"What are you doing here?"
Jess jumped. Davey stood at the bottom of the stairs, hair rumpled, looking confused. Shit, shit, shit. Play it calm, be matter-of-fact. "Davey, you know Connor, right?"
"Hey, Davey," Connor said, still petting the puppy.
"What are you doing here? Why do you have my dog? Let go of him!"
"Honey, it's okay, he's not--"
"Let go of him! Don't kill him!" His face was getting mottled and red, and if she didn't stop this, it was going to be bad.
Jess stood up. "Davey, we were just watching, um, a spy movie. What's your favorite spy movie?" she asked. Redirect. That was what all the psychologists said, all the articles on the internet, but she was too late, and they were the wrong questions.
"Why did you let him in?" Davey yelled. He grabbed a photo frame from the bookcase and threw it at Connor, missing, then reached for a pinch pot he'd made her in pottery class, which he threw to the floor. It cracked in two.
"Take it easy, buddy," Connor said. "Everything's okay."
"Get out of our house! Get out!" Davey screamed, and he shoved past Jessica and launched himself onto Connor.
"Davey! Stop!" she said, trying to grab her brother's arm. Connor, God bless him, managed to put the puppy on the floor, and Chico fled into the kitchen, barking, but Davey was like a Tasmanian devil, screaming, flailing, hitting, and Jess could barely hold him; he was like a really big, really strong otter, writhing and twisting. Connor stood up, towering over Davey, and was promptly punched in the face. She grabbed Davey's arm. "No hitting! Just take a breath, Davey. Tell me who's better, Superman or Batman?"
Connor gave her an incredulous look.
"I hate you! I hate you!" Davey wailed. "You killed my dog! You killed my dog! Run, Chico Three! Run!" He twisted his arm free, sending another punch right to Connor's eye, hard enough that Connor rocked back.
"That's enough, Davey. Stop it," Connor said firmly. It didn't work.
"Davey, please. You're scaring Chico Three," Jessica said, recapturing his arm. The puppy was barking in the kitchen, and the last thing Jess needed was a pit bull learning about violence, and shit, shit, shit.
"He's scaring Chico Three! He kills dogs!"
"Buddy, calm down, okay?" Connor said. "I'm not killing anyone."
"I'm not your buddy! I hate you! Get out! Get out!" Spit flew from his lips, and despite her best efforts to hold him, he kicked Connor in the shin, broke free of her and shoved him in the chest.
"Davey, stop," she said firmly. The doctors told her to be firm, establish parameters and redirect his attention. Too bad they weren't here to help. "You need to go to your room right now."
He shoved her, too, and slapped her right across the face.
"Stop!" Connor barked, and he grabbed Davey, turned him so her brother's back was against his chest, and just held him tight.
Wrong move. Being restrained was the thing Davey hated the most. His screams grew louder, if possible, and he threw his head back, catching Connor square in the face. Connor let him go.
Davey grabbed the bowl of popcorn, smashed it on the floor, kicked the coffee table and then went to the wall and began banging his head against it. "Get out, get out, get out!"
"Davey, please, please stop," she begged, starting to cry. She forced herself between him and the wall, her shoulder taking the brunt of his blows, but it was too late, damn it; she should've had his helmet down here, should've prepared for this. His head was bleeding. She managed to get behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, but he was too strong to take down, even with all her body weight in the effort. "Davey, this is not okay. Stop this right now."
"Out! Out! Out!"
Shit, hell and baby Jesus. "Connor, can you get him on the floor for me?"
"No! No! No! Don't touch me!" Davey bucked up against her.
Connor picked up his legs, and Jess sank back on the floor, almost holding Davey in her lap. She wrapped her legs around him and put one arm behind his head so he wouldn't break her collarbone, and another across his chest. He couldn't do himself any harm this way, but her ears rang with his screams, and he twisted and flailed.
And sobbed.
He needed his meds.
"Connor, take my place, okay? Just hold him so he doesn't hurt himself. Be careful not to choke him." She had to almost shout to be heard over Davey's wails and Chico Three's hysterical barking.
Connor obeyed. His eye was already starting to swell. "It's okay," he said to Davey, who was struggling wildly, his feet kicking out at nothing. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Davey screamed in response, and Connor looked a little freaked out. Who could blame him? This wasn't what most people dealt with.
Jess didn't have time to think about it. She ran upstairs to the bathroom and grabbed the Xanax, the only thing the doctor would prescribe for Davey's meltdowns, and liquid Benadryl, hating that it had come to this.
She was drugging her brother.
Davey was still wailing. Kicking, too, from the sound of it. Poor Connor.
Jesus, this was horrible. She ran back downstairs, filled a plastic cup with water. Chico Three was on his little dog bed, chewing a squeaky toy.
She hustled into the living room and knelt down. Her brother was now just breathing wildly, groaning, but still kicking. One time, when their father had missed his birthday, he'd put his fist through a window and needed five stitches.
This was much, much worse.
"I'm going to give you the sleepy medicine, okay, sweetie pie?" she said, feeling idiotic in the face of Davey's rage. "Then you and Chico Three can take a nice nap. And we'll watch Batman, okay? The one with the Joker? I love that one. I love the Batmobile."
She slid two pink pills into his mouth, then held up the cup. He bit it, but it was plastic for a reason. "Drink, honey."
"I hate you!" He tried to head-butt Connor again.
"Swallow the pills, honey. You'll feel better."
"Make him go away."
"I will, as soon as you swallow the pills, honey." He obeyed, and she gave him the Benadryl chaser.
She hated herself for medicating him. It was no better than getting him drunk. But it would work. Davey was very sensitive to drugs.
She didn't look at Connor. Couldn't bring herself to do that. He said nothing, just held her brother. There was a clear impression of teeth on his arm. Human teeth. Davey had bit him.
It was so fucking unfair that it worked, that she was reduced to this, to medicating her brother into submission. She felt like an evil doctor doing experiments on a kid.
Davey was wearing his Batman pajamas. That made everything worse. "Don't let him hurt me," he said, and Jess couldn't help the tears that slid down her cheeks.
"I won't. No one will ever hurt you, baby."
"Don't let him kill Chico Three."
"I won't. Chico Three is safe and sound, chewing on Squeaky Dinosaur."
He was getting sleepy. His body lost its stiffness, sinking back against Connor. There was popcorn everywhere, not to mention broken ceramic, a broken coffee table and a smear of blood on the wall from Davey's head.
"I hate you," Davey murmured, and Jess had to clamp down the tears that gathered in her throat, because she knew that one was meant for her.
Her brother's eyes closed, his lashes clumped together from tears. She pressed her sleeve against the cut on Davey's head. It wasn't bleeding much. He'd had worse.
"Want me to carry him to bed?" Connor asked. He was going to have quite a shiner tomorrow.
"You're bleeding, too," she said, and her throat tightened more. She couldn't look him in the face.
"I own a bar. It's good practice for being a bouncer."
"Don't joke about this."
"I'm sorry. Let me bring him upstairs."
"I can do it," Jess said.
"I'm sure you can, but I've already got him, so why don't you let me do it this time?" He sounded irritable. Who could blame him?
She hesitated, then nodded. He pi
cked Davey up easily and went upstairs. "First door on the left," she said, somewhat needlessly, because it would be obvious which room was his.
Worried the puppy would get cut, she picked up the pieces of broken pottery. The Italian bowl was way too shattered to be fixed with glue. As for the little pinch pot Davey had given her for her birthday, well, she couldn't think about that right now.
Chico Three sat under the table, the squeaky purple dinosaur in his mouth. "Come here, boy," she said, grateful when the puppy obeyed her. He didn't seem traumatized now, just waggly and sweet. She picked him up and kissed his head, and the little guy licked her chin.
"Don't be nice to me," she whispered, then went upstairs.
Davey was sleeping, the blue plaid comforter pulled up to his chin. Connor stood there, looking down at the boy. His eye was nearly swollen shut.
She set the dog on the bed, and he snuggled right up to Davey's back, turned in three circles and lay down with a sigh. Jess went into the bathroom, ran a clean facecloth under the cold water and got a Band-Aid, then went back to the bedroom. Wiped the blood away from Davey's head. Just a small cut, thankfully. No stitches would be needed, but his head would be sore in the morning, that was for sure. She put the Band-Aid on, her throat choked with glass.
"Will he be okay?" Connor asked.
"Yep." A tree branch ticked at the window. "Connor, you should probably go, okay?"
"Let me help clean up."
"I want you to go."
"Jessica, this is--"
"Please, Connor." Because if he didn't leave now, she'd start crying for real, and there was no way in hell she was going to let that happen. Bad enough that he'd seen what he had.
She went down to the kitchen, got some ice cubes from the freezer and stuck them in a plastic bag. "Hold that on your face."
He obeyed. "Jess, we can work this out."
"Sure. But I want you to go now."
He looked at her through his unswollen eye, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Okay. Call me later?"
"You bet."
She didn't call later.
*
CONNOR CALLED HER the next day; she let it go to voice mail.
The third day after Davey's outburst, when she couldn't put it off anymore, Jessica waited till O'Rourke's would be closed, checked on Davey to make sure he was asleep. She left him the running note on the floor outside his door and then went next door. Ricky answered right away. "Would you mind?" she asked. "I won't be long."
"No problem." He took the baby monitor. "You okay, Jess?"
"I'm fine. Thank you, Ricky."
Then she drove to Connor's and broke up with him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't think this is going to work. He's my first priority, and until I can see if that new medication will work, I can't expose him to anything upsetting. You saw what happens." His eye was swollen. The rumor mill had it that he took a spill on his motorcycle. So he'd lied for her, apparently.
"Jess, I did some reading--"
"And now you're an expert?" Her voice was sharp. People had been giving her advice on how to handle her brother all her life.
"No, but I can help with some things. Maybe."
"Like what, Connor?"
"I can pay for the medication."
She could feel her face hardening into the Jessica Does expression--Don't mess with my brother, and we won't have a problem. Threaten first, give sex second.
It generally worked.
With Connor, though, the order was wrong, but it was the same thing, sort of.
"Let me help you," he said quietly.
"No, thank you." People meant well. Sure they did. But then they thought their money entitled them to something. If Connor funded Davey's medication, maybe he'd start saying things like, I think I get a say, since I'm the one who's paying for this. Or, if he didn't like how things went, what if he decided to stop paying?
No. It had to come from her. She was the only one she could rely on. She'd made this problem; she was the one who had to deal with it, and if it meant she didn't get a normal life, so be it.
"Maybe I can help in other ways," Connor said.
"What ways?"
"I don't know yet. This is new to me. But I know a little. I read a lot of articles, and--"
"Well, it's not new to me. Don't think you can figure this out because you've spent three hours on the internet, Connor. I've been living with this since I was seven. I love him. I know what's best for him. I've talked to doctors, read every article there is. I know what he can and can't handle, and he can't handle me having a...a thing right now."
"A thing? Is that what we are?"
She swallowed. "Yes. I'm sorry."
He just looked at her a long, long minute. "I'll miss you, then."
For a second, she could feel her face wobble, her tough-girl don't mess with me front slipping, and oh, God, what if he saw how lonely she was?
"I have to go. Davey's alone. I just ran over to tell you. Thanks for being so nice about everything."
With that, she turned and ran down the stairs. Pulled out of O'Rourke's parking lot so fast she slung gravel.
She didn't realize she was crying till the road went blurry.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Five years before the proposal
IT WASN'T THAT Connor gave up on women after Jessica cut him loose. No. He was a normal healthy American male. He dated. And he did try to date, rather than hook up, because he wouldn't want some asshole guy to sleep with Colleen and never call again. In fact, if it was up to him, Colleen would've joined the Sisters of Mercy long ago.
And then there was Savannah, who was as sweet as they came, a sturdy little kid who got dropped off at O'Rourke's every Friday night so Colleen and Connor could spend some quality time with her, and babysit while Pete and Gail went to some other, fancier restaurant.
So being a well-behaved guy was kind of paramount. Savannah already had a shitty male role model, though Pete was Mr. New and Improved Father 2.0 with her. Even so, she didn't need a brother who slept around.
So Connor dated. Just not very well.
Not many women made it past the two-week point. They were nice and all... They just weren't Jessica.
He kept waiting for her to come in and tell him things were under control, and could they pick up where they left off. It didn't happen. She came into O'Rourke's every Wednesday night with the rest of the volunteer EMTs and firefighters, and she always said hello, just as nice as pie-- "Hey, Con, how's it going?"
And he'd say something like, "Just fine, Jess. How's your brother?"
And she'd say, "He's doing okay, thanks for asking."
Then the copper wire that connected them, ever since sixth grade, would light up with electricity and heat, a reminder that no matter what, they were locked in.
And then it'd go cold.
Or, more likely, Jess would flip the switch. She'd go back to the firefighters, who were more of a drinking club, at least on Wednesday nights, and get dealt into the poker game or make wisecracks with Gerard Chartier. She'd have one glass of white wine, which she never finished.
But every once in a while, if he was having a particularly rough day for whatever reason, Jess would pop into the kitchen, that mysterious half smile on her face, and say something nice. Something like, "That crab-cake special...it was proof of God, Con." Or she'd say, "Heard a joke the other day and thought of you." It would be inevitably filthy and hilarious, and he'd crack a begrudging smile and shake his head, the wire warm with current and tangled around his heart.
Almost like she was checking up on him.
Then she'd go back to the bar and not finish her drink.
If she waited on him at Hugo's, she'd drop a hand on his shoulder and give it a little squeeze. But she did that with Jeremy and Gerard, too, he'd observed, and did even more with Levi, like messing up his hair, which invariably made Connor stupidly jealous. Levi and Jess went way back, friends since they were toddlers, practically.
So one day, when a gorgeous redhead came in, and Colleen was too busy flirting with Levi Cooper, who'd just been promoted to police chief, Connor came out and took her order. Started talking.
Kim Garvis was the town clerk in Bryer, the next town over. She was in Manningsport for a training session on new software and decided to get dinner before she headed for home; said she'd heard good things about O'Rourke's.
She was smart. She was nice. She was gorgeous. She was interested.
There was absolutely no reason not to ask her out, so he did.
Connor had kind of forgotten how it was to date someone without sneaking around. They didn't hang out at O'Rourke's. The restaurant was closed on Mondays, and Connor's day off was Tuesday, and he really didn't feel like staying in the building where he lived and worked in his free time. Plus, there was the Colleen element--his sister loved nothing more than to get into his business and offer color commentary. So he'd get on his motorcycle and drive over to Bryer and hang out with Kim, or take her out to dinner or a movie.
And everything was very nice. Couldn't ask for anything more. It was great.
So long as he didn't think about Jessica Dunn. Whenever she did come into his head, he'd remind himself that she'd made herself clear, had other priorities, and he had to get that through his thick Irish head.
Then one night Kim surprised him by showing up at the restaurant. There'd been the spring biplane show on the lake, and O'Rourke's was packed and loud and fun. Kim didn't mind; she sat at the bar, chatted with Colleen, who'd guessed, using her psychic twin powers, that he was seeing someone. Kim seemed completely at ease, laughing with some of the regulars, and Connor, glancing out, smiled, seeing his girlfriend there.
"Rafe, you have the conn," he said. Though Rafe was not a Navy man, he did love submarine movies, especially those starring Matthew McConnaughey or Denzel Washington.
"I have you, Con, and aye aye, skipper," Rafe said, taking over the grill.
Connor washed his hands and went out, weaving through the crowd till he got to Kim. "Hey, you," he said, and gave her a casual kiss on the lips.
"Hey, back," she said, grinning. "Thought I'd come see you in your element."
"His element is lead," Colleen shot back. "The densest element. Oh, snap!" She high-fived Gerard and pulled a Guinness.
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