Destination Connelly (22 page)

“Are you sure it’s yours?”

“She.
It
is a she. Hazel. Her name is Hazel. And there’s little doubt she’s mine.” She has my eyes and Nora’s smile. She has Nora’s nose and my little cleft in her chin. I could already tell she has cunning and intelligence.
She loves art and photography
. I grasp at anything I can remember about my daughter in the five seconds I had with her.

“You’ve met her?”

I try to laugh, but I choke on a sob inside instead. “You could say that.” I lean forward, clasping my hands between my spread knees. I hang my head, developing a sudden interest in the hardwood flooring beneath me.

Like they do every two seconds, my thoughts drift to Nora. It seems a lifetime ago that I held her in my arms and made promises I may not end up being able to keep. I love her and hate her equally. And I hate that I still love her after everything she did to me. To us.

Fuck. Me.

The pain inside me is debilitating. It hasn’t waned an ounce.

After my heart-to-heart with Gray over Labor Day weekend, I finally came clean to my twin about the real reason I bought SER. Because I found Nora again. Because I never got over her. Because I didn’t want to live without her anymore. He supported me. Encouraged me, even. Now I don’t have a clue what I want. Or what I’m going to do.

Shit. Could things be more fucked?

“She’s ten. Or at least I would guess she is,” I add absently.

“How? Well…I mean…I know
how
…but why? I mean…why? I don’t understand why she would do that. What would make her keep—?”

“Ash, stop. I don’t know. We didn’t get that far in our verbal mudslinging.” Except we did. The fact she didn’t know if Hazel was mine is still nearly debilitating.

Asher takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. My other two brothers are as stunned mute as I was when I first found out.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says after a few quiet moments pass.

“Me either.” I lean back and force my gaze to the ceiling, willing the burning I feel behind my lids to recede. I thought I understood what it meant to have your soul ripped from your body before but that was a walk in the fucking park compared to what I’m feeling right now.

“What are you going to do?” Luke asks.

“I don’t know that either. I don’t know much of anything right now. I’m kind of numb, actually.”
Not numb enough, though,
I think.

“You need time to process this, Conn. Don’t make any rash decisions.”

“I know.”

“And you need to get a DNA test. Make sure she’s yours,” Gray adds.

“Yeah.” I’d already thought about that. But I don’t need a mouth swab to prove she’s mine. I looked into her soul and saw my reflection. The same thing happened when I looked at Nora the first time.

My chest hurts so bad it’s hard to drag in a full breath. I find myself unconsciously rubbing my breastbone, trying to ease the throbbing ache underneath.

“And you need to talk to Nora. Talk. Not yell. If she is yours, you have some real shit to figure out. Regardless of how this went down and how you feel about Nora, she’s still her—Hazel’s—mother, so you won’t be able to avoid her forever.”

“I know, Asher, but…Jesus, I can’t even stomach the thought of looking at her deceitful face right now.”

“Yeah. I get that. But you want to be part of your daughter’s life, right?”

Opening my eyes, I look at Asher. My very best friend since the very second we were conceived. We shared a space in our mother’s womb. We slept in the same room until we were ten, even though there were plenty of bedrooms in our house. We learned to ride bikes together, and he got mad when I caught on quicker than he did. We liked the same girl in fourth grade. Sarah Humphries. We agreed we were both going to marry her when we grew up until our mom told us only one man and one woman could be married. Except in Utah. I didn’t understand that at the time, but we secretly planned to move there so we could both have her.

He’s the only person who’s seen me cry. Twice. The day Nora left me and the day we buried our father.

“Yes.” I can hardly breathe.

Make that three times now.

His face softens sympathetically before he closes the space between us, clasps my face between his hands, and leans his forehead against mine while raw pain bleeds from my heart and soul.

He never says a word. Like a good brother should. He lets me grieve all I feel I’ve lost and celebrate the newness I’ve found.

With my brothers’ silent, steadfast support, I begin to come to terms with how much my life is about to change. There’s just one part I can’t figure out: where does Nora fit in now?

I may not be able to imagine living without the woman I love, but I sure as fuck don’t know how I can live
with
her either.

N
ora

I
’m lost
. The fog thickens, turning from a murky gray to blacker than tar in an instant, cutting off my vision. The air is thick and cloying with the repercussions of every bad decision I’ve ever made. It sits heavy on me, a massive weight I can’t escape. It’s become me.

The wind picks up, whipping angrily around me, slashing at my thin skin with uncontrolled ferocity, leaving behind invisible wounds that will never scar because they perpetually seep with unending pain.

I have no one.

I am alone.

The sky suddenly opens wide. I’m pelted with black, icy rain. Stuck in a blinding thunderstorm without protection. I stand helpless, feet rooted to the ground, watching the deadly lightning edge ever closer. One second, I see the light of my demise, the next, I’m plunged back into suffocating blackness. I don’t know which I prefer. Freedom from my unending suffering or the shroud of darkness so no one can bear witness to it, including me.

I’m soaked physically, drowning emotionally.

I’m dead inside.

The storm stops as quickly as it started and the clouds part, but light never follows. Color never blinds. Birds don’t harmonize. Heat doesn’t penetrate my chilled flesh. All I hear is silence and I finally realize where I am.

Hell on earth.

I
wake with a start
, shaking uncontrollably. Tears stream down my face. Sobs catch in my throat. I can’t gulp enough air to slow my heart rate.

“Mommy,” a timid voice calls from my doorway.

“Yes, baby,” I reply after a few shallow breaths.

“Are you okay? I heard you crying.”

Fuck no. I’m not in the same universe as okay. I’m barely holding myself together with gum, string, and chicken wire.

“Fine, Zel. Just a bad dream is all.”

“Do you want me to sleep with you? That always makes me feel better when you do that.”

Oh God
. I love my daughter so very much.

“That would be great,” I choke on a whisper. Pulling back the sheets, she slides in beside me with her stuffed papi bear, which she carries everywhere.

Regardless of my feelings for my father, my daughter loved her papi dearly. His death was hard on her. She was only a newborn when my mother died, so she never knew what a wonderful woman her nana was. I had kept a few pieces of clothing of my father’s and last Christmas had them made into a tiny suit that would fit on the bear. The buttons on the vest are from a costume pearl necklace of my mother’s, so each of them is represented on the stuffed animal. Zel treasures that thing like its gold.

“Was somebody chasing you?” my daughter asks innocently as she throws her arms protectively around me.

Yes…my penance.

“Something like that.”

I can’t help it. I cry softly hugging my daughter to my chest. She’s my rock whether she knows it or not. If it weren’t for her, I’m pretty damn sure I would have fallen apart when my mom died. But she was helpless and needed me and I held it together for her. I lived for her and her alone. I still do.

“It’s okay, Mommy,” she soothes, stroking my hair. “It was just pretend, like a bad movie, remember?”

My words, coming back at me. Except she doesn’t realize that mine wasn’t “pretend.” My hell is all too real and wholly inescapable in consciousness and unconsciousness. It has been for the entire week since I last set eyes on Connelly, his cutting words still stinging sharply days later.

Seven days.

One hundred sixty-eight hours.

Over ten thousand agonizingly lonely minutes.

I continue to show up to work every single day, not knowing if it’s my last. I imagine the one reason my shit hasn’t been packed up for me is the ironclad employment agreement I signed, although he no doubt has his attorneys trying to find a loophole. Bet he’s regretting buying SER about now.

That thought crushes me even more.

A glance at the digital clock shows it’s 6:30 a.m. Usually, I would have the entire weekend planned with Zel, but I’ve been so preoccupied this week, I can hardly think about making it through the next minute, let alone plan days in advance. I’ve been a horrible mother these past few days and that needs to stop.

Taking a deep breath, I tuck down all the personal shit I’m dealing with, focusing on my daughter.

“So, what do you want to do today?” I ask, feeling marginally better.

“I want to take pictures. Can we maybe take a walk down to the lake?” My daughter the artist. She’s incredibly talented in so many ways. In addition to being artistic, she has uncanny people skills, like her father. I always thought she was an old soul in a little body.

She is my sun. My world revolves around her.

“Sure. Sounds great. What else?”

“Maybe have lunch with Aunt Mira?” she hedges.

I chuckle lightly. Hazel doesn’t miss a beat. When Mira dragged me back to her condo, the tension was as thick as sludge. Zel made herself scarce so Mira and I could talk. The first thing Mira told me when Zel left the room was that she hasn’t been intimate with Connelly. I did believe her, but that didn’t squelch my jealousy at the closeness I felt between the two of them. I have a very hard time believing a womanizer like Connelly could just be “friends” with a female and not hit on her. But I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to know. I was already in too much pain.

“I can see if she’s free.”

My baby looks up at me with Connelly’s eyes. My breath hitches at her question. “And maybe she can invite her pretty friend, Connelly?”

“Zel, I…I don’t know. He’s probably a very busy man.” And he’s made it pretty clear the last thing he wants to do is see me, let alone spend an awkward hour with me.

She props herself up on her elbow, face in her palm, turning very serious. “Mommy, I think he’s the one.”

“Who’s the one?”

“Mira’s friend, Connelly,” she says brightly.

I try to speak, but have to stop several times before I can barely whisper, “What one is that, sweetie?”

“The one we’ve been waiting for.”

Oh God
. Tears well so fast, they’re overflowing before I have a chance to stop them.

“Why would you say that, Hazel?”

She flops down on her back, blinking at the ceiling. “You’re going to think it’s weird.”

I match her position and catch her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze. “I promise I won’t.”

“I dreamed about him. Well, his eyes anyway.”

“You dreamed about your fat—” I catch myself before I reveal the secret I’ve held inside for ten years. I need to tell Hazel, but I was hoping to talk to Connelly first to see how he wanted to handle it. I don’t want to give her false hope if he wants nothing to do with her and with each day that passes it becomes more painfully clear I made the right decision all along.

“You dreamed about Connelly?”

“Yes. A lot.”

Shit. I don’t even know how to respond. She’s practically rendered me speechless. “What makes you think it was him, Ladybird? It could have been anyone. And dreams are just—”

“Pretend. I knew you would say that, so that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry,” I respond contritely. “I do believe you.” After a few beats of silence, I add, “Why do you think it’s him? Connelly?”

Her little shoulders rise. “I just know. I don’t know how to explain it.” Turning her head toward me, she says excitedly, “Did you see his eyes, Mommy? They’re hazel, exactly like mine. Just like my name.”

You were named after the thing I loved most about him.
Even if I wasn’t 100 percent certain when she was born that she was his, I’d hoped. In my heart, she always would have been. That’s the only outcome I would accept.

I nod mutely, biting my lip to keep from bawling.

“Why are you crying?” She brushes away the drops tracking down my face, choking me up even more.

“I just love you so much,” I manage to say. Her face brightens. It instantly makes me feel better.

“Do you believe me? About Connelly?” she asks almost pleadingly.

I smile softly, moisture blurring my vision. “Of course I do. It’s right to trust your gut feelings.”

A brilliant smile lights up her face, driving much-needed warmth into my frigid soul. “I think so, too, Mommy. And I have a good feeling about him.”

I tug her to me for a hug, kissing her red-covered crown. “Me too,” I croak halfheartedly, not sure I believe my own words.

I can live with Connelly disappointing or hurting me. It’s hard; I won’t deny it. I’ll never love another. I’ll never marry. I’ll never grow old with someone by my side. Fine. I’m an adult, I’ve made my own bed and I will lie in it, suffering the consequences, whatever they may be.

What I won’t tolerate, however, is him disappointing our daughter. She’s entirely innocent in this charade I’ve played. I won’t have him taking out his anger on her in any way, shape, or form. She already believes in a man she’s met for all of ten seconds and while I still hold out hope that they can have a relationship, that that’s what
Connelly
will want, if he doesn’t, I don’t want her heart torn to ribbons by him the way he did mine.

“Hey, how about banana pancakes?”

Excitement dances in her eyes. Zel is a pancake fiend. She’d eat them for every meal if I let her.

“Can I make the batter?”

“Of course. I’ll even let you flip them.”

“Really?” She jumps to her knees and bounces up and down.

I laugh. Sliding out of bed, I grab a robe from the back of my door. I slip it on and tie the sash tight. “Really.”

Grabbing her hand, we head to the kitchen. A few minutes later with the concoction made, we pour four small blobs on the hot griddle. I rest against the counter, just taking her in as she impatiently keeps lifting up the edges to see if they’re ready.

As she chatters away about Connelly, Connelly, Connelly, I stop paying attention. She’s absolutely enthralled by him when all I can think of is that I’ll do anything I have to in order to protect her from being hurt by my mistakes. Or by a father who may not even want her.

And out of everything,
that’s
the toughest pill to swallow. I can’t place too much faith in Connelly. I did that once before and got third-degree burns.

Once again, I strengthen my fortress, brick by brick, steel beams and girders. The walls are battle weary, the structure unsteady in a stiff wind, but I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. I have no choice. I never do. I have someone more important than myself to think about.

I have Hazel.