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Twenty-three
Henley
He doesn’t follow me. At least not right away. I head up the stairs alone. Push my way through the door and kick off my shoes. Set my bag on the counter and start unloading groceries.
Actually, I’m glad he didn’t follow me up right away. It gives me time to get myself together. Give myself a man up and clean your mess pep-talk.
He’s letting himself drown—and I think you're the reason why.
“This is new.”
I look up and over to find Conner standing a few feet away, just inside the doorway.
“I know how to buy bread and eggs,” I tell him, yanking the fridge door open. A few weeks ago, the brief peek I got inside revealed nothing but beer and take-out boxes. Now it’s completely empty. And not just empty. It’s clean. So clean it looks brand new on the inside. “I’m spoiled, not helpless.”
He peels out of his coveralls, revealing what he always wears, worn jeans and a graphic tee—this one for a Bert’s Bait and Tackle. It makes me wonder where he got it. If he still goes fishing with his dad and brother like he used to.
“That’s not what I meant.” He shifts from one foot the other. “Usually when—”
“Will you sit down,” I say, interrupting him without looking up from what I’m doing. The last thing I want to hear is about what other women do when he brings them up here. Something tells me it’s not fill his refrigerator with staples. “You’re making me nervous.”
“Same.”
My head pops up at the word and I finally look at him. I mean really look at him. He looks uncomfortable. Unsure. Like he’s struggling to pick the best, most right words to give me.
He looks like Conner.
My Conner.
I stop what I’m doing. Shut the fridge and close the space between us. “I want you to sit down.” Taking his hand, I lead him over to the beat-up leather chair in the corner. Pushing him into it, I kneel down in front of him, resting my rear on the heels of my feet. Pick up his foot and brace the bottom of his boot against my thighs so I can unlace it. “I used to do this for my dad when he was too drunk to stand.” I don’t know why I say it. As soon as I do, I wish I could take it back. I clear my throat. “Tess says you haven’t slept in nine days.” Laces loose, I cup the back of his heel and pull. His boot comes off and I set it aside. “Is that true?”
“No.”
When he doesn’t offer me an explanation, I look up to find him watching me, eyes dark, lids heavy and at half-mast.
I look away and clear my throat. “I didn’t think that sounded right.” I tug off his sock before reaching for his other foot. “Nine days is a lon—”
“It’s been two-hundred ninety-eight hours.”
I do the math in my head.
Twelve days and ten hours.
He laughs and leans forward, bringing himself closer to me. “It’s my personal best.”
I don’t say anything. I just keep my head down and work on his other boot, yanking the laces loose before tugging it off. When I’m finished I look up, tilting my head a bit so I can see his face. “You need to eat, and you need to sleep,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Where you happy?” he whispers it, his gaze searching my face. “You looked happy.” His eyes drift down to my mouth, looking for and finding something to focus on but I have a feeling he’s not seeing me. Not really. “It hurt, you know. Seeing you smile. Hearing you laugh.” The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smirk totally void of amusement. “I know that’s a shitty thing to say but I’m a shitty person, so…”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. A part of me wonders if he does either so I ignore what he’s saying, focusing instead on what I do understand. What I can do to make him better. “I want to help you, Conner.” I pull myself up. “Let me help you.” Standing in front of him, I offer him my hand.
He doesn’t take it.
“I’m filthy.”
He’s right. His hands are covered in engine grease and tire soot. His face is streaked with it. Despite the obvious, something about the way he says it hits me like a fist in the gut. Makes it hard to breathe. Makes me think his statement has nothing to do with the grime under his fingernails.
I force myself to smile. “So, let’s get you cleaned up.” I wiggle my fingers under his nose. “Come on, you’ll feel better after a shower.”
He pushes my hand out of his face and stands on his own. “You didn’t answer my question,” he says quietly, standing over me, so close I can feel the brush of his chest against mine every time he takes a breath. “Were you happy?”
It doesn’t matter that I have no idea what he’s talking about. I look up at him and tell him the truth. “I haven’t been happy in a long time.”
Conner sighs, leaning down to press his cheek against mine. Bringing his mouth to my ear, he whispers something that breaks my heart.
“Neither have I.”