46. Cora
Cora
Connor hurries down the stairs after me, and I make it a few more steps on my own before collapsing into his arms. I want to sob, but I’m too exhausted, too emotionally wrung out.
I married Brady O’Sullivan to save my brother’s life. Then Brady planned to murder my brother himself. My husband knows that I’d do anything to protect Connor. He knows I’ve literally killed someone to keep him safe—that’s how much I love my brother.
But my husband doesn’t know what love is.
Brady promised me he’d keep me involved in all aspects of life. Then he fucking locked me away, rather than trust me to protect myself, to protect him despite how many times I’ve done so.
My husband doesn’t know what trust is either.
I loved Brady O’Sullivan with all my heart and I trusted him with my life. But he’s not capable of reciprocating either of those feelings. He never deserved my love or trust in the first place.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Connor lies. “But we have to go now, Cora. The cops will be here any minute.” He holds me out at arm’s length and gives me a single, firm shake. “You can do this.”
I nod at him, and we continue down the stairwell.
It’s the fact that Connor’s the one comforting me that gets me to move.
He’s the one who narrowly avoided being murdered just now, he’s the one who needs my protection, not the other way around.
Even so, I let him guide me with my hand on his shoulder, and he leads me down every fucking stair I just sprinted up.
Together we pick our way back over the bodies in the stairwell. Seven’s retaliation, vanquished.
Connor covers his mouth like he’s trying not to be sick, but he doesn’t falter in leading me to safety. As we slip out the back door, we hear sirens in the distance, the emergency response late as usual.
Blood covers the front of my clothes, and Connor walks close in front of me to keep me hidden.
My little brother, protecting me as we wind through the streets of my city.
Dawn seeps between the skyscrapers as the streetlights flicker out, and we make it back to our apartment before the sun fully rises.
Connor gives me privacy to change out of my bloodied clothes and take a shower. When he knocks on my bedroom door, I’m already in old pajamas and under the covers.
“Come in,” I say, my voice detached. It’s like all the parts of me have separated, floating aimlessly around the room, so jumbled up there’s no chance of me pulling back together into something whole.
“You okay?” Connor sits on the edge of my bed. His posture is horrible, and his dark brown hair is so shaggy it almost brushes his shoulders as he hunches. I want to tell him to sit up straight, to get a haircut, to take care of himself. Yet he’s the one taking care of me.
“I’m fine,” I say, not bothering to conceal my untruth.
“Coralying.” He shakes his head at me.
The irony of the nickname is that he could never tell when I was lying, unless I chose to be obvious about it. It was only if I revealed myself later that he’d know. Poker bluffs, stealing his car, bribing his teachers to pass him.
I hadn’t thought about that nickname in years, not until I got that threatening text informing me that Connor was in trouble. The one that triggered this disaster of a marriage.
“You told the O’Sullivans to call me that.” My tone is numb, not accusatory, but he flinches all the same.
“They said they needed to make sure you took their text seriously.”
“Well. I did.” And now look where we are.
“I knew you would,” he says. “I knew you’d drop everything to come to my rescue.”
My heart wants to take comfort in his words. My little brother knows how much I love him. But there’s no solace for me in this world anymore. With my adrenaline crashing and my emotions bled dry, I have nothing left.
I am empty.