Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
DONNIE
One minute, he’s standing there like he can’t figure out how he got here. The next, he’s swan diving toward the floor. If I was standing even one foot farther away, I would never have made it to him in time.
“Oh, shit!” Sawyer shouts from behind the front desk. “Is he okay?”
I’m on my knees with this guy and his puffy winter coat in my lap. He’s simultaneously hyperventilating and sobbing. He’s having some sort of attack. My guess is that he’s not okay. Not by a long shot.
“What did you say his name was?”
“Connor. His name’s Connor.” Sawyer somehow knows the name of every single member of the gym, which is mind-boggling to me, but that’s what makes him so great at his job.
I’m not so great with names, I’m better with faces.
And I’ve seen Connor in my spin class before.
Just earlier tonight, in fact. He was in his usual spot in the back corner and he’d seemed fine.
I hadn’t noticed any signs of distress or overexertion.
He’d looked good at the end of class when I did my personal check-ins with each person.
“Hey, Connor, buddy. You want to stand up for me? So we can get out of the way?” It’s getting late so the gym isn’t all that busy, but we’re right in front of the door and there are already a few people hovering around us, rubbernecking the action.
Connor is about my height, but he’s got broad shoulders and probably a good fifty pounds on me. I wave Sawyer over to help me get him to his feet. The staff break room is behind the front desk, so we maneuver him back there and out of sight of the curious onlookers.
He clings to me the entire time like he can’t stand up on his own, and when I try to deposit him on the couch, he won’t let me go.
I have no choice but to sit with him, holding him as great big sobs wrack his body.
His hands are fisted in my shirt and his face is plastered to my shoulder. Hot, wet tears soak through to my skin.
His crying is making my heart hurt. They’re soul-shattering, coming from deep inside, ripping through him like they’re trying to turn him inside out.
I know what those kinds of cries feel like.
I know how your mind goes blank and the only thing that’s real is the excruciating pain.
How you want to scream and tear things apart because that’s the only way to keep the pain from destroying you.
I’ve spent the past three years cycling in and out of crying sessions like this. Watching someone else go through it is almost as hard as going through it myself. “Shh, it’s okay. Let it out. I’ve got you.”
My thumb slides across my palm to spin my wedding ring around my finger.
It’s hard to believe it’s been three years already.
Well, closer to four now. During those first few months after Roger died, I spent every day like this.
I lay in bed for days on end, drenching my pillow in tears.
Even when I managed to come back to work, I had to run into the staff showers whenever the grief got too much and stick my face under the water in case I suddenly burst into tears.
I still feel it sometimes, the need to exhaust myself with sobbing whenever the pain gets overwhelming.
I take a deep breath, then another. I’m shaking almost as hard as Connor is. It’s impossible not to feel the misery rolling off him, to not internalize it a little bit.
“Is he okay?” Sawyer whispers as he crouches down in front of us with a box of tissues.
I almost want to send him for paper towels instead. Those tissues aren’t going to cut it. I nod toward the refrigerator. “Grab some Gatorade.”
Connor’s going to be very dehydrated after all this crying and he’s already been sweating all evening from my class. He’s going to need all the electrolytes I can pour into him.
“Got it.”
I shift Connor in my arms and settle a little deeper into the couch.
It’s awkward since Connor is bigger than me and he’s still wearing his puffy winter coat.
Even then, he has somehow managed to curl himself into a small ball against my chest. His great big, heaving sobs have dried up, leaving him trembling and weak.
I tighten my arms around him, and he relaxes into me.
Sawyer comes back with the Gatorade and a trash bin. “You going to be okay with him for a bit? I gotta take care of a couple things.”
I nod to Sawyer and he disappears out the door.
There’re a few minutes of silence, then Connor hiccups.
I bite my lip to smother a smile. There’s nothing funny about crying so hard it triggers involuntary muscle spasms in his diaphragm.
Except Connor’s a big guy and the sound that comes out of his throat is tiny, almost cute.
It eases some of the discomfort in my heart from watching him cry.
He’s coming out of it. He’s going to be okay.
He hiccups again.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
“It’s not a problem.” I hold out a few tissues for him and he sits up to blow his nose. It’s loud and snotty and he needs several more before his sinuses are clear. He ends up with a miniature mountain of soiled tissues that he dumps into the trash.
I crack open the cap on a bottle of Gatorade and push it into his hands. “Here. Drink this. You’re going to get a headache if you don’t keep yourself hydrated.”
Connor grips the bottle with both hands and the blue-colored liquid sloshes around inside from how much he’s still shaking.
He sips at it, taking small, dainty slurps.
His eyes are red and starting to get puffy.
His eyelashes are dark and clumped together with tears.
His cheeks are still damp and his bottom lip sticks out in a little pout that makes him look more like a boy than a man.
He’s stiff beside me, sitting at an odd angle, like he doesn’t want to pull away entirely but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to lean on me again. His leg is pressed against mine, and I’m running my hand up and down his back.
He peeks over his shoulder at me and freezes like a deer when he meets my gaze. “You’re Donnie, The Spin Instructor.”
My smile is pained. I’m really not a fan of the moniker, I don’t even know where it came from.
It’s not the spin instructor part, it’s the way people say it, like “spin instructor” is actually “sex instructor” or something.
My colleagues love it though, and I’ve caught them referring to me that way with members like it’s my official job title.
“Sorry.” Connor’s eyes flick to my shoulder. “I ruined your shirt.” He sounds so goddamn miserable that the soreness in my heart comes back.
I lean forward and reach my arm around him to nudge him closer. He takes the invitation and tucks himself against me again. “It’s just a shirt,” I say. “I’ve got plenty more.”
I tap on the bottle Connor’s holding and he lifts it to his lips for another drink. I keep my breathing slow and steady, and eventually, Connor starts to match my rhythm. The tension melts away from his body and his eyes blink like they’re too heavy to keep open.
I want to card my fingers through his hair.
I want to press my lips to his temple. I want to tuck him into bed and hold him until he falls asleep.
The urge to take care of him knocks me back a bit.
I haven’t felt this impulse since Roger’s big baby antics whenever he fell ill.
It must be the intensity of Connor’s emotions that’s triggering all my protective caretaker tendencies.
He’s a wreck and I can’t just stand by and do nothing.
Sawyer comes back, pulling a chair next to the couch to sit with us. He asks me a silent question with his eyes and I try to give him a reassuring smile in return.
“Dude,” he speaks softly to Connor. “You okay?”
Connor doesn’t respond. His eyes are open, so I assume he heard.
“Do you want to tell us what happened?” I ask. “Maybe there’s something we can do to help?”
He recoils and starts shaking again.
“It’s okay. It’s all right. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” I rub my hand vigorously up and down his arm to chase away the trembles. “Whatever it is, it’ll all get sorted. I promise.”
Connor sniffles and it sounds like he’s crying again.
“Shh, I’ve got you. It’s okay.” I keep murmuring all the encouraging words I can think of.
“It… hurts…” He speaks so softly I feel the words against my neck more than I hear them.
They break my heart. I crush him to me like I can physically squeeze the pain out of him.
He leans into it, soaking up everything I’m giving him until I feel like we’re vibrating on the same wavelength.
His pain is leeching into me and I’m sending back comfort, and we go back and forth, back and forth.
I’m crying now, my tears rolling down my cheeks and dripping off my jaw into Connor’s hair. His hands are in my shirt again, gripping so hard, he might rip it. We’re both shaking and there’s nothing we can do except ride it out.
Sawyer’s sitting there, chewing on his lip while staring at us, horrified and helpless. He glances at the big ticking clock on the wall. “It’s almost time to close up.”
Shit, it is. We need to clear everyone out so the cleaning crew can go through the place. I blink back my tears.
“Connor, is there someone we can call for you? Or somewhere you can go?”
He shakes his head against my shoulder. “No, I can’t. I can’t.”
“Okay, okay.” I’m quick to reassure him. He doesn’t have anywhere to go and he can’t stay here all night. There’s only one other option I can think of. “Do you want to come home with me?”
Sawyer’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Connor turns into a statue in my arms.
“I have a guest room,” I say quickly. “You can stay there for tonight. Or a few nights. However long you need. It’s got its own bathroom and I’ve got spare towels and toothbrushes—the whole works.”
My pulse is racing like I’ve dodged a car door opening into the bike lane. I can’t believe the words that have come out of my mouth.
Connor pulls away just enough to look up at me. His face is a mess of tears and snot and splotchy skin. “Are you sure?” He sounds so small, so fragile, like he’ll fall apart again at the slightest touch.
I throw all the confidence I don’t feel into my voice. “Yeah, of course. I have friends stay with me all the time. It’s no big deal.”
It’s a big fat lie, is what it is. I haven’t had anyone in that guest room in years. I’ve barely had anyone in the house with me at all. Sawyer’s staring at me like I’ve got horns growing out of my head, but what other choice do we have?
Connor’s bottom lip pushes out again and he ducks his head. I can almost hear his thoughts whirling around in there. Should he trust Donnie, The Spin Instructor? Or should he take his chances elsewhere?
“Okay,” he finally says. “Maybe just for a few days.”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’m holding, only for my lungs to fill with panic.
Oh god, I haven’t had anyone in that guest room in literal years.
The only people besides me who have been inside the house are random tradespeople I’ve called to fix things I don’t know how to fix myself.
Is that bathroom clean? Are the sheets on the bed fresh?
I think I left dishes in the kitchen sink this morning. I’m not ready for a houseguest.
No, keep your shit together, Donnie. Now is not the time to freak out. Connor needs steady and stable, not manic fretting over an imperfect house.
“Good. Great.” My voice is a whole lot stronger than my quivering insides. “I’ve got a few things to finish up, then we can head out. Can you hang out here for a bit?”
Connor hesitates, like he’d rather follow me around the gym than be left alone. I give his arm a firm squeeze before setting him away from me.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”
He shrinks back into the couch. “Okay.”
“Good. Good. Great.” I wish I had blankets to tuck around him to keep him safe and warm, but he’ll have to make do until we get home.
Sawyer follows me out of the break room. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Donnie?”
“Do you have a better one?” The pen I dropped when I went to catch Connor is on the floor and I scoop it up to finish filling out my daily logs.
Sawyer chews on his lip. “Not really.”
“It’s only for a few days.” I try to write, and my letters look like I’m a five-year-old learning how to hold a pencil.
“What if he’s, like, a serial killer?”
I cock an eyebrow at Sawyer. “A serial killer?”
“Okay, maybe not a serial killer, but you know what I mean. What if he’s, like… unstable or something?”
He’s not. I don’t know how I know—I just do. Connor’s hurting. He needs someone. I want to be that someone. I haven’t been more sure of anything in a really long time.
“If I don’t show up tomorrow,” I say to Sawyer, only half joking. “Send Beau and Gavin to look for me.”
The two owners of Mars have been my closest friends for years. Beau’s also a big hulking dude and the three of us should be able to wrestle Connor to the ground if it comes to that. It won’t, but at least we have a contingency plan in place.