When We Let Go, Delancey Stewart [early reader books .txt] 📗

When I woke, it was to a steady tapping sound. Light, rhythmic, like soft rain hitting the windows. But it wasn’t raining. I opened my eyes to bright sunlight streaming in through arched windows revealing the tops of trees stretching for the limitless blue sky. And when I rolled over, there was Connor. Typing furiously. He was absorbed completely, focused on his work.

I watched him with sleepy eyes, resisting the urge to smooth the furrow between his brows, to run my fingers over the curls on his bare chest. I contemplated interrupting him completely in another way, but he stopped typing as the thought formed in my mind. His lips curled slightly and he turned to look at me.

“You’re awake.”

“You’re busy.”

“I know, I hope I didn’t wake you. I didn’t want to leave you, so I brought it up here.”

I smiled. He didn’t want to leave me. I loved the sound of that. “You didn’t wake me. I’m glad you’re writing again.”

He sighed. “I am too. It’s coming fast. Like these are words I’m supposed to write. That’s how it’s been before, when things are good.”

“So things are good?”

He slid the laptop onto the nightstand and pulled me into his arms. “In so many ways.”

His phone rang downstairs, breaking the moment. He planted a sweet kiss on my forehead and then slid from the bed. “I should get that, though I don’t want to. It’s only ever bad news.”

My heart sank a little as he walked out the door. He wore the flannel pajama bottoms he’d been wearing when I arrived the night before and I wondered if those were his working pants as I stretched in his bed for a few minutes more. Finally, when I heard his voice on the phone downstairs, I rolled out of bed and got dressed. I was thankful I hadn’t worn the sundress, since I’d be taking a walk of shame around the meadow now. I wished I had brought my car.

When I got downstairs, Connor was making breakfast, the phone beside him.

“Stay for pancakes?” he asked.

“Is there anything you don’t do?” I laughed.

“Nope. Learned to fend for myself at an early age.”

He smiled as he said it, but I wondered about his childhood. It sounded like maybe it was true, that he and his sister had been on their own. I wondered about the circumstances that would have left them alone, but it was not the time for heavy questions.

“Anything important on the phone?” It felt intrusive, but I found myself dangerously close to caring about him, wanting to help shoulder his burdens in some small way, as if I didn’t have enough of my own.

“No, not really. My lawyer. He doesn’t think there’s a solid case against me. The detectives are trying, but it seems like it’s turning into a smear campaign. He said there’s some tabloid talk at this point, but nothing substantial.”

“I hope it’s not bad,” I said. I had no idea how a person handled having their name splashed across magazines in supermarkets. I doubted I’d ever be high profile enough for anyone to care.

“Nothing I’m not used to. Just another version of the ‘guy who writes sick and twisted must be sick and twisted’ story. I just hope Amanda turns up soon. Just because they can’t pin it on me doesn’t mean she doesn’t need help.”

I shuddered, thinking about what kinds of things might have befallen the pretty teenager. Whatever they were, I was confident that Connor was not involved, but it didn’t lessen the potential for tragedy. “Right. Okay, well, if you’re sure I can’t help, then I should get home, actually. My brother is coming today,” I told him.

“You must be excited.”

“Wary, definitely. Worried, yes. A little bit terrified. Not super excited.” He’d told me about his sister, I guessed I should tell him about my brother.

“Oh.” He looked surprised, sitting up straighter and squinting at me. “Can I ask why?”

“I think he hates me,” I said. It was true. “It’s my own fault. I don’t blame him.”

“What happened?” Connor reached across the table, taking my hand.

I let out a long breath. The story didn’t make me especially attractive, and I was hesitant to confide it, but Connor had told me about his sister, so I went ahead. “I was married, as you know.”

“The Scotsman.”

“Jack. Right. Well, he wasn’t fond of my family. Or I guess maybe it was that family—any family—got in the way of things he wanted to do.”

“Kind gent,” Connor commented.

“So when we got married, I stopped getting home as often. Jack made other plans for us at holidays and wanted to travel, so for a couple years I missed events that were normally important to my family. I didn’t want to fight with Jack, and part of me was thrilled to travel, to experience new things. I thought I was building a marriage—a life.”

Connor nodded his understanding.

“So when my mother got sick, I went home. My brother suggested we each spend some time at home, helping my dad, but Jack wasn’t keen on the idea at all. He liked having me at home, he said, and I was dumb enough to think it was more about me and less about having someone to do his laundry and shop for groceries.

“Time just kind of passed, and though I called and talked to my dad and my brother at first, eventually Cam stopped answering. I knew he was home a lot as my mom got worse, and I was there once or twice, but at the very end…” I trailed off, shutting my eyes as I remembered how it had felt to hear from my father that day as Jack and I lounged on a beach along the Mediterranean. “We were on a trip when my mom died, and Cam will never forgive me. Both for my absence at the end and for all the time I wasn’t there as things got worse. Dad declined too, and Cam had his hands full.”

“I’m sorry, Maddie.” Connor squeezed my hand, but I couldn’t take any solace. My brother was right to hate me, and now I was terrified to see him.

“He got married last year. He didn’t even tell me. I only found out because his new wife refuses to let there be this distance between us, and she calls me sometimes. I’ve never even met her.”

“Wow,” Connor said. “But you will today, I guess.”

I shrugged, pulling my hand free to wipe at my eyes. “Maybe. I guess.” I stood. “But I’d better go get ready either way. Thank you for this.”

Connor stood and met me as I moved toward the door, pulling me against him and peering down into my face. “Thank you for coming,” he said, his voice warm and strong. And then he kissed me gently, sending the jitters in my stomach about seeing Cam flittering up in chaos. “And let me know about the house,” he added.

I nodded, my knees a little weak from his kiss. I gathered my things and walked to the door, feeling all wrong. I didn’t want to leave, I realized. I could stay here forever, live in the warm familiar comfort of Connor’s house.

But I needed to go deal with reality. My