Chapter 27
DRED
Brunch was an excellent idea, even if it meant I didn’t get to ogle a mostly naked Connor for more than a handful of seconds.
I feel much more human after coffee, water, carbs, and time with just friends.
By the time Connor and I finish eating, the car is already waiting, and all our things have been packed up and loaded.
I hug everyone and climb into the passenger seat.
Connor and I leave the city and head north, leaving the highway after about half an hour, for less-traveled roads.
We pass a town I lived in briefly. The location was cute, but the family wasn’t a good fit.
The farther we get from civilization, the more anxious I become until I finally crack. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Connor says airily.
I run my hands up and down my thighs. I would love a hair tie. But mine is packed in my bag in the trunk, so the only way to assuage my anxiety is to be truthful. “So…I, uh, I don’t really like surprises.”
“I promise you’ll love it,” he assures me.
Irrational panic takes hold. Normally I’d find a quiet place to disappear and give myself the time I need to feel all the feelings, but I have nowhere to go. “I’m sure I will, but my anxiety is at about a four thousand out of ten right now.”
“You don’t trust me to keep you safe?” Connor frowns, glancing at me. “You realize it’s always in my best interest to keep you happy.”
There’s so much to that statement to unpack, but I’m not capable of digging into it in my current state.
“It’s not a you thing, Connor.” I swallow past the massive rock clogging my throat.
If I’m honest, maybe he’ll understand. But he’ll also have another broken piece of me to play with.
Exposing my weaknesses to him is tricky.
I’ve spent my entire life hiding the parts that bleed.
We’re married, though. We’re living together for an undetermined amount of time. Him using my vulnerabilities against me isn’t in his best interests. He can’t avoid my triggers if he doesn’t know what they are.
“Every time there was a surprise growing up, it usually resulted in something bad.”
“Bad how?”
I lower the window a little, needing fresh air.
But then we drive past an orchard, and memories I’ve long kept buried explode in my head.
Scents can do that—open a box I’ve forgotten existed and submerge me.
My words die on a plaintive sound. All the stress of the past few weeks has weakened my defenses, and this onslaught shatters them like glass.
I close my eyes and fight the wave of memories, but they’re already on me.
“Mildred?” Connor’s fingers brush mine.
Did I really think I could go an entire year without him learning these things about me? Something was bound to happen eventually. Some accidental trigger to set me off. Who knew the smell of apple blossoms would light the match and set my brain on fire? I fight to keep my voice steady.
“I was left a lot. In places I shouldn’t have been.” My thoughts are a flood, saturating my mind, sliding down my throat, choking me, making it impossible to continue.
The pretty flowers. The petals floating to the ground. The promise that my foster brother wouldn’t be long. Stay in the car. We’ll get ice cream later.
But he lied.
Waiting and waiting and waiting.
Stuffy. Too hot. Sunburn. Need the bathroom. Can’t hold it.
Stay in the car.
Wet pants. Wet pants. Wet pants.
The sun heading toward the horizon.
The car door opening. Finally.
Apple blossoms and laughter turning to screams.
Yanked out of the car so hard my shoulder pops out of the socket. A stinging slap across the face.
Bad girl. Bad girl. Bad girl.
Back to the group home.
Another foster family.
Having and losing, having and losing.
Being three in my first home.
Before the foster families.
I cry and cry and cry until my voice gives out.
And then silence.
So much silence.
Blue-tinged mannequins.
Open eyes. Watching TV forever.
Three sunrises and sunsets.
Mommy and Daddy smell bad.
Silence stretches on.
Empty cupboards. Empty stomach.
Knocking on the door.
Knocking. Knocking. Knocking.
I’m not supposed to open the door.
A loud crack. Frantic voices. Uniforms.
A woman with haunted, sad eyes holds me and tells me I will be okay.
But I’m not.
And I never will be.
“Hey, hey…” Warm hands on my face pull me out of the past. “Mildred, baby, look at me, where are you?”
Connor’s panicked eyes finally register as I fight my way out of the deluge and suck in a lungful of air—like I’ve been stuck underwater, like the memories have been pinning me to the floor of my mind. “I’m sorry.” I gasp and shudder.
“You don’t need to be sorry.” He takes my shaking hands in his. “Is this okay? Can I touch you? Is it okay for me to touch you?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Yes, it’s okay.” We’re parked haphazardly on the side of the road. I’m shaking. Shivering uncontrollably. Like I’m cold, but I’m not.
“Okay. You’re okay. We’re okay.” He presses my hand against his cheek. “No surprises, darling.”
“I’m sorry I don’t like them,” I whisper, hating that the past has come here with me.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” He kisses the back of my hand, apology on his face and in his eyes, his voice cracking.
“We’re driving to Blue Mountain. We have a private cabin booked on a lake.
It’s pretty up there this time of year, and a short drive.
I wanted to take you somewhere peaceful, because I know this whole thing has been a lot. ”
“I like the lake.” I exhale another steadying breath.
“Me too. It’s a nice escape.” He kisses my knuckles, lips lingering on my skin.
“I’m okay now.” I lock it all away. Put the pain in a box and keep it there. “It just hits sometimes…little things trigger memories. Like scents. Most of the time I can find somewhere quiet to go and just…” Lose it in private. “Cope.”
He turns my hand over and kisses the inside of my wrist. It’s healed now, the skin pinker than it should be, but no more scabs. “I’m here however you need me to be, okay? If you want to talk, or even if you don’t, I’m here.”
I believe he means it. I just don’t know how he means it. He has to be here for me. It’s his role, and I’m learning that Connor takes those seriously.
He believes he’s the team scapegoat, and so he stays in that space, maybe because it’s comfortable, maybe because it’s the expectation and he doesn’t know how to break it.
For Meems, he’s the boy who refused to bend to his parents’ whims. To them he’s the problem child who continues to be a problem because they don’t understand him.
So what does he think he is to me? The man I have to marry to keep the things I love?
The man I chose to say yes to because I love his Meems as much as he does?
Or is it deeper than that now? Have all the lines blurred for both of us? It feels like they have, but I don’t have a lot of relationship experience—by design. I’m guarded. I have baggage and some pretty intense attachment issues.
But I like him.
I’m attracted to him.
And he’s attracted to me.
Yet this contract binds us with thorns that make it difficult to maneuver. It’s the piece that forces us to be one thing when maybe we want to be something else.
“I’m okay,” I tell him again. “And we can talk about it later, when I’ve had some separation from it, if that’s okay with you.” It’s too deep a look down my well right now.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”
I don’t know how to read him now, and I’m too stuck in my own feelings to be able to mine through his.
“We can keep driving.” It’s better than sitting here, feeling awkward for having a meltdown on what’s supposed to be the start of our doesn’t-feel-as-fake-as-it-should honeymoon.
“Okay.” He leans over and kisses my temple.
I don’t know if I want to melt into the seat from his casual affection, cry, or jump out of the car and run all the way back to Toronto. All three seem reasonable.
“Talk to me about the Hockey Academy,” I say as we pull back onto the road.
Connor side-eyes me, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I’m not talking about the fucking sandwich.”
“I think you mean you’re not talking about fucking the sandwich.” This is better. I can handle verbal sparring, just not all the feelings that come from talking about my own past.
He huffs.
“Seriously, though. I’m not asking about the sandwich. And fucking a piece of bread has nothing on the shit Tristan does to Rix,” I mutter the last part.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing. What does Tristan do to Rix?”
“Like I’m going to give you dirt you could use to piss off Flip.” Although they have been surprisingly cordial with each other lately. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did say something. And pissing Flip off isn’t in my best interest these days.”
“Because it would piss me off also?”
“Because it would upset you, and I don’t enjoy making you unhappy.”
He doesn’t elaborate on his reason for this, so I’m left to surmise on my own.
“I want to hear about your experience at the Hockey Academy,” I press.
“Only if you tell me what Tristan does to Rix.”
“I can’t. It breaks girl code.”
“I can’t tell you about the Hockey Academy because it breaks bro code,” he fires back.
I roll my eyes. “I’m not asking about your feud with Flip. I’m asking about the experience. You must have enjoyed it since you’re still tight with Kodiak and Quinn, and it was more than a decade ago.”
“Kodiak and Quinn are good guys,” Connor agrees.
“So are Tristan and Dallas, but they mostly sided with Flip because he’s Flip.
” He sighs. “He’s always loved. Even when he does shitty things.
And I get it, because he’s a good guy. He came from a tough beginning.
He fought to be here harder than most. And being the son of a billionaire put me at a disadvantage at the Hockey Academy. ”
“Because the program is highly subsidized,” I say.