Taking Connor(54)

“Wow,” Vick breathes as he looks me up and down. “You look . . . fantastic.”

“Thanks,” I manage.

“What happened tonight? I called you a million times. I thought we were meeting tonight.”

“We were,” I pipe up. “But plans changed.”

“Are you okay?” he asks, genuine concern in his tone.

I turn and lean my back against the car so that I’m facing him, but pull my heels off. My feet are killing me. Inhaling deeply, I say bluntly, “Your wife stopped by for a visit today.”

His face goes slack, and he blinks a few times as if processing my words. “My wife?” he asks before swallowing hard.

“Yeah. Pretty blonde, mother of your child with one on the way.”

He closes his eyes and takes a step back, letting out a growl. “Demi—”

“Look,” I cut in, holding my hand up. “You obviously have some unfinished business back home that you need to deal with. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but this isn’t going to work.”

“Demi, I don’t think the baby is mine.”

“Vick,” I snort. “It doesn’t matter. You lied to me about being married and hid that you have a kid. That’s . . . not okay.”

“You don’t understand. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but look at it from my perspective.”

Shaking my head, I move to walk toward my house, but he steps in front of me. “You’re this gorgeous widow that for some reason, picked me to be the first guy she dated in a long time . . . I was afraid my baggage would freak you out.”

“So you lied?” I ask, calmly, refusing to let myself get upset.

“More like . . . omitted.”

“You can’t omit a wife and child, Vick.” The disgust in my tone is obvious and causes him to frown and shake his head. Again, I move to walk past him, but he grabs my arm stopping me.

“I’m crazy about you,” he admits. “I know this seems bad, but I swear it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Please let me go,” I ask, again, calmly.

“Please don’t do this, Demi,” he begs.

“Let go of her f*cking arm,” Connor booms as he appears beside us, his fierce stare fixed on Vick blaring a thousand warnings. Vick releases my arm, and I scurry to the bottom step. He wasn’t hurting me at all, but I’m still glad for Connor’s intervention.

“Tonight was the night, wasn’t it?” he yells out to me. I whip around and see him looking at me over Connor’s shoulder as Connor more or less forces him to retreat. He’s not touching Vick, just using his massive physical presence to herd him away. “That’s why you’re dressed like that, right? You wanted me. Please don’t let this ruin what we have.”

“Get the f*ck out of here,” Connor snaps and pushes Vick, who stumbles back but manages to catch himself before he falls to the ground.

Vick straightens himself and looks back to me. “Please, Demi.”

“I don’t want to see you ever again,” I tell him. “Please go. And don’t contact me again.”

“You heard her,” Connor growls. “Go.”

Vick glares at him before turning and heading to his truck. A minute later he’s squealing out of my driveway. I sit on the bottom step, feeling a little unsteady. I wasn’t prepared for that when I got home. I knew I’d have to face Vick at some point, but I didn’t think it would be tonight. Connor walks toward me, rubbing his head with both hands like he always does.

“You okay?” he asks timidly.

Why do I want to cry right now? I can’t quite place my finger on it, but suddenly the tears start falling. Connor scoops me up and as ridiculous as I feel having him carry me, I can’t deny it feels good to be in his arms. Once we’re in the kitchen, he sits me on my feet and pulls out a kitchen chair for me to sit on.

“I think we need another drink,” he grumbles. Clearly, he’s still a little riled up too. He’s angry, but I can’t help thinking that some of that anger is directed at me.

I take a seat as he grabs the bottle of Jack from the freezer and joins me at the table. He doesn’t speak, just twists the top off and takes a long swig. Then he slides the bottle to me. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand before taking my swig. When I start coughing from the burn, he drags the bottle back toward him.

“I’m sorry you had to . . . get involved with that,” I whimper.

Connor takes a deep breath as if to calm himself, before taking another sip.

“Are you okay?” I ask, hesitantly.

“I’m an * is what I am,” he answers. He stands and grabs the dishtowel from the counter, handing it to me before he sits again.

“Why are you an *?” I ask as I wipe my face.

He runs a wide palm down his face. “Because I wanted to kick that guy’s ass.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I admit. “Even though he kind of deserves it.”

“Is it true?” Connor asks.

“That he deserves to get his ass kicked?”

“No,” he answers sternly, his tone telling me he means business, that whatever he’s asking is important to him. “You guys haven’t . . .”