“You’re a goddamn rapist. You took advantage of a young virgin and left her, a victim, in the backseat of your car. Left her to raise a child at the age of sixteen. Left her alone. And you’re going to pay.”
J.T. slowly stood, trembling on his weak knees and cradling his ribs. “She thinks I raped her?” He stared at Connor, soaking in the life-changing news bulletin. “She was pregnant? Her daughter, she’s mine?”
“No. She’ll never be yours. You promise me right here, right now, that you’ll never go near either one of them. If you do, this will look like a slap on the back in comparison. Understand?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed.
Connor kicked the glass coffee table over and didn’t even so much as flinch when the glass shattered across the hardwood floor and gave his former best friend a final look over.
His hand touched the doorknob when J.T. said his last words. “I didn’t know, Con. I didn’t know. I was a kid. Stupid. I swear, I didn’t know.”
Connor let the door slam behind him, closing out his past.
The flight back mirrored the flight to Texas except this time it was a nosey old man who chatted while Connor sulked. Connor didn’t feel any better. Didn’t feel any worse for wear, minus the swollen knuckles, dark circles under his eyes, and wrinkled clothes. Truth be told, he looked like a thug. He didn’t notice the blood on his T-shirt until a security man called him out and brought him to a room to be searched and interrogated.
Like his mother’s apple pie, New Hampshire greeted him with a sense of comfort. The city surrounding the airport was a ghost town. One of the perks of living in small town America was that all traffic lights turned to a blinking yellow system after midnight. Slow and cautious at every intersection instead of the stop and go traffic of a busy city like Austin, he cruised through the fourth light and noticed a twenty-four hour diner open for business. Remembering his growling stomach, Connor pulled in, found a table, and ordered the Lumberjack special. He ate slowly, his jaw a bit tight from the swelling pressure.
It was nearly two in the morning before he drove past the “Welcome to Newhall” sign. It didn’t seem all too long ago that he was a teenager, sneaking girls down to the lake behind the sign hoping to score, or at least get on base. He hit a few grand slams in his day. Out of the park and down a girl’s pants, but he never, ever took advantage of a girl. Ever.
He couldn’t imagine how betrayed Meg had felt when he introduced her to J.T. Damn, he felt like a shmuck. But she had to realize he didn’t know the truth. That he’d never ask her to face the guy who raped her. The shock was as startling to him as it was to her. In the morning he’d clear things up with her, make it all right. Hope she’d realize his error as pure ignorance and beg for her forgiveness.
White knuckling the steering wheel, he thought back to the look on J.T.’s face when he called him out on the rape. Connor’s mind had been so focused on rage that it was too late by the time he noticed the headlights coming at his driver’s side door. The sudden impact and crunching of metal against his body knocked him clear to the passenger seat even with the seat belt snugly fastened. His ribs cracked like toothpicks and pierced his insides, sending him into a whirlwind of pain and a blackness of unconsciousness.
Chapter 17
Emma was in high spirits lately, mostly because she enjoyed flirting with Connor’s younger brother, Cole, while tending to the horses on the Tucker farm. Unfortunately, Meg couldn’t avoid his family. Emma rode twice a week and worked for Betsy and George to supplement the fee of lessons. Annie had become one of Meg’s closest friends and even though she meddled, Meg couldn’t help but adore Betsy. To make Connor believe she didn’t need him meant she had to keep up her act of living a completely happy life without him.
While they never publicly discussed their relationship, rumors around town buzzed about Meg and Connor’s secret relationship and mysterious break-up. Sick of the pitying looks, she continued her happy-go-lucky façade at work as well.
Keeping true to her pretend world, she planted a smile on her face, opened the door to the main office, and then called out an over-the-top cheery “Good morning!” to Barbara. “Don’t you just love mornings like these? Not too hot, not cold, not a cloud in the sky. What do you think about closing up shop and heading to the beach?”
Barbara had a deer in the headlights look. “I’m only teasing. And a tad bit wishful thinking. You ought to…Barb? Are you okay?” Her secretary didn’t blink and a lonely tear trickled down her cheek. “Oh my God, what’s wrong?” Meg dropped her briefcase and kneeled down so she was eye level with the stray tear.
“It’s Connor McKay,” she whispered.
The sharp pang in her chest clogged her airways for a second. “What about Connor?”
“An accident. He’s—”
Meg shot up. “He’s what?” she demanded.
“At Mercy. Critical care.”
“Oh, God.” Meg tripped over her briefcase and ran out the door to her car, breaking every speed limit on the way to the hospital.
Thankfully the parking lot wasn’t too full, and she was able to park relatively close to the emergency room entrance. Besides a few minor stitches for Emma during her high school days, Meg had been fortunate enough to avoid hospitals. She didn’t have a fear of them, but the sad and depressing air that loomed around the ominous brick buildings was enough to make her thankful for a healthy life.
Stale, antiseptic air enveloped her as she rushed through the heavy doors and approached the check-in desk. “Connor McKay. I need to see him. He was brought in…I don’t know when, but I need to talk him,” she begged.
The woman behind the desk eyed her up and down, scrutinizing Meg’s appearance. “Are you a family member?”
“Um, no. A friend. But please, can you tell me if he’s okay? Can you tell me that much? Is he okay?”
“Ma’am, I’m not at liberty to discuss a patient’s diagnosis, prognosis, or condition with anyone, especially friends. Do you realize how many friends Mr. McKay has?”
“Please…” she looked for a nametag, “Maggie. I’m his…girlfriend. Tell me he’s okay.”
Maggie guffawed. “Do you know how many girlfriends he’s had stop in today?”
Taken aback by the woman—who couldn’t be older than thirty—and her attitude, Meg lost control of her emotions.
“How dare you—”
“Meg! Oh, God. I’m so glad you’re here!” Betsy wrapped her short, pudgy arms around Meg’s shoulders and sighed.
Quickly she pulled away, “Connor, he’s…?”
“Room 237. I’m heading home to rest for a bit. I’m glad you’re here. Go on in. I’ll be back in a few hours.” Betsy patted her on the back and slowly shuffled out the door.
Not waiting another minute, Meg pushed the up arrow on the elevator and waited impatiently for the doors to open. Once inside, she practiced a few yoga breaths in an attempt to calm her nerves. She had no idea what to expect. Barbara and Betsy were incredibly vague and evasive. Was it because they didn’t know how to break it to her? Was he paralyzed? In a coma? Brain damaged?
Finally, the doors opened and she hurried down the hall to his room. As she started to pull on the door handle, a large elderly nurse walked out of his room.
“You’re not going in there are you?”
“Uh, yes. If that’s okay.”
“Uh, uh. You’re too frail for the likes of him. Sugar, why don’t you come back later?”
Searching for a name again, she continued to hold on to the tiny thread of strength she had left. “Thank you, Florence, for your concern, but Connor is a friend of mine and I’d like to see him now.”
“Huh. Well, sugar, good luck to you.”
“Wha…what do you mean? Is he…terribly disfigured? On his death bed?”
Florence let out a growl, “Honey, if those injuries don’t kill him, I’m sure as likely to go in there and smother him with a pillow myself.” She waddled down the hall with a toss of her
hand in the air.
The world was losing its sanity! First Maggie treating her like paparazzi and then Betsy leaving to rest—rest!—when her son was dying, and then Florence, a nurse who should be fighting to keep her patients alive, threatens to kill Connor? Meg knew she had definitely missed something, and she hadn’t the foggiest idea what it was. Bracing herself for the worst, she slowly opened the heavy door and reluctantly stepped closer to the hospital bed.
The room was dark and still except for the occasional drip from his IV. Connor lay flat on the bed, his shoulders bare and scraped, his ribs mummified with white bandages. The left side of his face had swollen to twice its original size and a purple bruise covered his cheek. His right side had tiny red cuts from his forehead down to his neck. The lump in her throat and the tightness in her chest kept her from running into his arms. Not that he could hold her with one arm weighed down with the IV. Or that she’d dare touch him. He looked defenseless. Weak. The only other time she saw him this vulnerable was the day she shot his Achilles’ heel and kicked him out of her house.
Losing him had been the most painful emotion she had ever experienced, but if she lost him permanently, she didn’t know what she would do. Maybe it was a mistake to break up with him. She lost a month of valuable time she could have spent with him, and now she’d never be with him again. Connor looked like death warmed over. He was strong, physically and mentally, but the way his nurse and mother talked…well, she didn’t know if he would make it.
Inching closer, she leaned over his broken and bruised body and pulled the thin white blanket over his torso and tucked it under his chin and left her hand on the thin barrier, needing the contact.
“I told you to leave me the hell alone!” Connor opened his eyes and glared at her. “Meg?” His baby blues softened.
“Hi, I’m sorry…I didn’t…you…uh, wanted to be alone. I’ll go now.” She turned and took a step, but he reached out and touched her lingering hand.
“Don’t go,” he whispered.
She slowly turned and faced him, keeping her eyes on his injuries and not his watchful stare. They stayed motionless in silence. His thumb brushed across her knuckles. She closed her eyes absorbing his touch, remembering his potency and how wrong she was for him. Reluctantly, she pulled away. “Are you okay? I mean, you look awful, but are you…are you going to be okay?”
Connor smirked his telltale grin, “Nah, this is nothing. A few scrapes. I’ve done worse.”
“What happened?” She remained serious while he did his best to lighten the mood.
“Guy was multi-tasking. Sleeping and driving. He ran a light, hit me broadside. I have a few busted ribs, nothing major.”
“Oh.” Meg toyed with her ring and bit thoughtfully on her lower lip. “The nurse, she made me believe you were…” she bit back the tears in her throat. “Uh, not doing well.”
“Well, if she’d stop manhandling me, I’d be doing a lot better.”
“Isn’t that sort of her job?”
As if on cue, Florence entered, wheeling a small portable stand that housed her necessary equipment. “Time for your vitals, hot shot.” She undid the Velcro on the blood pressure strap and pushed her way over to Connor’s right side. “You may want to step outside for this, honey. He’s a miserable bear.”
“Just ignore Nurse Ratchet. She’s getting grumpier in her old age.” Connor’s eyes remained fixed on Meg.
“And your morphine has obviously worn off. You’re gonna start listening to me, or I’m going to dope you up again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal. And do I make myself clear, Aunt Flo? No doping me up. I hate that sh—crap.”
“I swear,” Florence turned around and addressed Meg. “He’s gotta be the most stubborn, obstinate man I’ve ever met. He won’t wear a gown, won’t take medication and thinks, thinks he’s gonna get out of here tonight! Not on my watch.” She turned back toward Connor. “And you, seriously, Connor. Two in the morning? Hasn’t your mama taught you anything? Where are you coming from at such a god-awful time of night? You’re lucky you didn’t go and get yourself killed!”
“Oh, stop the melodrama. First off, I’m not wearing a sissy ass gown—”
“Watch your mouth, young man.” Florence tore off the blood pressure strap and stuck a thermometer in his ear.
“And I don’t need drugs. I feel fine!”
“Tough guy,” she muttered and picked up his right hand, examining his swollen and bruised knuckles. “Funny how you got hit on the left side of your body but your right hand looks like it went through the wringer as well. You been fighting again?”
He jerked his hand free and grimaced. “If you’re done with the third degree, you can go now. I remember you saying I need my rest if I’m going to get out of here.”
Florence muttered as she packed up her rolling cart and strolled out of the room.
Meg crossed her arms and arched her eyebrow. “What the heck is going on? I feel like I’m in The Twilight Zone.”
“She’s Kent’s mom.” He rolled his eyes. “She was kind of like our nanny growing up. She and mom started the cleaning business together when Annie and I were kids. When mom was working, Flo watched us and we’d hang out with Kent. The old broad acts like a mother hen sometimes.”
“Okay, so that makes a little more sense. I guess this is all a tough love act?”
Connor laughed. “Yeah, Aunt Flo always comes off harsh, but that’s to cover up the fact she’s a total softie.”
“Well then, since you’re okay, I’ll leave you to rest.” Meg eyed his bruised hand one more time, picked up her purse, and then walked toward the door.
“Meg. Thanks. For coming by.”
“Sure.”
She made it to the car before she burst into tears. It took a month for her to finally be able to wake up in the morning and not picture Connor the second her alarm clock went off. A month of extreme workouts in the gym, intense house cleaning and extra hours in her office all in an attempt to ward off any thoughts and images of Connor that may have crept into her mind
Now, after watching him lay helpless but still manly in his hospital bed, smiling and making jokes with Florence, she was totally, one hundred percent doomed. Carrying on with the charade of not loving him made her physically and mentally exhausted. Her body couldn’t keep up with the act much longer. The brief contact he made was enough to set off the fire alarms throughout the hospital, yet he appeared unaffected. Sure, he stared at her and fidgeted, but after the way she treated him, what did she expect? He didn’t profess his undying love to her or tell her he’d been brooding for the past month.
No, he was obviously coming home from some torrid affair when he had gotten into his accident. He’d moved on. And left her in the dust.
* * * *
More rattled now than when he woke up from his brief stint of unconsciousness to four EMT guys using the Jaws of Life on his truck, the ache in his chest wasn’t so much from his bandaged ribs, but from Meg’s face. Truth be told, she looked awful. Beautiful, but thin, frail, and weak. He recognized her signs of nervousness. She wanted to appear strong and in full working order, but from word on the street—his mother and sister were quite handy when he needed information on Meg—was that she’d turned aloof and depressed, working very hard to come off as the strong, in charge woman she liked to be.
He still couldn’t figure out how that made him feel. Last week, he secretly gloried that she was miserable for—what he thought—being a self-righteous pain in the ass. Connor would never utter those words to anyone else, but after the way she dumped him, that’s what he’d thought of her. Learning she was miserable hadn’t done much in the form of comforting him, but he’d been happy to know she wasn’t out searching for her next victim.
But she wasn’t self-righteous, and at times she could sure be a pain in the ass, but he loved that ass more than anything in the world. Meg Fulton was the most selfless woman he’d ever met. She faced her fears—hell, conquered
them—and came to the hospital to see him. She had to still love him, or at least care for him. Damn. What a fool. For months, he’d talked up his former best friend, anxious for his approval of the woman he loved the woman he…shit, the woman he wanted to marry.
Now all he had to do was convince Meg that James Spiller would never enter her life again, and pray she didn’t still see her rapist’s face every time she looked at him.
* * * *
Unable to focus, Meg took the next week off of school. There was still a lot of work to do in the summer, but she had the luxury of picking and choosing which days she wanted off. She and Emma spent time at the Tucker farm, caring for and riding the horses. After a month of self-pity, it felt wonderful to be outdoors with her daughter. It being difficult to carry on a conversation while riding, or rather racing, through fields and trails made it an even more pleasant experience. She admired Emma’s spunk and brutal honesty.
Her daughter didn’t let her mope around. One day of crying, one day of venting, and then her pride-and-joy demanded she take her life back. Meg couldn’t tell Emma or Annie the real reason for the breakup. She stuck with her cover story of caring for Connor, but he’d not been the right one. If that was the case, she needed to act the part. So there she was, horseback riding through lush, green woods. The horses slowed near Pearl Stream to take a drink and then Misty, Meg’s older mare, followed Emma’s horse, Lady, through the river.
“Emma, don’t you think we should head back now?”
“Let’s follow the stream out to the lake. I heard it’s beautiful out there.” Emma called over her left shoulder.
“Honey, I’m sure it is, but we haven’t a clue where we are; we’ve been out here for an hour. I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow. Much less drive home tonight.”
“Lady knows the way.” She patted her horse and kicked her heels into its belly.
Meg had never ridden down to the lake before. And she had no desire to today. She needed to work on her plan to get Connor back. Betsy notified her when he got home from the hospital two days ago, but she hadn’t mustered up the courage to talk with him yet. He needed time to heal his wounds, physical and emotional, before she told him about J.T. Spiller. Maybe tomorrow.
False Start (The McKay-Tucker Men Series Book 1) Page 18