Spring also meant less time with Connor. His afternoons and evenings were busy coaching baseball, but Meg was actually grateful for his hectic schedule. She lost all self-control and time-management skills when he loomed around her. Paperwork she normally would have done the moment it crossed her desk took an extra day to complete; household chores went undone so she could have a quick rendezvous with Connor.
Recently most of their quick conversations centered on J.T., one of his football friends from Texas. Every Memorial Day weekend he came up and stayed with Connor. Not only was he looking forward to the annual visit, but so were the rest of his family and friends.
J.T. was a celebrity in the football world—a world Meg never had an interest in, but since it was part of Connor’s life, she had accepted it. He shared stories of his and J.T.’s days playing football in Texas. J.T. still played in the NFL, and Meg could tell Connor missed it and wished to be in his best friend’s shoes. She cuddled with him while he told his stories, even if she had a hard time following along.
They sounded like complete opposites, but she assumed that’s what drew the best friends together. She and Tracy had nothing in common except a profound respect and love for each other, and she assumed that’s what J.T. and Connor had as well.
She could follow along with baseball much easier than football. Eventually she learned the game while watching the team—or rather the coach—from the bleachers. Emma still worked part-time for the school but covered softball and the girl’s lacrosse team.
Connor’s Memorial Day barbecue turned out to be more than a simple backyard affair. They had the traditional burgers, hot dogs, and steak. Potato and macaroni salad made by the wives of fellow friends, coaches, and family. Coolers overflowed with beer and soda. Classic rock bellowed from the CD player.
A group of men started a touch football game in the far corner of Connor’s property, while Emma and Paige tossed horseshoes down by the lake and the women milled around the patio sipped on wine coolers and laughing at their husbands’ showmanship. The property was large enough to accommodate a dozen more people and their cars, the lake making a beautiful backdrop.
The buzz around J.T.’s arrival monopolized the conversation around school and among Connor’s family. He was a celebrity the men envied and the women licked their lips at. They talked incessantly about the man’s perfect, athletic body, and his mesmerizing blue eyes. Meg smiled and appreciated the lust that filled the women’s eyes when they talked about J.T., but she couldn’t imagine anyone in the world more perfect than Connor.
When the chips disappeared, she picked up the giant shell-shaped bowl and brought it into Connor’s kitchen to refill. She looked out the kitchen window and admired the close-knit community. They came together in good times and in bad. She witnessed it last month when the Welker family’s house burned down. Three children and a single mom suddenly homeless. The Tucker family offered them one of their unrented homes to live in—rent free—until they could get their feet back on the ground. Students brought in bags of clothing and toys for the little ones and local church groups rotated bringing homemade meals.
It was a community and Meg felt part of it. She and Emma babysat the young children while Diane went to various appointments with the insurance agency, builders, and banks.
Lost in nostalgia, she didn’t hear the feet on the stairs and jumped when two strong arms wrapped around her stomach.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Connor whispered as he nibbled on her ear.
“Mm, hey yourself.” Meg let go of the chips and turned into his strength. Meeting his best friend was important to both of them, but it made her nervous. She hadn’t had to worry about anyone’s acceptance yet because the only people that saw them together were his family and a few teachers from school with whom she felt comfortable. This outsider was a part of Connor’s life and Meg feared and felt like a stranger. His acceptance was imperative. “You’re pretty excited to see your BFF, huh?”
He chuckled. “BFF? Now you sound like my students. Yeah, I’m pretty pumped. J.T. and I haven’t gotten together since August. I usually make a trip down to Texas in February but…” He gazed down at Meg’s mouth and licked his smirking lips.
“Couldn’t tear yourself away from me?”
“Damn straight. It’s gonna kill me not being with you tonight. Are you sure you won’t change your mind?”
She rested her head on his chest and sighed. “I’m not quite ready for a slumber party. I love waking up next to you in the morning, but I don’t want to come downstairs and share my morning with a strange—with your friend.”
Connor hugged Meg tighter, then released her and picked her up onto the counter nestling himself between her legs. Meg rested her arms on his shoulders and leaned her forehead against his. “When all of this is over—baseball, school, visits from out-of-town—we’ll schedule some serious alone time. Okay?”
“Another sleepover? It’s been a while.”
“Hmm, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were using me for my body,” she teased.
“Oh yeah, that and a whole lot more, babe.” Connor kissed her and pulled her body into his until they melded into one. Meg wrapped her legs around his waist and enjoyed how beautiful and wanted he made her feel. She was so caught up in his kiss that she didn’t hear the front door open, but the deep, bellowing voice was hard to ignore.
“Well, holy shit, Conman. Whatcha got cookin’ in here?”
Meg pulled away and jumped off the counter using Connor’s six feet frame to shield her from embarrassment. When he stepped away from her, she turned her back to the men and toyed with the chips on the counter, all while trying to cool the redness of her cheeks.
“J.T.! How the hell are you? How’s the team?” She heard a clash of hands and backslapping as the two friends had their male ritual bonding moment.
“Sweet, man. Team’s lookin’ good this year. Could be the year for us. This the broad?”
Broad. Connor wasn’t an eloquent man, but at least he wasn’t brutish like his friend. Meg cleared her throat, anticipating their introduction and smiled as she turned around.
Connor walked back to Meg and put his arm possessively around her. “J.T., this is Meg. Meg, J.T.”
She wiped her sweaty palm on her shorts. “Hi—” she looked up and faltered. The women were right. Those baby blue eyes were not eyes one could ever forget. They twinkled back at her as the blood left her face and made her weak. She gagged, swayed, ran into the bathroom, and threw up the three chips she ate earlier.
The cold, white porcelain did nothing to absorb the sweat leaking out of her pores. Meg stood on shaky legs and washed her mouth out in the sink.
“Hey, Meg, you okay?” Connor opened the unlocked door and brushed her hair behind her ear. “Honey?”
Trembling lips. Spinning room. Nauseous stomach. Connor McKay. J.T. God. She wanted it all to stop.
She braced her hands on the counter hoping it could bear her weight. “I have to go,” she whispered.
“It’s okay. Come on. I’ll help you up to my room.”
“No. No,” she shook her head. “I have to go. Home. Now.” Meg straightened herself, blinked back tears, and pushed her way past Connor. He stayed next to her, offering a supportive arm around her waist, for which she was secretly grateful. Being a small, honest town, Meg, like everyone else in the community, left her keys in her car. She opened the driver’s side door, but Connor stepped in the way.
“Hey, what’s going on? You’re not driving like this.”
“I have to.” He didn’t move, and she knew he would fight her on it. “Emma. Please. Go get Emma.” She pleaded.
“Meg. Stop. What the hell is going on? One minute you’re fine, and the next you’re white as a ghost and throwing up. You need to lie down. Or a doctor. Do you need to go to the hospital? Are you pregnant?”
“What? No. Connor. Listen. Please. Get Emma. She can drive me home. But I need to leave. Now.”
“I’ll get
Emma, but only because I don’t want you driving yourself, and you’re too stubborn to tell me what the hell is going on. Stay. I’ll be right back.” He stroked her cheek and ran around the house to the backyard.
Meg was thankful for the time to pull herself together before Emma got a look at her. She slid around to the passenger’s side, knowing too well that Connor was right and she was in no condition to drive. She smoothed her hair back and fixed her rumpled T-shirt.
“Mom! Are you okay?”
“I’ll be okay, sweetie. I’m not feeling well. Can you drive me home?” She plastered on the motherly smile all moms used when they didn’t want their precious children to be scared.
Connor opened her door, kneeled down in the dirt driveway, and then took her hand. “I’ll come by in a little bit to—”
“No, Connor. Really. I just need to lie down. I’ll call you later.” Once again she showed her I’m not really okay but I want you to think I am smile.
He kissed her knuckles and backed away from the car.
Once home, Meg threw up again and again, then stripped down and took a hot shower and climbed into bed, shivering with fear. During the car ride, she tried to explain to her daughter that she had some flu bug, and she needed Emma to stay close. Just in case. She knew nothing would happen, but she needed her daughter to stay home as well. To stay far away from J.T. Spiller.
Emma seemed a bit miffed about missing the barbecue, but she’d have to get over it. This was for her own protection. Not that she’d understand it today. Or tomorrow. In the meantime, Meg curled into a fetal position and shook like a seven-point-five on the Richter scale. She barely managed to compose herself in front of Connor and Emma. Now that she was alone, the hurt, fear, and pain swallowed her up and closed in around her.
For a few brief months, she had the luxury of living a fairy tale life. And like all good things, it had to come to an end. How could she tell Connor that his best friend raped her and was the father of her child?
* * * *
“Shit.” Connor chucked his cell phone across his room and punched the back of the hardwood, six-panel door, bruising his knuckles.
Four days after her sudden onset of some sort of stomach bug, and Meg still hadn’t returned any of his calls or texts. No one answered her door, yet her car remained parked in the driveway. She’d stayed home from work for the first time all year. He’d been so wrapped up with J.T.’s visit and then an away game in Concord that he hadn’t found any time to catch up with Meg. He needed to find out why she was ignoring him.
How they could go from practically-having-sex-on-his-counter to leave-me-the-hell-alone in a matter of seconds was beyond him. If his schedule didn’t suck so much, he’d be at her door demanding to be let in. Being the property owner, he had a key to the house and would use it tonight if she still refused to talk him.
During the first twenty-four hours of unreturned phone calls, he figured he’d called at bad times. She was sleeping. In the shower. But when Monday rolled around and still no word from her, he had begun to worry. Connor showed up on her doorstep at the crack of dawn. Emma answered the door and convinced him Meg had a bad case of the flu and needed to rest, but she still could have called him back.
J.T.’s short visited had been plagued with Connor’s worry. They’d drunk the customary case of beer and stuntman shots of Southern Comfort at the picnic. Belched, farted, wrestled, and acted like caveman as usual. Connor was secretly happy Meg hadn’t been there to witness his inner, drunken adolescence come out. It wasn’t a side of him he was terribly proud of, but he didn’t mind getting reckless every now and then.
He’d spent a leisurely Sunday on the deck, out on the boat, slowly sipping beers and grilling dogs with J.T. but he missed Meg.
“Man-up, Con. You’re sorry ass is whipped!”
He’d brushed off the taunts but couldn’t help the smirks whenever J.T. mentioned his hot girlfriend. Or when J.T. had pointed out that the Conman was in love. Damn straight. Which made the deafening silence from Meg unbearable. What if she had passed out? Was in a coma? Had fallen and couldn’t get up? What if she needed him but couldn’t get a hold of him?
It was the last thought which made him crawl on his hands and knees in search for his cell phone. He found it next to a fallen post-it note.
You are amazing.
Love you. M—
Connor closed his eyes and sighed. Meg had left that note on his pillow two weeks ago. She came over for dinner, but they had skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Well, the bedroom. She’d slipped out when he fell into his post-coital slumber.
He had waited her out. Gave her whatever space Emma eluded she needed. But enough was enough.
Baseball practice had been long and excruciating, and his foul mood and his team whining about the unexpected heat wave New England was experiencing put him over the edge. The heat the sun produced was minor compared to the sauna that had built up inside his head. Steam from every mixed emotion under the sun cooked, baked and burned him until he had flipped out at his team and sent them home to take a cold shower.
He took his own advice. His skin felt refreshed, but the cold water didn’t help soothe his heart. The lonely shower stall only made him reflect on the times he and Meg made love under the steamy flow.
Not caring about respect or boundaries, Connor shoved the post-it note and his cell phone in his pocket, stomped down the stairs, and then scooped up his car keys from the counter. Whether she liked it or not, she would talk to him and tell him what the hell was going on.
Aerosmith and the white-knuckle death grip on the black leather steering wheel didn’t help calm his nerves. And why did his nerves need calming? There were no signs that their relationship was in trouble, but Connor sensed it. He knew.
The truck practically lead itself to Meg’s driveway, and his legs followed suit by delivering him to her front door. Her car sat in the driveway and a light shined through the living room window. He heard voices inside. Possibly the television or radio. There was hope. He took one final deep breath and rang the doorbell.
The voices stopped. Connor leaned in and pressed his cheek against the door hoping to hear her, touch her. The door opened taking Connor’s face with it causing him to literally fall at Meg’s feet. Beautiful feet. Bright pink polish, smooth silky legs. He lifted his head and took in her beauty. Struggling with emotion and wobbly knees, he lifted himself up and loomed over her. But the flawless face, pouty lips, and large doe eyes were gone.
“Oh my God! Meg. Babe. You look awful.”
She laughed a humorlessly, “You have no idea,” she whispered and turned away from him.
Shit. Cancer. It was cancer. She was dying right before his eyes. Maybe it was a tumor. A brain aneurysm.
“Honey, sit down. Should I call your doctor?” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the couch. Once sitting, he inspected her face with his hands, the need to touch her pulling at his aching body. Her skin felt like porcelain, but her eyes were sunken and outlined with dark circles. She always looked thin, but she’d lost a few pounds. Carefully he drew her close to him and held her and kissed her hair as he stroked her back.
She was wound up tighter than a rookie on opening day. Connor pulled back, his hands gripping her shoulders. “What is it?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears leaked through the barrier anyway. “Connor. I…we need to take a break from each other.”
“What?” This time he let out a humorless laugh.
She opened her eyes and pulled away from his grasp. “This all happened so fast, and while it’s been wonderful, it just doesn’t feel right anymore.”
“It sure the hell felt right last week when we were making love on my couch.”
Meg jumped up and hugged her arms around her waist. “It was…nice. Yes. But we need to stop now. I need us to stop now.”
Connor cornered her in front of the fireplace and scowled down at the senile woman before him. “What the hell are you talking
about? Are you out of your freakin’ mind?”
“Please, Connor.” She stepped back as far as she could before bumping into the fireplace. The fear in her eyes was enough to make Connor back down and step back. He was pissed at her, but he didn’t want to frighten her.
“I need my space. You’re a wonderful man but not for me. Not right now.”
“Again, I repeat, are you out of your freakin’ mind? Things are great with us.” A light went on in his head and he smirked his I can talk a woman into anything smirk. “J.T. didn’t put you up to this, did he? Before he left, he told me he planned on stealing you away from me.”
“No!”
Her sudden burst of energy startled him.
Meg ran her hand through her hair, straightened out her oversize T-shirt. “Please. Connor. Just go.”
Her passivity made his anger boil. They were a fighting couple. She was an aggressive woman. There was no way their relationship would go down without a fight. “I won’t go until you tell me what the hell is really going on. Don’t tell me the rumor-mill has come up with some lame ass story about—”
“No, Connor,” she sighed. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but if you must know, it’s because of who you are.”
“I thought you were past that athlete fetish.”
“No, I mean, you’re…you’re a teacher in my school. I’m your boss, and I need to earn my respect without riding on your coattails.”
“Sugar, you’ve got respect despite being secretly linked to me.” Once again, he tried his trademark smirk.
Meg strolled to the front door and opened it. She picked her head up, straightened her shoulders, her face hardened.
False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 16