheeks. “Sure, I can read to you. Would you like me to start with the highland warriors?”
“Oh please. They sound fun.”
“So fun.” I settle in and do my best to ignore the feel of Connor’s eyes on me as I read. Lucy is fast asleep by the end of the first chapter.
I tuck her book ribbon between the pages. “Will she be out long?”
“She might be done for the evening. I’ll move her to her bed if she doesn’t wake up.” Connor carefully adjusts the footrest and reclines the chair, tucking a pillow by her cheek so she doesn’t get a neck crick. He kisses her temple and guides me out of the room.
I take one last look at her before I go. I adore Lucy. We’ve grown close—closer than I realized maybe. Our time together always feels special, and it fills a selfish need for a maternal connection.
Our conversations have mostly revolved around books, the library programs, and sometimes her late husband.
Occasionally, we’ve veered into personal pieces of our lives, but neither of us has ever spoken of our connection to the Terror.
I’m intensely protective of my friendship with Flip, just like she’s protective of her grandson.
I wait until Connor and I are halfway down the hall before I ask the question that’s been eating at me. “How did Lucy’s appointment go today?”
He stops just before we reach the stairs and turns to me. “She needs surgery.”
“What kind?”
“The kind that could keep her here for another decade.” He rubs his bottom lip with his manicured fingers. “But right now she’s not strong enough to survive it, and the doctor is concerned she might never be.”
Pain lances my heart. “What does that mean?”
His jaw tics, but his eyes remain on mine. “She needs a heart valve replacement. If she can’t have the surgery, I could lose her inside a year.”
The truth is sandpaper rubbed across raw skin.
There’s an answer to his problem, a way to keep Lucy here, but it’s out of reach.
That’s almost more than I can bear. Maybe because my world is falling apart, and I already stand to lose so much if I can’t figure out what to do about my apartment.
Maybe because I sense how devastated Connor is by the prospect.
Maybe because I’ve come to see Lucy like the grandmother I never had.
I reach out and cover his wide palm with mine, his fingers flex, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry.” Emotions rain down on me, and tears well up—for making my emotions his to deal with, for his pain, for my own.
He looks at me strangely. “You didn’t make her heart weak.”
I withdraw my hand and rummage in my bag for a tissue, still on the verge of tears. This is his loss, not mine. Then why does it hurt so much?
“I should go.” I finally find the tissue I was looking for, but with it comes a piece of paper.
It unfolds as it flutters to the ground, and Connor scoops it up before I can. His brows pull together as he scans the document—the one from my landlord.
“You’re in trouble.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I grab the letter and stuff it back in my purse. “It’s a misunderstanding. I’ll figure it out.” I rush down the spiral staircase, wishing a fairy godmother would appear, wave her magic wand, and fix my problem.
It seems all gifts come with a price.