Chapter 17
CONNOR
Mildred took her plate with her when she left, so I finish my dinner alone, but only because I don’t want to waste food.
I now have some odd sense of needing to right an ancient wrong regarding my fiancée’s best friend.
Besides, not eating well will affect my on-ice performance.
It’s been a solid start to preseason, and I don’t want to fuck it up.
I shock the hell out of the staff when I show up in the kitchen with my empty plate. The laughter stops, and everyone stands when I enter.
“Mr. Grace, was your dinner insufficient?” Cedrick asks.
It really sucks that I put everyone on edge just by existing. “No, dinner was great. I just figured I’d save you the trouble of collecting my plate since I’m going out to see Meems.”
He takes the plate and cutlery. “It’s my job, sir.”
“Sometimes it’s nice when someone makes it easier, though.
” I rub the back of my neck. “And can you all stop calling me Mr. Grace, please? I know I look like him, but I’m not my father.
” And I never want to be. All the art I put on my body is a reminder of just how different we are.
He would never defile himself the way I have, and he’s been very vocal about his disdain for my choices, career and body art included.
“What would you prefer?”
“Just Connor, please.”
Cedrick smiles. “Of course, Connor.”
If Mildred was with me, they’d all be smiling. “Do we have strawberries?”
“Yes, Connor, would you like some?”
“Not now, but they’re M—Dred’s favorite, so maybe something with strawberries for breakfast.”
Ethel beams. “I’ll browse my recipes.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Connor.”
I leave the kitchen, feeling like I’ve at least made some progress with the staff. I pass through the breezeway, and the cool evening air is a reminder that long sleeves will be mandatory soon as I rap on Meems’s door before I enter. The lights are on, but the living room is empty.
“Meems?” It’s not even seven. I check the four seasons room with a view of the expansive backyard and her favorite gardens, but she’s not there, either.
“Meems, you in there?” I knock on her bedroom door, but still no response. Panic hits, swift and cutting like a blade. The emotions sweep through me before I can corral them, nearly taking me to my knees.
I push the door open, heart hammering in my chest. Meems is in bed, still and tiny. She seemed okay earlier. What if… Please don’t let her be gone.
I’m not ready to be without her. I’m not ready for a world in which she doesn’t exist. She’s the only person in my family who understands me, the only one who has always been on my side. But it’s more than that. If I lose Meems, I have to let Mildred go, and I don’t want to yet.
I cross the room, begging a God I’ve never put faith in not to take Meems away from me for wildly selfish reasons.
Meems’s back expands and contracts, quelling the panic. For now.
There will come a day when my fears are reality. I know that, even if I don’t want it to be true.
I kneel beside her bed and press my lips to her forehead. She’s cool, no fever. Thank God.
She stirs, and I pull back, wishing her body was strong enough to withstand surgery. Maybe more time with Mildred will get her there. Maybe she can heal us both. Give her more time, please.
“Connor?” Her warm, soft palm presses against my cheek. “What time is it?”
“Seven.” I take her frail hand and kiss the back of it. “You feeling okay?”
“I laid down after dinner because I was tired. I was only supposed to sleep for half an hour.”
“It’s okay. If you’re tired, you’re tired, Meems.”
“I am.” She nods groggily. “So tired these days.”
We were warned this could happen. Her heart is working so hard. Too hard. “Maybe we should make a doctor’s appointment.”
“I’m tired of those, too.”
“I know, but I need you to be healthy so you can see me get married.” The sooner the better. I need to talk to Mildred about the timeline.
“Dred is so good for you.” She smiles. “Where is she?”
“In the house. We finished dinner a while ago.” She was sweet, and I was my asshole self. “You want me to read to you tonight?”
“Maybe just a page or two. Don’t skip any of the good parts.”
At least her sense of humor is still intact. “I won’t, Meems.” I grab the book from the nightstand and sit on the edge of her bed. She settles back against her pillows with a sigh.
I only manage to read one page before she’s asleep again.
I replace the bookmark and rub my cheek, the one Mildred’s lips were pressed against briefly when she called me out on my own self-loathing.
“I don’t know how to talk to Mildred when you’re not around,” I admit.
“I need you to stay so I can get better at it.”
I kiss her cheek and turn off the light. On the way back, I stop in the staff quarters and ask Cedrick to check on Meems before he goes home for the night. I walk down to my office to tackle a few emails, including a request for an update on Mildred’s apartment.
The back rent has been handled, so she’s no longer at risk of being evicted.
But I want to solve the problem indefinitely, and the best way to do that is to make her the owner rather than the renter of the apartment.
However, the new owner is resistant to selling the unit.
From a financial standpoint, I understand.
It’s a high-end building, and the rentals generate more income over time.
But everyone has a price. It’s just a matter of figuring out what it is.
It’s closing in on ten by the time I leave the office. I pause outside Mildred’s bedroom door. Her light is still on. I should apologize for making dinner uncomfortable.
I knock, but don’t get a response. Seems to be a trend tonight.
I try again, but still nothing, so I resort to texting. No buzz comes from the other side of the door, though. She’s probably in the library.
I walk down the hall, take the first right, and step inside the library through the other entrance.
The lights are dim, so it takes several seconds for my eyes to adjust. She’s curled up on the couch in the glass dome, a blanket covering her legs, pillow behind her head, and a book lying open on her chest. Her glasses are askew.
I carefully remove the book, tucking the bookmark in before I close it and set it on the side table, then I remove her glasses, wiping away the fingerprints before I gently fold the arms. Those I slip into the breast pocket of my polo.
I don’t wake her. Not yet. I want this moment, where I’m not the person tying her to a life she doesn’t want but is willing to accept so she can keep the things and people she values most. What would it feel like to be loved like that by her?
That will never happen.
“Mildred?” I stroke her cheek.
She doesn’t shy away from the touch. Instead she turns toward my fingers, as if the contact is welcome.
Maybe we’re similar in that respect. Most of the time I feel starved for contact.
I fear it and crave it. That kiss during our engagement photos plays on an endless loop.
The warmth of her lips, the softness of her body against mine.
“I kissed you back.”
“Dred.” I understand the nickname to be ironic now, because the only thing I dread these days is her deciding to leave. It doesn’t sound right coming out of my mouth.
Her eyes flutter open. She feels for her glasses.
“I have them right here.”
She stretches like a cat and hums. “I fell asleep.”
“You did. In the library.”
“I do almost every night,” she murmurs and rolls on her side, toward me, pressing her cheek into her pillow. “I like being surrounded by stories.”
“Your bed is probably more comfortable.”
“It is.”
I brush a tendril of hair away from her face. I shouldn’t, but she’s unguarded, not quite awake enough to tell me to fuck off and keep my hands to myself.
She raises a hand, curving it around mine. Holding on to it. Her eyes are closed again, but the hint of a smile plays on her lips.
“Then why not read in your bed?”
“It’s too easy to get used to nice things,” she says.
Why does everything she says make me wish I was a different person? “You can take the bed with you when you go back to your own life.”
“It won’t fit in my apartment.” She relaxes again, sleep trying to reclaim her.
She’ll stay here all night, if I let her.
I tuck one arm under her knees and slide the other behind her back, carefully lifting her into my arms.
“What are you doing?” She nuzzles into my neck, nose pressing against my collarbone.
“Putting you to bed.”
“I was fine on the couch.” Her hand settles on my chest.
“A couch is not a bed.” She feels good in my arms. Like she belongs there. Like she should be mine.
I carry her through the library, using the secret entrance to her bedroom, and tuck her in, setting her glasses on the nightstand.
She blinks up at me in the hazy darkness. “Isn’t it so much nicer when you’re not hating yourself?”
“Who said I stopped hating myself?”
Mildred presses her hand to my cheek. “You came to find me.”
I let my eyes slide closed, absorbing the warmth of her touch. How would it feel to curl my body around hers and hold her all night? I could keep her safe from the nightmares. I could feel something other than longing.
“Now’s when you kiss me on the forehead and say good night, Connor.”
“Did you read that in a book?”
“Maybe.” She tips her chin up.
I bend and press my lips to her forehead, her temple, and her cheek. The itch under my skin ceases. The yearning quells, just for a moment. “’Night, Mildred.”