Taking Connor Read Online Free Page B

as he just got out of prison. I promised Blake I would help Connor and I will.
    “There’s more,” I whisper after a few minutes when I see his eyes are open, staring blankly at his hands.
    He stands quickly, wiping his nose with his forearm, eventually grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to dry his face. When I saw him in his bath towel yesterday I didn’t notice he has several thick scars on his stomach. They’re about an inch in length. Tugging his shirt back down he clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been staring. Again.
    I quickly speak, and hope he didn’t notice. “Over here.” I lead him to the far side of the garage and pull the tarp off of the Harley.
    “Are you serious?” he gasps, shock laced in his tone. “He was supposed to sell it and pay my attorney with that money.”
    “He kept it.”
    “Who paid my attorney?”
    “He did. He kept the bike for you.”
    The tears begin again and this time he doesn’t hide his face from me. His lip trembles as he battles his emotion. Every feature on his face reflects his pain, and it looks like he’s almost pleading silently with Blake in a way. I can read it like an open book. Why, Blake? Why did you do this for me? There are other feelings that are coming across such as, I’m such a piece of shit. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve a cousin like you . I imagine it’s not easy to be a man and cry. After all, society doesn’t exactly list it as a sign of masculinity. Connor’s eyes hold such anguish, I can’t help it. His sorrow is so prevalent, it seeps inside of me and I start crying too. Unexpectedly, he pulls me to him and wraps me in his massive arms. He’s warm and hard, and I bury my face in his chest and sob. We spend several minutes wrapped in each other’s arms before I finally pull away, and we both wipe the tears from our faces. Connor lifts his shirt again, but instead of wiping his own face, he wipes mine.
    “There now,” he croaks. “All better.”
    “Thank you,” I respond hoarsely, his sweet gesture melting my heart a little. When my gaze meets his again, I see he’s watching me, almost examining me. I wipe my face and nose some more wondering if he’s looking at my makeup smeared or if I have something hanging out of my nose.
    “I probably look a mess,” I sniffle as I wipe some more.
    He steps toward me and takes my wrist in his hand, pulling it from my face. “Actually, you look really beautiful.”
    Silence falls as we stare at each other, neither of us even taking a breath. Didn’t I just think the same thing about him?
    Connor scrubs his face roughly with both hands and clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to get emotional. It’s just . . . a lot,” he says, as he looks about the room. “I didn’t expect this. I didn’t know he was putting all of this together for me. He was here, dying, worried about . . . me.” He runs a hand over his head and down his face.
    “Why don’t I show you the apartment and let you rest? It’s been a long couple of days.”
    “Yeah,” he nods. “That sounds good.”
    The apartment above the garage is small, basically one large room with a bed, television, and small kitchen area. There’s a tiny bathroom with a stall shower, in the corner and I half wonder if Connor will even fit inside to bathe.
    “The fridge is stocked with drinks and a few other things. If you make me a list, I’ll pick up some other things for you at the store tomorrow.”
    Connor stands in the room and stares. I wonder if it feels too confined for him after spending so much time in Tent City, outside. I imagine I’d want to sleep somewhere more open with more space if I were him.
    “The bathroom is out of order right now. Plumber comes tomorrow to hook up the pipes or whatever,” I say. I’m not an authority on the subject, so I don’t bother trying to explain what I don’t know. “Oh, and these are for you,” I mention as I open the closest drawer in the kitchen and pull