Page 16 of Beyond the Stix

“Keep an eye out for Connor’s uncle. He’s?—”

“Tobias filled me in,” Dean adds. “We’ll keep him out here, if he shows.”

I nod and head inside. The band is crowded around the bed, while Connor and his mother are holding Markus’s hands. I catch Connor’s bloodshot eyes, but still, there’re no tears. The tortured expression across his face, though, says it all.

I walk around the group until I’m standing right behind Connor. He reaches back, and I grab a hold of his right hand. Hetightens his grip like I’m his life line. The strain shows on his face and in how stiff his body is, like a string on an overly drawn bow. He’s about to snap at any time.

We stand there for a while until the male nurse finally walks in. “I’m sorry but I have to take him. Mrs. Wild, Anna at the front desk has some papers for you to sign and will answer any questions you have from this point on.” I hear the nurse say.

Our group steps out of the room, but my attention stays on Connor, who has released my hand to stay glued to his mother’s side. The devastation across his face isn’t what’s troubling me the most—it’s the lack of tears. Not everyone cries, and Connor may be keeping a brave front for his mother. I hope that’s it, because the burden he’ll have to endure in the next several days will be the toughest yet.

My heart aches for him and for Amanda, as they wait for Markus to be wheeled out of the room.

While the band and Ron console Connor and his mother, my security teammates and I converge to go over what’s to come at the funeral.

After a few minutes, Dean suggests, “It’s late. How about we discuss the logistics tomorrow, once we have the full details of the date and time, the schematics for the funeral home and the cemetery grounds?”

“Sounds good,” Tobias agrees. “The guys and I are taking the rest of the band back to Callum’s parents’ house. I’m assuming you’re heading back to the hotel?”

“Yes. Once the funeral is over, we’ll be heading back to California. Ron has some engagements he needs to attend, but I’m leaving Fig with you.”

“An extra pair of eyes will be good,” I add, pulling my gaze from Connor.

“Fig will remain with you,” Tobias tells me. I’m about to decline, but his hard, warning stare has me clamping my mouth shut and nodding.

Once everyone says their goodbyes and leaves, the hallway to the hospital becomes as quiet as an abandoned town. Fig leaves to retrieve the BMW, and texts me that the front of the hospital is clear of the paparazzi.

Soon after, Markus is wheeled out of the room, and Amanda gives her final farewell to her husband, while Connor stares down at his father. He doesn’t say a word as they take the dead man away.

Amanda tells the night nurse which funeral home will be picking up her husband’s body while Connor remains silent. The same goes for the ride down the elevator, and the entire drive home.

I’m counting down the seconds before Connor’s composure fractures, but the breakdown doesn’t happen—not until his mother shows Fig to the guest room and then goes to her own bed. He’s standing in the living room like a statue, stoic and cold, while his eyes scan the dozens of photos hanging on the wall—a pictorial history of Connor’s life with his family.

There’s nothing I want more than to gather Connor in my arms, hold him tight to me and give him the strength to push through the guilt, loss, and sorrow. But if I do that, he’ll bolt out of the house and who knows where he’d run away to.

In the span of minutes, a storm of emotions races across his face, and I can’t keep up.

“Connor,” I utter softly, but he shakes his head, while tearless eyes stare at me for the briefest of moments before returning his attention back to the wall of pictures.

“I can’t,” he grates out in a choked whisper. Then he takes off, out the back of the house.

I contemplate my options for all of three seconds before I trail after him. Connor’s quick though, and with the night looming like a black cloak, I barely make out the dark blue of his shirt.

He’s scrambling up a large tree. The sight catches me off guard, seeing a grown man climbing a precarious rope ladder in the dark of night. Where in the hell is he going? Does he plan on hanging off a branch like a damn monkey?

I follow him though, until I’m at the base of the huge oak tree towering over the yard. I look up and faintly spot… “A tree house?”

FIVE

Connor

My eyes glideacross the walls of pictures, and land on the photo of my uncle and me, my gut clenches, and something inside me snaps. I need to get out of this house. Away from John’s unwanted sympathy, and the familiar things that remind me of my father. So I run.

I head outside, to the only safe haven I know. The tree house.

I scramble up the rope ladder that’s loosely secured against the large trunk. I’m surprised the ladder is still sturdy enough to hold my weight. With a burst of adrenalin fueling my need to reach the hatch, I quickly push it up and climb inside the small space, giving thanks that Dad made the hatch big enough to get furniture through—and now the grown up me.

Once the hatch is shut, I exhale a huge breath, and a rush of energy surges out of my body. I fight to push back the warring tears and when I finally look around my safe space, I see that nothing’s changed.