Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
CONNOR
We climb back into Donnie’s car and I slap a hand across my face. “Uggghhh.” That was bad. Not the worst, but bad. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
I gesture vaguely toward the restaurant.
“It was… okay.” The words come out slowly like Donnie doesn’t really want to say them.
I don’t blame him. It was okay in the sense that no one raised their voice and no one got killed. But like, that’s a really low bar.
I wish I’d taken him up on the offer to turn around and drive right back to New York. “Now do you understand why I don’t like visiting?”
“Yes. Yes, I believe I understand perfectly now.” He’s still got his accent amped up and as much as I want to collapse into a heap of flesh and bones, there’s one particular bone that perks up.
I reach into Donnie’s lap and slide my palm up his thigh.
“Connor.”
I love how he says it. Con-ah. With a touch of sternness that sends a shiver down my spine. His dick is a little chubby when I get my hand on it and it only takes a few gentle squeezes to get it nice and plump.
“Connor.”
“Hmm?”
“I’m driving.” And his knuckles are almost white as he grips the steering wheel.
Okay, no hand jobs—or blowjobs—while Donnie’s driving the car. Although, when we get into a room with a bed… all bets are off. A couple orgasms are exactly what we need to let off some steam.
Mom’s waiting for us when we trudge up to the front door with our bags.
She has her hands clasped in front of her and she looks pointedly at me, then Donnie, before speaking.
“I’ve made up the guest bedroom downstairs.
” She doesn’t sound pleased—at all. “Connor, I’d like to speak to you once you’ve settled in. ”
My stomach sinks to the floor. I do not want to speak to my mother, not once I’ve settled in, not at any point tonight. I grab Donnie’s hand and all but drag him to the staircase that leads down to the basement.
The guest room used to be our old playroom and when Brad and I moved out, Mom turned it into her craft room. There’s a double bed in there, bins upon bins of yarn and fabric and shit, and Mom’s sewing machine in the corner.
I flop onto the bed and Donnie sits down beside me. “Uggghhh.” I fling an arm over my eyes.
“Everything’s going to be fine. It’s just for a couple of nights.” Donnie sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself.
“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.” I honestly feel awful. Donnie shouldn’t have to put up with all this drama.
He lies down next to me, head propped up on one hand. “I’m glad I came.”
I cock an eyebrow at him, incredulous. “Really?”
“I think…” He trails his fingers up and down my stomach.
I suck it in when he gets a little too close to my ticklish zones. He ventures close, the tease, but never crosses the line.
“I might have thrown them off a bit.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not what they expected.”
Maybe. Donnie’s certainly not like any of the other boys I’ve brought home. That’s the whole point though, Donnie’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He’s special. That’s why I love him.
“I’m a lot older than you. I own a whole house.” Donnie lifts an eyebrow. “They don’t know about Roger, do they?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t told them anything about that.”
“Can you imagine what their reaction would be?”
I groan. I don’t want to imagine it. “Let’s not ever tell them.”
Donnie chuckles and leans down to plant a kiss on the corner of my mouth. “They’ll find out at some point.”
“Yeah, but not now.” I hook my ankle around his leg and pull him closer.
“Mmm, not now.” His erection is thick against my thigh and I roll us so I’ve got him pinned underneath me. Donnie whimpers into my mouth.
“Connor?”
I jerk up. “Fuck.”
Donnie muffles a giggle.
“Not funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny,” Donnie whispers. “Your mother is cockblocking us.”
“No fucking shit.”
“Connor!”
“Yeah, I’m coming!” I push myself off Donnie and stare at my crotch. All it really takes is thinking about the conversation I’m about to have with Mom to make my dick shrink back into my body.
“Good luck,” Donnie says.
“Thanks, I’ll need it.”
She’s waiting for me at the kitchen table when I come up from the basement. Her fingers are wrapped around her nightly mug of tea.
“There’s still some hot water if you’d like some.” She nods to the kettle on the stove.
I hesitate. Will pouring myself a cup prolong this conversation? Or will it help distract me from it? I could use something to occupy my hands… I go pour myself a mug and sit down opposite her, watching the steam rise from my cup.
“So…” She has questions. She wants answers.
I don’t know what or how much I want to tell her. “So…”
“What happened with Miles?”
Guess we’re jumping right into it. “We broke up.”
“I figured that much. Why? I thought things were going well.”
I take a sip of tea and burn my tongue, then spend a good thirty seconds making a big deal of it. Mom doesn’t look impressed but she doesn’t rush me.
“Do we have to talk about it?” I know I sound like a petulant child. I feel like a petulant child.
Mom drops her gaze to her mug and she seems to deflate a little. “You know, there was a time when we talked about everything.”
The words hit me deep in my gut. She’s right. It was ages ago, when I was still a kid. I don’t remember when that changed. Or how.
She lifts her gaze to me and I feel like I’m being assessed somehow, appraised to see if I measure up. Her lips twitch into something I think is supposed to be a smile.
“No, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She stands and drifts to the sink.
This is not how I imagined this conversation would go. Where are the snarky comments and not-so-subtle jabs? Where are the disappointed looks and exaggerated eye rolls? It’s like she’s giving up and… no, that’s not how this is supposed to work.
“He cheated on me,” I blurt out. Oh, god. Why did I say that? I was this close to getting out of this thing Scott-free.
Mom frowns at me. “Miles did?”
“Yeah, with Wyatt.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Why?”
“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe because they’re assholes.”
Her lips press into a thin line. “There’s no need to be calling names, Connor.”
“If there’s ever a time to be calling names, don’t you think this is one of them?”
I can see the vein in her temple ticking and it drives away that slimy dismissive feeling I had. This is more like it. This is what we do. It twists my stomach into knots, but it’s better than Mom turning her back on me.
“So out of the blue, Miles and Wyatt just start cheating on you.” Her arms are crossed and she’s leaning against the counter. She looks like she doesn’t believe me.
“Yeah, Mom. I walked in on them.”
“You walked in on them?” Her eyebrows are in her hairline now.
“Well, not like that.” I throw my hands into the air. “I came home and Wyatt was scrambling to put on his clothes and Miles was coming out of the shower naked.”
“There could be other explanations for that.”
I shoot to my feet. Nope, I was wrong. I’d rather she turn her back.
This argument is churning my insides so much I might hurl the dinner we ate all over the kitchen floor.
“They admitted it to me, okay? They’re in love with each other.
I didn’t misunderstand or jump to conclusions.
” Because that’s exactly what she was going to say next, I just know it.
“How long ago was this?”
Why the fuck does it matter? “I don’t know, a few months ago.”
“And when did you move in with Donnie?”
I see where this is going. I drop back into the chair and pull my feet up onto the seat. It’s too fast. It’s too soon. You shouldn’t jump into another relationship right away. Donnie and I have been through all that. We’ve sorted it out. It’s nobody’s business but our own. “Not long after.”
“Is that wise?” she asks, knowing full well that it’s not a question. It’s a judgment coached in a question so she can pretend she’s not being judgmental.
“Yeah, it is,” I say, because I know it’s not the response she wants. “Donnie and I are good together. Like, really good. But I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”
Mom flinches like I’ve slapped her across the face. Guilt floods into me, crashing against the anger and resentment until I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to be feeling.
“What about the screenplay you’re working on with Wyatt?”
I set my jaw. “We’re not working together anymore.”
Her frown deepens. “You’re not going to try to reconcile?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Wyatt’s your best friend.”
“He was my best friend.”
That’s not sitting well with her and she turns on the faucet to wash her mug out. “So that’s it? One incident and you’re going to throw away the entire friendship.”
I curl my fingers into fists. My nails dig into my palms and that little spark of pain is the only thing that keeps me from saying something I might regret.
I knew she was going to be this way. So unreasonable and so unfair.
Like this whole situation is my fault. Isn’t she supposed to be on my side? She’s my mother for fuck’s sake.
She sets the clean mug on the drying rack and pats her hands on the towel hanging from the oven. When she steps back, her eyes are closed like she’s trying to talk herself down from something. Disappointment wafts off her, so thick I almost choke on it.
“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” she says. Her voice is quiet but her tone is edged with annoyance, like I’m forcing her to apologize or something.
It’s the last straw. I can’t be in the same room with her anymore. I rush out of the kitchen, not stopping when she calls my name.
I fly down the stairs, into the bedroom and slam the door behind me. I cringe at how loud it is. If Donnie wasn’t here, Mom would probably come down here and tell me how disappointed she is about that too.
Donnie’s already changed into his PJs, sitting in bed with his glasses on. His eReader is in his lap, forgotten, as he stares at me. Normally, I love the way Donnie looks when he’s wearing his glasses. There’s something so nerdy and intellectual about it that makes me hot.
But all I care about now is diving into the comfort I know I can find in him.
From the concerned expression on his face, he probably heard every word Mom and I yelled at each other.
He holds out his arms and I run into them.
He’s warm and solid and real. My rock when things go to shit.
My anchor when things are slipping out of my control.
“Shh,” he murmurs into my hair, hands running up and down my back. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”
It’s so much like that first night at Mars that I can’t stop the tears from leaking out of my eyes. I bury my face into his chest. I don’t want to cry. I have no reason to. Fighting with Mom is not a new thing—I was expecting it all along. It’s just…
God, I don’t even know. I hate the fighting but I hated that moment when it felt like she’d given up on me even more. Why are those the only two options? Why can’t she be supportive like Donnie is?
I’m wrung out. Hollow. My head is throbbing.
Donnie shifts, trying to roll me onto my side. I lock my arms and legs around him. “I don’t need to fucking hydrate,” I mutter.
He chuckles and presses a kiss to my temple. “Okay, no hydrating. Let’s just get you out of your clothes.”
I let him move me like I’m a rag doll, stripping off my clothes and pulling on my PJs. He tucks us in, my head on his shoulder, my arm around his waist, my leg thrown over his thighs. This is where I’m meant to be.
I snuggle into him, breathing his woodsy, citrusy scent. I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the slow rise and fall of his breathing. I sigh. “I love you.”