Chapter 8

Monday 5.53am

Evelyn

My chest feels hollow. Like it did for months after Scott’s funeral. A low burning that doesn’t subside that used to sneak up on me at the worst possible time, like when I smelt Scott’s aftershave on a client at work and had to rush out of the meeting.

Grief. It’s spinning inside me again. A sense of loss that Connor’s presence has brought it right back to the surface where I don’t want it to be. I stumble down the hallway, eyes blurry as I try to figure out what I should be doing.

I knew this moment was coming, but there’s a part of me that had hoped that he’d stay longer, that we’d have more time. I shouldn’t have gotten so close to him. I should have ignored every impulse he stirred in me, but it’s too late now. I harbored him. I shared my bed with him. And I have to face the consequences of my actions.

I sniff and open the door, body numb as I open the drawers and search for clothes Connor can wear. He’s bigger than Scott was, taller with thicker muscles, but aside from his boots, he has nothing to his name.

I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the clothes in my hands as fresh tears brew in my eyes. All for a man who lied to me to get what he wanted. I was just a place to hide. A woman desperate and lonely enough to respond to his advances.

Now that the rain has stopped, I can hear him in the other room. I have no idea what he’s doing. It’s been years since I had someone else in my home for longer than a few hours. When my mom insisted on staying the first few nights after Scott died, I’d been too devastated to protest, but when her presence was another reminder she was trying to fill a gap that she couldn’t, it was harder to have her stay than be here alone.

My eyes drift around the dark room, and I spring off the bed, heart stuck in my throat as I grip Scott’s clothes tighter against my chest. I stare at the bed imprint Connor left when he slept in here. When we were trying to stay away from each other.

I swallow, throat thick as the enormity of what being in this room without having a panic attack means. Am I better? Have I moved on? Or am I channeling all my grief, all my need onto a man who I can never have? I choke on a bitter laugh as I walk out of the room. Is that what I’ve done? Transferred all the love I felt for Scott to Connor?

Is that what this is? My thoughts are muddled even more when I find Connor, now dressed and waiting by the door. I stare at him, trying to look at my behavior objectively. I must be crazy. No rational woman would have done what I did.

My chest grows tighter as he smiles at me. “You want to take a walk before I leave?” I know I shouldn’t. I’m just delaying the inevitable. I should just get in my car and drop him off. I can check for damages later. I don’t need to make this any harder than it already is. He rises and steps towards me. “Or you want me to make coffee?”

I swallow and take a step back, my shoulder connecting with the wall as I try to put distance between us. “Neither.” It comes out harsh, and he flinches so I find myself rushing to apologize. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much.”

He nods and looks at the clothes I’m hugging to my chest. “Those for me?” I hold them out to him and bite on the inside of my cheek to stop saying everything I want to. I can’t say that him making me coffee this morning will only make it worse he can’t be here tomorrow morning. He takes the clothes, his eyebrow cocked. “You went in and got these for me?”

I swallow and force a smile. “Progress.” The smile he gives me when he takes the clothes is so warm, I can’t stay in the same room as him any longer. “I need to get ready for work.”

His eyes stay on me; I can feel them burning as I retreat from the room, desperately trying to hold back tears I’m still not sure are warranted. I dress in my favorite pantsuit, tucking my blouse in, and putting make-up on, trying to fool myself this is just a typical Monday morning.

My stomach is raw with hunger, I should eat, but I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. He’s waiting in the living room, perched on the sofa, now dressed in Scott’s clothes, his boots have finally dried out, and looking at me like he’s as conflicted as I feel. If he is planning on saying anything else, I don’t want to hear it. There is nothing he can say that will make this moment any better. The longer we stand here pretending everything is okay, the harder it will be when he leaves.

I need to do this quickly. Rip it off like a Band-Aid. Cauterize the wound so it doesn’t bleed anymore. I can’t look at him when I grab my purse and shove my cell inside. Everything feels wrong. Awkward and clumsy as I walk through my house with him right behind me. It shouldn’t feel like this; I should just be dropping off a stranger. I should just be able to recognize this for what it really is. A fling. A casual hook up. A dangerous liaison that was pure fantasy. Hadn’t he said as much? Said I was his dream girl? I keep my eyes off him as my heels clip-clop over the paved flooring of my garage.

I open the door and climb in, all without looking at him as he opens the door. I press the garage door remote, all with robotic movements, thinking about everything that was wrong about this, all in a desperate attempt to distract myself from how close he is and how right he felt in my bed.

He reaches forwards at the same moment I release the parking brake, and I suck in a breath of air as my fingers brush against his. “Thought we could listen to music? That okay?”

I nod and pull my hand back so it’s resting on the steering wheel. He doesn’t say anything else, just finds the station he wants, so I start the engine and try to pretend this is just an ordinary day.

If Connor feels anything at leaving, he’s not showing it as I dodge debris on the road. All my muscles are knotted as the tension inside the car is stifling. I flick a look at him as he stares out the window, eyes closed, sunlight traces over the hard lines of his jaw. His finger is tapping to the hard rock music he’s chosen. I tear my gaze away before any thoughts can form that don’t belong there. I’m so distracted; I nearly miss the exit to the bridge. I slow, water under my wheels making me skid as we come to a stop.

A barricade has been erected; signs posted warning drivers of possible instability.

Alongside me, Connor stretches out his back and peers out the windshield, then looks at me with such heat I feel it transfer to my cheeks. “The water is still pretty high. You sure you want to risk it?”

I hold my breath, heart starting to rage in my chest as I consider what he’s saying or what he’s not saying. It would be so easy to turn around. Call work with an excuse and climb back into bed with him. My hand slides to the gear stick, skin growing warmer as I picture us together. He slides his hand onto my closest leg and starts to push up the hem. My breathing starts to speed as more skin is exposed until my thighs are uncovered.

He unhooks his seatbelt and leans closer, his fingers gently prying my legs apart. “You could call in sick?”

His fingers slide over the top of my panties as he starts to draw lazy circles until I’m groaning and my nipples are hard. “Stop it, oh shit stop it, Connor. We can’t.”

He grins and shifts closer so his mouth is against mine. He kisses me, his tongue in my mouth a reminder of how skilled he is with it. “Why can’t we?”

I can’t think of why. So, I let him tug my panties to one side so he can finger me. My back arches as my foot slides off the brake making the car jump forwards. In a swift move, he reaches across me and switches off the engine. I sit, legs open as he unbuttons my blouse and uses one hand to manipulate my nipple and the other to make me even hornier than I already am.

“Turn the car around Evelyn, or I will fuck you right here, right now,” he murmurs as he keeps stroking me.

My legs start to shake, muscles trembling as I grip the seat, I’m breathing so rapidly, black is edging as I think about how much I want him. He jams his tongue into my mouth at precisely the moment I explode in his hand. I’m whimpering, moaning, and I know I won’t say no if he asks again.

The sound of a horn behind me causes my breath to release in a rush, breaking the spell. I glance in the rear-view mirror and issue a curse as I recognize the white sports car behind me. The car’s window rolls down and Carl Richards, in all his jowly glory, extends his hand in greeting.

Connor twists in his seat. “Fuck. Neighbor?” I’m still gasping, mind racing as I tug my skirt down. I shoot a look in the rearview and cringe as I see Carl get out of his car and start ambling towards my side as I try to calm the heat still making my skin throb. Connor ducks down a little in his seat. “Blow him off. The fewer people that see us together, the better.” I barely have time to nod before he leans across me and starts the engine again. “Do it. Get rid of him.”

With fire still burning over my inflamed skin, I roll down my window and stick my head out. I force a smile as Carl wobbles towards me. “Some storm, huh?” he calls. His cheeks and nose are covered in broken capillaries that speak volumes of his alcohol and food consumption.

“Um, yeah. I need to get going. I’m late for work.”

Carl’s mouth opens and shuts, making him look like a flabby groper, which is exactly what he is. Last year’s Christmas party was a testament to that.

With a shudder, I push my foot down on the accelerator, effectively drowning out his reply. My wheels squeal as I snap my head back inside and drive onto the bridge. Connor chuckles. “So, you want to find a place to pull over?”

I shoot him an irritated glare before diverting my attention to the bridge. The water is almost level with the car, but whatever the emergency response department did, this time the banks of the river didn’t breach and cut off the only way into the cove.

My fingers are gripping the steering wheel so tightly; I have to consciously relax my muscles to get the blood flowing again. “No.”

He shrugs, and I try not to think about how close I was to being caught having car sex with a wanted criminal. I can’t look at him as we drive, not speaking, the only sound the music Connor likes mixing with the water splashing over my tires. Water is everywhere. Three feet deep in places where the runoff has gathered in the gutters of the main street. I’m so scattered, I’m completely obvious to the damage the storm wreaked as my thoughts keep circling back to Connor.

Connor turns the radio down as the news comes on as we slide onto the highway. I speed up, changing lanes so I can merge into the traffic. “Where do you work?”

His voice startles me out of my thoughts. I answer without thinking. “At Levy’s Realty. I’m head of administration.”

“Do you like your job?”

The question is so breathtakingly direct, I can’t answer. Do I like my job? I don’t even know how to answer that. I exhale slowly, trying to release some of the tension coiling in my middle. “It’s a job. It pays well.”

He makes an odd growling sound. “But do you like it? It’s an easy enough question to answer.”

“No, it’s not,” I snap at him.

“Yes, it is. You either like it, or you don’t.”

I growl and shake my head, fingers back to clenching the wheel in a death grip. “Some people don’t have the luxury of doing a job they like. Some people are paying the bills.” I don’t tell him I’m trying to pay off my mortgage alone, thanks to Scott not having any life insurance.

I don’t know why we’re even discussing this. Why does he even want to know? “So, you live in an amazing house, working in a job you don’t really like to pay for it, but you’re too trapped in the past to actually sleep in the master bedroom?”

My jaw slackens, then anger blazes through me. “I am not trapped in the past. I was perfectly happy until you showed up.”

Hot tears start to sting my eyes, but he doesn’t seem bothered, more like he’s deep in thought. “What would you be doing if you didn’t have to worry about money ever again?”

I scowl at the road ahead and blink rapidly. “That’s such a stupid question. I hate ‘what if’ questions.”

“Yeah, they are stupid, but since we’re nearly in the city, humor me. Tell me what you’d do if you woke up and didn’t have to work to pay off your mortgage.”

I don’t answer him. What’s the point of playing the ‘what if’ game? It stirs up too many other ‘what if’s that I don’t want to think about. “I don’t know. Maybe just find a job that I like that challenges me and people to work with that I like.”

I can feel his eyes on me. “You don’t like the people you work with?”

I shake off his question and ask my own to distract me from feeling how my lips are still raw from where his whiskers irritated my skin. “What would you do?”

He sounds so wistful like it’s something he’s spent a great deal of time thinking about his answer. “I’d buy a fully decked out house bus, a motorbike, and a boat, then travel around the country. Just going where the wind blows me.”

My eyebrows rise in surprise as I signal to change lanes. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Ever since I was a kid.”

My forehead crinkles. How long has it been since I thought about what I wanted? I’ve spent so long just dragging myself through each day hoping things will get easier. When did I stop dreaming? When did I start accepting this was my lot in life, and that this was how it was going to be?

A cold chill starts to trickle down my spine. I gave up on my dreams when Scott died. I pushed everything down, all my plans, mine and his, everything we said we would do, the places we’d visit, the trips we said we’d take. I never got to do any of them. Not with him. Not with anyone else. Not on my own. I stopped wanting anything after I realized he wouldn’t be there to share it with me.

Is it guilt that’s stopped me? Fear I’ll enjoy myself while he is lying six feet under? Am I trying to punish myself by not enjoying the life I do have? The hollow feeling starts to burn into physical pain I’m not sure has anything to do with either Scott or Connor.

“I should have been with him,” I mutter. My hands start to tremble as wave after wave of memories start to batter in, my eyes are starting to blur.

Connor’s voice is firm when he gestures out the windshield. “Pull over.” I can just make out the shape of a rest stop sign, so I pull in so suddenly my seat belt activates. We jerk to a stop under an elm tree. I can’t look at Connor so I stare ahead. He sighs. “Tell me what happened.”

I shake my head at him, throat thick as tears choke my voice. “What’s the point?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I know jack shit about this sort of thing.” I splutter a cross between a snort and a laugh. He sits back in his seat so he can see me clearly, looking like he has all the time in the world to listen.

I clear my throat and wonder why, of all people, I’m choosing him to talk to about this. “We were supposed to leave the city after dinner so we could stay in the cove for the first time. We’d just gotten the keys so we were going to celebrate moving in together.” My voice is eerily calm as I tell him details I haven’t shared with anyone else. “He sent me a text. I was busy so I didn’t even read it properly before I replied and said I’d meet him at the cove.” My shoulders start to shake. “He lost control of the car and smashed into an oncoming truck. He died instantly.” I start to silently cry. “When the police knocked on my door an hour later, I thought it was him.” I can’t say any more, so I just rest my head on the steering wheel and feel the vibrations under me as the car idles.

I hear Connor unclip his belt and unhook mine. He grabs me a little too roughly and wraps his arms around me. “You think it’s your fault?”

“He was replying to my text. The police found his phone on the road,” I choke.

He growls in my ear, his whiskers brushing against my cheek. “You can’t put this on yourself.”

I shake my head against his chest and push him away. “You don’t understand. He was driving when he replied to me.”

Connor’s eyes narrow. “Then he was fucking stupid. He’s driving and texting you to drive safely? What a moron.” I jerk out of his grip, ready to slap him when grips my upper arms. “This Scott that you loved, he’s not perfect. He made mistakes, he made a really bad one, and he’s not here, but I am. And I’m telling you this is on him; he’s the one who died. Yes, it sucks, but you have a life, and he doesn’t, and three years is a long enough sentence to serve. Trust me.”

He kisses me again, but this time it’s gentler, but it still stirs something I know I shouldn’t start up again. I make a strangled noise as I try to form a reply. He seems to take my inability to reply as dismissal or rejection when I’m too jumbled for it to be either.

With a curse, he gets out and stalks around my car until he’s opening my door. I have no idea whether he’s planning on driving into the city or taking me back to the cove. And I’m not sure I care anymore. He pulls me in closer; his hands grip my waist. I half hope he’s planning on taking me into the trees, but he just leads me to the passenger side and helps me in.

He leans on the door, eyes never leaving mine as I manage to buckle my seatbelt. He slams the door shut then jumps in the driver’s side and adjusts the seat to accommodate his long legs. The wheels spin as he reverses and heads back out onto the highway. I’m so exhausted I lean my head to one side and stare out the window as the scenery rushes by in a blur. I watch as green blobs turn into grey blobs and I know he’s driving me into the city. He’s made the choice I couldn’t.

***

I wake with a start, sucking in a breath as I try to rub the sleep from my eyes. The driver’s side is empty. The heat is on, the engine still churning over, the radio on low, and I’m outside my office building. When my breathing has slowed, I wrench myself upright. How could I have fallen asleep?

I check my watch and blink at how much time has passed. Was I that exhausted? I flip the sun visor down and wince at the state my face is in. My mascara is running down my blotchy face, hair mussed, and eyes bloodshot. Purple circles are visible under my eyes now my concealer has been dislodged, but for some reason, I feel lighter than I have in… I don’t know how long.

My brain kicks into gear as I think of why I’m feeling better, and the person who dropped me right outside my office and slipped away without saying goodbye. I’m out the door, probably looking like a crazy person as I search the streets for any signs he’s nearby. I mutter a curse as I see nothing but suits, PA’s toting coffee for the morning run, and messengers on bikes darting in and out of traffic.

I sag against the door and watch the street for a while, watching the pinched expressions, the hurried movements as workers hurry to the office, talking on phones, and rushing back to grey buildings, emails, and meetings that run in a perpetual loop.

It’s an escape. All of it. A way to fill empty lives with busyness. I know I have. Filled it to the brim, to make up for what I lost. Overcompensation for lack of fulfillment in the area I wanted most of all.

I slump back into my car and shut the door against the sound of traffic, so I can turn the volume up on the radio and close my eyes. No longer not caring how I must look, not caring, I’m an hour late for work. I think of Connor. His smile. The smell of bacon and eggs cooking. The coffee. His body, the way he crashed into my life and forced me to see what I was missing again. My lips curl as I bring to life every contour of his muscles, his tattoos, his smell—

“—residents will be relieved to hear wanted felon Jarod Spears has been found and is once again in custody. In a baffling turn of events, police are seeking Connor Slade in connection—”

My eyes pop open, as I stare at the radio. I fiddle with the volume, wondering if I’ve finally cracked and have started hearing things that aren’t real when I accidentally lose the local station. Why are they mentioning Connor’s name? In a blind panic, I search for the news again, but only catch snatches of parts of news items. I grab the keys, my purse, and run as fast as my heels allow into the office. I don’t stop to say hello to the receptionist, just hurry to my cubicle and throw myself into my chair.

I tap my finger on my messy desk as I wait for my screen to illuminate. “Come on you piece of shit. Hurry up.”

Jenny rolls her chair over to me, her eyes wide as she looks me over. “Ah, are you okay? You look a little frazzled?” I start to shake my head, eyes on my screen as I type my password in too quickly and have to take a breath before trying again. “We weren’t sure if you’d make it here, what with the storm and all.”

I nod vaguely, hoping she’ll take the hint and go back to her desk. I’m not in the mood to explain why I look like crap and why I’m behaving like a maniac.

My computer is so slow loading; I smack it. “Come on!”

“Wow. Um, do you want to use mine?”

The words are barely out of her mouth before I’m nodding and skirting her chair so I can use her login.

I drop to my knees and start searching for Connor’s name. My knees are aching when I find dozens of entries, but none of them are the right Connor, and Jenny’s voice intrudes on my desperate search. “Connor Slade. Hmm, that’s probably a really common name.” Jenny’s intrusion makes me jump. I glare at her as she bites into an apple and crunches in my ear as she leans forward. “What are you looking for?”

I scowl at the screen and at her reflection. “Um. I heard something on the radio. I wanted to hear the whole item or find an online news site so I can hear the full story.”

Jenny’s eyes pop wider. “Ooh, is this about the escaped criminal that was in the area? I heard he turned himself in.”

I spin around and groan as I ease myself up. “Where did you hear that? What station?”

I must sound as panicked as I feel because she stops chewing and looks over my shoulder like she’s planning on running. “I don’t remember, sorry. But they reported it this morning so it must have been the station we listen to here?”

She sounds so unsure I want to shake her. I take a breath and try to sound as non-threatening as I can under the circumstances. “You’re sure you heard it in the office?”

Her nod is so vague I can feel my fists clenching at my sides. I have nothing else to go on, so I spin on my heels and plonk myself in my chair and type in the radio station and hope they have transcripts or keep a record of broadcasts. I ignore Jenny’s questions, my phone ringing, and the dozen emails waiting for me until I find an article that nearly makes my heart stop.

Connor’s mug shot is beside the photo of a middle-aged man I vaguely recall seeing when he purchased a piece of land on the coast. I scroll down, heart thumping erratically against my ribcage as I try to read.

Sanctuary Scandal

Local businessman and owner of Sanctuary Cove’s premium resort, Walter Hoskins, has been arrested after multiple witnesses saw him shoot Connor Slade, a drifter who was working on Mr. Hoskins’s private vessel as a deckhand.

According to witness statements, Slade was caught in ‘flagrante delicto’ with the defendant’s wife.

Hoskins is accused of, quote, ‘flying to into a rage and shooting the blanking son of a blank in the chest’ end quote, according to his wife, Clara Hoskins.

Slade disappeared shortly after the incident and is currently wanted by law enforcement for the lesser charge of violation of parole.

A search is in full effect, and local law enforcement are willing to waiver pending charges in exchange for Connor Slade’s testimony. Police are calling on citizens to be vigilant and to not approach Slade, but to alert them immediately—

I stare at the screen, forgetting to blink. Connecting everything that happened over the weekend, analyzing every move he made, everything he did. Everything he said. I sit unmoving, oblivious to the activity going on around me until numbness creeps like cool awareness at the horrible mistake I’d made.

Worse than knowing I falsely condemned him is knowing that I let him walk away when he could have stayed. I slowly push away from my desk, mutely pick up my keys, and walk out of the office.

This time I do talk to the receptionist. “I’m taking a sick day,” I mutter as I push out the doors.