Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
DONNIE
It takes me a long time to fall asleep.
I love you.
Connor’s softly murmured words echo through my head, through my heart. He was barely conscious when he said them, already overwrought from the argument with his mother. He might not have meant it. He most likely didn’t even realize he’d said it.
I manage to sleep for a few hours only to wake again at first light.
The first thought that rocks through me is Connor’s I love you and it makes my heart ricochet around in my chest. Fear creeps up my spine and trepidation roils in my stomach.
Does he really mean it? What if he does? What if he doesn’t?
I shouldn’t read too much into it. I shouldn’t draw any conclusions until we’ve had a chance to talk about it like adults. The problem is, I don’t know which answer I want to hear.
I ease myself out from under Connor’s heavy body and sneak out to the bathroom across the hall. Splashing some icy water on my face doesn’t help with the nervousness gripping me. I need to move, I need to ride, I need to do something that will work off the excess adrenaline in my system.
Connor’s still out cold when I quietly let myself back into our room to change into my running gear. I’m not a runner—it’s too hard on my knees—but it’s better than nothing when I don’t have any other options.
I make sure I have my phone and earbuds with me and leave the house through the sliding glass door in the kitchen. The gate between the backyard and the front yard is unlocked and I make sure it’s latched before I take off.
I have a running-specific music playlist with exactly the right beats per minute to help regulate my pace.
This neighborhood is peak suburb, where all the houses are two-storied and detached with long driveways and perfectly manicured lawns.
The streets bend and curve, some end in cul-de-sacs, and random little parks pop up when I least expect them to.
I run, losing myself in the steady left-right, left-right, letting the music drown out all the what-ifs packed into my brain. My smart watch buzzes at the one-mile marker. Then at the two. I’m just shy of three miles when I roll to a stop in front of the Hill house again to cool down and stretch.
My head is clearer now. My heart rate is elevated but I can tell it’ll settle into something nice and low once I’ve cooled down completely. I still don’t know what I’m going to do about Connor’s unconscious revelation though.
Kathleen is in the kitchen when I let myself back in. She’s standing by the sink, cradling a mug of what I really hope is coffee, her expression inscrutable.
“Good morning,” I greet her, bracing myself for her reaction.
“Good morning,” she responds softly, like she’s still in the process of waking up. She nods toward the coffee machine on the counter. “There’s coffee if you’d like. Help yourself.”
I would like, so I do help myself. “Thank you for having me here this week,” I say, because it’s the polite thing to do and because Kathleen doesn’t seem inclined to fill the silence.
She chuckles ruefully. “You’re welcome. Although, I can’t imagine it’s been very pleasant for you.”
Whatever does she mean? I doubt she’ll appreciate my snark though, so I keep it to myself.
“We weren’t always like this, you know—the bickering.
” She’s staring out of the window now, almost as if she’s talking to herself.
“It only started after Connor moved away for school. It was like we forgot how to talk to each other all of a sudden. It gets worse every time he comes home and now he barely comes home at all.”
Sadness is radiating off her, thick and heavy, and it’s getting me all choked up.
It’s obvious to me that she loves her son very much.
She just expresses it in kind of an odd way.
It’s a shame really, to see this chasm between Connor and his mother that they both hate.
It’s like they’re running toward each other so hard that they can’t—or don’t know how to—stop before they crash.
“He doesn’t like the arguing either,” I say, just in case Kathleen believes otherwise.
She shoots me a skeptical look.
“It’s true. It’s why he doesn’t visit very often, to avoid the arguing.”
Kathleen’s expression falls. “I know. I tell myself every time that it’s going to be different this time. We’re not going to fight. We’re going to get along. And then…” She shakes her head. “Something always happens. I’ll say something wrong. Or he’ll say something that sets me off.”
“What was it last night?” It’s none of my business and she has every right to tell me so, but I want to know.
I want to fix this for Connor. I want to help him mend his relationship with his mother, if I can.
He wants to and she wants to. Maybe all they need is a little perspective, someone from the outside who can point out things they can’t see for themselves.
“I don’t know.” Kathleen lets out a dry laugh that’s more painful than happy. “I asked about Miles and he told me about the affair. Then I asked about Wyatt and whether they were going to reconcile. And then…” She throws her hand up in a helpless gesture.
I think I see where the problem is. “He beat himself up for a long time about whether he should keep working with Wyatt.”
Her scowl doesn’t budge but she does take a moment to process the new information. “He can be so impulsive sometimes.”
That’s news to me. I haven’t seen Connor make any decisions without going back and forth at least a dozen times.
“He does things that don’t make sense to me.
I don’t know how to help him and when I try to help, I always seem to get it wrong.
And I’m sorry, you don’t need to have your boyfriend’s mother offloading on you like this.
” She sets her mug down and starts moving about the kitchen, pulling things from cabinets and drawers.
“I don’t mind,” I say over the clanging of bowls and plates and utensils.
Kathleen stops, one hand on the edge of the counter, the other on her hip, as she breathes through whatever is going on in her head.
“You know,” I say carefully. I’m venturing into dangerous territory here and the last thing I want is to make things worse between Connor and Kathleen. “I’m not sure he needs you to help in the way you’re trying to help.”
She cuts a glare at me and yeah, I need to tread lightly.
“I think he just needs you to be there for him. And if he wants help, he’ll ask for it.”
She doesn’t believe me. I scramble.
“It’s like when I was sick. He called you to ask what he should do, right?”
Kathleen straightens and crosses her arms. Her glare is replaced by something more contemplative that says, “go on.”
“You were the first person he went to. Because he knew you’d be there for him and that you’d know what to do.”
She tilts her chin up. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”
“It’s not that he doesn’t want your help. He just doesn’t need it as much as you might think he does. You’ve raised a really smart and capable son, Kathleen. I think he’s learned more from you than you realize.”
Her expression softens and she sniffles. She turns back to the carton of eggs she pulled out of the fridge and starts cracking them into a shallow bowl. Have I been dismissed? Does she want me to stick around? Is she making French toast for breakfast?
“You know,” she says, not bothering to turn away from her cooking. “I’m glad Connor has someone like you in his life. I think you’ll be good for him.”
Relief washes through me and I let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding.
“His past boyfriends have been… meh.” She shrugs, unimpressed. She pauses, whisk in hand, and studies me. “But you’re different.”
I want to be different. I want to give Connor things he’s never had before, things he can’t get anywhere else. I want to be as good for him as he’s been for me—and that’s a tall order.
Affection wells up inside of me, filling up every abandoned pit and every forgotten corner.
It grows and grows until it feels like I’m overflowing with it, like I’m going to drown in it.
No, it’s not merely affection, it’s so much more than that.
It’s deeper, stronger, more potent. If it’s not quite love yet, then it’s well on its way there. It’s only a matter of time.
“I’ll do my best to take care of him,” I say to Kathleen, the emotion making my voice crack.
She smiles, a little sad and resigned, but more than anything else, hopeful. “Thank you.”