Taking Connor Read Online Free Page A

complaining.
    We make it home in eleven hours, and I’m wiped. We stopped at an auto parts store on the way after Connor figured out the issue with the AC. It needed a charge, so we stopped and got it charged. Unfortunately, it only lasted about four hours until it crapped out again.
    “Must be a leak in the lines. I can fix that when we get back to town,” he promised after it went out again.
    So we sweated our asses off until we hit Colorado, and the temperature dropped a bit. Pulling in the driveway of the two-story Victorian I own—well, Blake and I owned it together before he passed—I park the car, and we get out.
    “The garage apartment is furnished and ready for you,” I tell Connor as he stretches, and my eyes watch him in the dimming daylight. Connor shoves his hands in his pockets as he takes in the garage and the house.
    “This is a nice place,” he notes.
    I can’t help but think about Blake. Once upon a time, this house was meant to be the home where we’d start a family together. But I guess some things just aren’t meant to be. He loved this house. He loved it because it had a neighborhood feel but sits on two acres with an amazing mountain backdrop. Most of the land is laid out behind the footprint of the structure and leads into the mountains. The neighborhood is small, one main street with houses on each side giving us privacy on the back of the property. I may not ever have a desire to sit on my back porch in my underwear or run around in my backyard naked, but if I want to, I can. No one would ever know. Or I could before Connor took residence in the garage apartment behind my house.
    Clearing my throat, I say, “I’ll give you a tour. But Blake said you needed to see something first.”
    “He did?”
    “Yeah,” I laugh softly remembering my late husband staring starry-eyed, imagining the day he’d present this to Connor. “He’s had this planned for a while.”
    Reaching in the car through the driver’s window, I press the garage door opener that’s clipped to my visor. The garage door starts to rise and when it’s fully open, I enter and flip a switch to turn on the above head lighting. The light illuminates the walls that are lined with shelving where tools and instruments are kept in bins or are hung on pegs, and there’s a lift in the second bay, ideal for working under vehicles or changing the oil.
    “Holy shit,” Connor murmurs as he steps inside. “Blake worked on cars out here?”
    I snort. “Yeah right. He was a man of many talents, but mechanics was not one of them. He did this for you. So you could start working on cars and build yourself a business.”
    “Are you serious?” His brows furrow as he runs a hand across the metal tool bench.
    “He wanted to help you get on your feet.” I smile softly thinking of Blake obsessing over every detail of this garage. “I think he wanted you to be close, too. He really missed you, Connor.”
    Sometimes, something happens that completely blows you away. Like witnessing a freak accident, how it sucks the breath from your lungs, your body frozen, unable to even contemplate breathing for a long moment. Or when you get that tingly feeling all over as the adrenaline sets in. Well, that’s how it feels to witness Connor Stevens cry. It’s sad and dark, yet beautiful and soft all at once. His dark eyes are clenched closed as tears stream down his face. He doesn’t whimper or suck in air. He hunches over placing his elbows on the workbench and holds his head in his large hands.
    Gingerly, I approach, hesitant to touch him. Mourning Blake has been hell for me, but Connor was locked away in Arizona when his cousin passed. I imagine the grief has finally hit him now that he’s home. My hand rests on his back—incredibly hard and bulging with muscles—and I begin rubbing comforting circles. I should probably leave and give him a moment alone, but grief is a fickle thing. It feeds on loneliness and Connor is pretty alone right now