Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
DONNIE
Miles is cowering in front of me, but there’s this arrogant obstinance in his stare. In other circumstances, I would be impressed. If we were in my spin room, I might even be proud. Right now, I’m furious.
This bitch thinks he can sleep around on Connor and then accuse him of being a slut? Not if I have anything to say about it. “That’s rich, coming from you. Exactly how many times have you dropped your pants and bent over for Wyatt’s cock?”
Miles’s face turns so red it looks like steam is going to come out of his ears and the top of his head is going to pop off. “That’s not the same thing.”
I sneer at him and give him a disgusted once-over. “You’ve got that right.”
Miles looks primed for a fight, and as satisfying as it would be to sink my fist into his face, I take several steps away from him, pushing Connor back as I go.
This is quickly spiraling out of control and I don’t quite recognize myself in the middle of it all.
I’m not a violent person. I’ve never thrown a punch in my entire life.
I’m not about to throw away that track record on Miles of all people.
“Maybe you should step outside until we finish up,” I say to Miles. It isn’t a suggestion.
Miles swallows visibly and exits to the living room.
I turn to Connor and he’s immediately in my arms, face buried under the collar of my coat, cheek against my neck.
His body chemistry is completely out of whack and he’s shaking so hard, he’s either going to bounce off the walls or cave in on himself.
I rub my hands up and down his back and whisper all the soothing words.
“Shh, it’s okay, darling. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be fine.” It takes way too long for him to come back to himself. He’s not going to be able to stay on his feet for much longer. I need to get him out of here. Now. “Do you think you can get the rest of your things?”
Connor pulls away but he keeps his hands on my chest like he needs them there to steady himself. I grip his arms, ready to catch him if his knees go out from under him.
He nods. “I think so.”
“Let’s move quickly, okay? Just the most important things, the sentimental things you can’t live without. Everything else is replaceable.”
He meets my eyes and I pour as much of my strength and resilience and determination into him as I can. I need him to hold it together for a little bit longer, then he can break into as many pieces as he wants.
We tie up the last of the trash bags in the bedroom and drag them out to the living room. Miles, the bastard, is still there, leaning against the far wall, staring daggers at us. We ignore him.
I shake out a new bag and Connor starts handing me books from the bookcase. Some of them look like textbooks from school. There are a couple coffee table books about different eras of the film industry. He’s got an impressive stack of Blu-Rays, but apparently, no machine to watch them with.
He grabs the antique-looking quilt off the back of the couch and the hoodie hanging over the arm.
“Wait, that’s Wyatt’s.” Miles pushes himself off the wall, eyes glued to the hoodie.
Connor holds it up. It’s got a seal across the front with the name of Connor’s film school underneath. “This? No, it’s mine. Wyatt’s hoodie has a zipper, mine doesn’t.” His voice drips with venom and it fills me with raw satisfaction.
I take the hoodie from him and stuff it into a bag.
“He’s waiting to hear from you, you know,” Miles says, a little softer now, a little less confrontational.
Connor flinches and I take his arm to tug him away from Miles. Whatever Miles is talking about, it can wait. “Anything else in here?”
He shakes his head and goes into the bathroom. I stand in the doorway and glare at Miles. He glares back.
There are silly selfies stuck to the front of the fridge and a corny sombrero on the wall.
The TV looks moderately expensive and so does the sound system attached to it.
Connor probably set that up, knowing what I do now about his love for films. Those’ll be a bitch to lug out of here if Connor wants to take them though.
I’m not sure it’s worth it, especially since we’ve already got the theater room at home.
Mine and Connor’s home. Together. It feels right thinking about it like that. Like he’s lived there for longer than two nights, like it’s always been ours.
My initial offer to him was for as long as he needed to get back on his feet, but there’s no reason why he can’t stay indefinitely.
I’ve said it before, I’m not using that space for anything else and frankly, it’s kind of nice having another person in the house.
It’s nice having someone to come home to, someone to spend the evenings with, someone to cook for and eat meals with.
I like having Connor around. Maybe he likes it too.
I push the thought aside, along with the fizzy excitement of something new on the horizon.
There’s still the issue of Connor grieving his relationship with Miles and the question of what he’s going to do about working with Wyatt in the future.
I’m still carrying around a shite ton of baggage myself.
Whatever could happen and whatever should happen are conversations for another day.
Connor pours the last of the bathroom stuff into a bag and then squeezes past me to go to the kitchen. He pulls down a few novelty mugs from a cabinet and I find a bag with clothes to wrap them up.
“Anything else?” I ask, tying the bag shut.
He scans the space. What does he see when he looks at it now? A past that he’s eager to leave behind? Or something precious that he’s lost? Maybe a little bit of both.
He shakes his head, eyes on Miles. “No, there’s nothing else worth taking.”
It’s going to take us several trips to move all the bags. I send Connor downstairs to handle the second leg, while I bring the bags from the apartment out to him. We end up filling an entire UberXL, leaving just enough space to wedge ourselves into the backseat.
I sit flush against the door on one side and Connor is practically on my lap on the other. As the car pulls away from the curb, I lift my arm over Connor’s head and he curls himself into me.
“It’s over. It’s done,” I whisper to him while holding his head to my shoulder.
He’s sniffling, he’s shaking, he’s crashing harder than he did that first night I brought him home.
Our driver peers at us through the rearview mirror. “He okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.” My voice isn’t nearly as steady as I thought it was going to be. I’m crashing too.
The driver shoots me a sympathetic look and follows his phone’s directions to turn left.
When we get back to the house, I almost ask the driver to go around the block a few more times.
Connor’s nowhere near ready for multiple trips back and forth to unload the car.
I’d be surprised if he can stand up straight.
The driver puts the car into park. “You need a hand?”
Relief floods through me. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem.”
I half lead, half carry Connor up the stoop and deposit him on a couch in the living room. Then I run back out to where the driver is stacking our bags on the sidewalk.
“Thank you so much.”
“Yeah, not a problem. He looks like he’s having a rough go.”
“It’s definitely not his day.”
We manage to get everything inside, dumped into piles that I’m going to have to climb over. But it’s done.
“Have a good one.” The driver waves to me and climbs back into the car.
I pull out my phone and make sure he gets a fucking massive tip.
Connor’s lying on the couch, curled up on his side, and staring blankly into the middle of the room. I crouch down in front of him, putting my hand on his arm.
“Hey, how about we get you upstairs to bed.” I watch his pupils dilate as he focuses on my face.
“Will you stay with me?”
God, yes, I’ll stay with him. Not even for him. I need it for me. “Come on.”
We climb the stairs like we’re moving through molasses.
Every step is a struggle, every step brings us closer to victory, and we only have each other to cling to along the way.
We fall into Connor’s bed like we’re drowning men washed up on shore.
I have barely enough energy to get us under the covers.
I drag Connor to me and he molds himself to my side, head on my shoulder, one leg tossed over my thighs. We sink into the mattress together. Home. Finally.
He’s out almost immediately, but I stare at the ceiling for a while.
I don’t recognize the man I became during that confrontation with Miles.
He felt eerily like the man who had confronted Beau.
Connor brings out something in me that I’ve never experienced before and frankly, it’s kind of scary.
I’m in my forties. I shouldn’t be uncovering latent parts of my personality at this age, should I?
I mean, I’ve always been a caretaker, I’ve always been pretty protective of people who are important to me. But the way I stood up to Beau and the way I was actively trying to intimidate Miles, this is a whole other level entirely. This is like… maybe a little unhealthy.
The scariest part is, I would do it again. Both times.
My thumb drifts to my ring finger and I twirl the band around and around. If Connor had stumbled into Mars when Roger was still alive, Roger would’ve been just as furious at Miles as I was. He would’ve been just as frustrated with Beau too. I’m sure of it.
He would’ve let Connor stay in the guest room for as long as he needed to. But would he have invited Connor to move in with us? Probably not.
Except Roger’s not here anymore. That old familiar surge of pain in my chest makes me gasp.
He’s not here and he’s not coming back. I haven’t been able to let go of him in all this time.
Maybe this is the universe’s way of forcing me to move on.
Maybe Roger’s out there somewhere, pushing Connor into my path, saying enough is enough.
I close my eyes against the tears that well up and spill over. I hold Connor tighter to me and he sighs in his sleep. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to move on. I’m okay where I am.
But Connor’s body feels breathtakingly good against mine. His smile fills me with warmth and his laugh makes me all giddy. I’ve been happier in the last two days than I’ve been in ages, even with the emotional rollercoaster we’re riding.
I want him. And that’s terrifying.