Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(73)

My stomach was still churning, but I didn’t let it show.

Maybe he was just comforting her. Jesus—that would be understandable. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.

But it could.

And now their words are in my head. On repeat. Burrowing like a worm. Sucking at my soul like some kind of evil alien parasite.

I’m not jealous . . . I don’t work like that. I trust Connor completely. He’s a good man, an honest man, he cares about me so much—I feel it every time I’m with him.

But I remember my parents. I remember one of the dozens of times my mom said it was “really over.” And then Darren broke his arm skateboarding. And she called my dad because she needed someone, and he came home.

And it wasn’t anything close to over anymore.

Emergencies clarify things. Show you what’s important, strip away the trivial and petty, block out anything that doesn’t matter. I’ve seen it, I know it, I’ve lived it. A sick child can tear a couple apart . . . or pull them right back together again.

That’s how emotions work. How need and connections and histories work.

How family works sometimes.

And Connor’s family is everything to him.

I can’t think about this right now—and I can’t ask Connor about it. His son is in the ICU, still critical. In the grand scheme of things, it’s small and inconsequential.

Aaron is what matters.

So I put Connor and Stacey’s words aside. And I do what needs to be done. Push on.

I don’t let myself think about it. I don’t get upset.

And I try my hardest to forget I ever heard it.


*

“He’s awake.”

Connor calls me the next day, his voice rough with exhaustion, but lighter than it’s been in the three days since the accident.

“He’s awake, Violet. He’s weak and still running a temperature and he’s out of it from the pain meds, but he knows what’s going on.”

This is good—it’s everything. Cool, sweet relief shoots through my veins—for Connor and Aaron . . . for all of us.

Due to his fever, Aaron still can’t have visitors, so I stay at the house with Brayden and Spencer. In the early evening I start to make them dinner. It’s my mom’s chicken cutlet recipe—a comfort food cure for all things. But just as I’m about to heat up the oil, my phone pings with an incoming text from Connor.

Stacey wants to come by to take the boys out to dinner. Is that okay?

I turn off the stove burner. And I remind myself that this is also a good thing—that whatever is going on between Stacey and Connor, whatever issues they had or have—she’s always going to be the boys’ mother.

I grew up with a parent who didn’t want me or my brother and sisters, who had no interest in us. I never want Connor’s boys to know what that feels like.

So I text him back.

Yep—sounds good.

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

Stacey is cool and stiff. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I give her a smile, because I have no reason not to. What Connor and I have is beautiful and solid and this woman is no threat to that. He’s my boyfriend, and I’m in his house taking care of his kids because that’s where he wants—needs—me to be. “Please, come in.”

Rosie remembers Stacey—she trots into the foyer with her tail wagging furiously and her eyes wide.

“Hi Rosie-girl. I’ve missed you!” Stacey drops to her knees, letting the dog lick her face while she pets her behind her ears.

The boys’ reaction to their mom is noticeably less enthusiastic. I told them she was coming. Spencer seemed excited at first, but then he changed his tune—following Brayden’s lead. And now they drag their feet into the foyer, with matching expressions fit for a hostage video.

Stacey greets them with a big smile, but there’s an almost desperate tightness to her features that says she’s aware she’s skating on thin ice. That she has things to make up for and this is step one.

“Hey, guys!” she says. “I thought we could go to that burger place you like—Diesel and Duke? Daniel, you can even get that double soda thing with the extra sugar?”

Connor’s always said that Brayden’s the easy one, but that doesn’t seem to apply where his mother’s concerned.

“My name is Brayden. You’re the only one who calls me Daniel.”

“I know. I love the name Daniel.” Stacey reaches for him, but he steps back. Slowly, she lowers her hand. “I love it so much we named you it twice.”

He crosses his arms. “I’m not hungry. Thanks for coming by, but I don’t want to go to dinner.”

Then he turns around and marches up the stairs.

Spencer seems torn—his soft brown eyes follow his brother, then turn back to his mom. Eventually, he sighs. “Sorry, Mom.”

And he darts up the stairs too.

Stacey and I stand there for a moment, awkward and silent, and then I raise my finger.

“Give me one minute.”

After I knock on his door and walk into Brayden’s room, he immediately hits me with a “Don’t make us go with her.”

I hold up my hands.

“I’m not going to make you do anything—that’s not really my style.” I sit down in his desk chair, swiveling. “I did want to tell you a story, though.”