Authors: Faith Sullivan
The paramedics warned me that Connor may have a concussion, and they recommended that I keep an eye on him overnight. I tuck his arm through mine, and he doesn’t resist as I lead him to his room. Throwing back the comforter, I smooth the sheet and fluff up the pillows. He gingerly starts removing his shirt, but he winces when he tries to get it over his shoulders. Taking the initiative, I guide him over to the bed and have him take a seat. Taking one sleeve at a time, I slide the shirt off his arms then over his head. I shudder. There are black and blue marks all over his torso. Those guys really did a number on him. He’s going to be sore for days.
I bend down to loosen the laces of his boots. Gripping him behind the knee, I pry one off and then the other. Scooting back, he rests his head on the pillows and I draw the sheet over him. The wall unit air conditioner is running on low, but it’s still stuffy in here. I crank it to high and glance around for a chair, but there isn’t one. Since there are no other options, I lower myself onto the bottom corner of the bed. His eyelids flutter open as my weight shifts the mattress.
“What are you doing?” He’s groggy and somewhat miffed that I’m disturbing him.
“I have to monitor you for signs of a concussion.” I place my elbows on my legs in an attempt to alleviate the crick already forming in my back.
“So you’re going to sit on the edge of my bed all night?” He raises a hand to shade his eyes against the moonlight spilling through the window.
“That’s the plan.” I’m spent, but I don’t want him to notice.
“C’mon.” He slides the sheet down, patting the bed beside him. “Get in.”
“But what if I fall asleep?” He’s in my care. I can’t neglect him.
“You won’t. My snoring is bound to keep you awake.” The tiniest of grins spreads across his face.
“And how do I know you won’t make a move on me?” He’s down for the count, but I can’t resist teasing him.
“Because I’m fairly comatose at the moment, in case you haven’t noticed.” He grimaces, and I can tell he’s fighting through a great deal of pain.
“Okay, but I may have to wake you up during the night to check on you.” I kick off my shoes and stand up.
“Do what you have to do.” He’s barely holding onto consciousness as I approach. As I slide in, he pulls my head onto his chest. This isn’t what I had in mind. His ribs are bruised and way too tender to be supporting my weight.
I sit up and push my hair out of my face. “Connor, I don’t want to hurt you.”
But he’s out like a light with his arms sprawled out across the pillows. There’s nowhere else for me to go. It’s a twin bed with not much room to maneuver, and if he’s really asleep I don’t want to risk waking him.
Gradually, I ease back into position. The hair on his chest tickles my nose, so I shimmy up closer to his neck. His rhythmic breathing is lulling me into oblivion. Placing my arm around his waist, I hook my finger through one of his belt loops. Hopefully it’ll keep me from rolling off the bed in my sleep.
About ten minutes go by, and right when I’m about to drift off, his arm slips down, pressing me even tighter against him. What a rascal. I smile as I snuggle deeper into his embrace. He’s incorrigible, but damn, does he feel good.
I’m freezing. Blindly I grope for the comforter at the end of the bed, covering us in one fell swoop. Maybe leaving the air conditioner on high wasn’t such a great idea. It’s like a meat locker in here. But my efforts get an assist from Connor as he rolls on top of me, the warmth of his body covering mine.
His skin burns through the thin covering of my tank top. His legs intertwine with mine. I run my hand up his back as he fills my senses. Foregoing my better judgment, and despite the fact that he’s injured, I grasp the back of his hair and pull his lips onto mine. He moans, fully awake now. His tongue explores my mouth as I shift to wrap my legs around his waist. Instinctively, I want to arch my back, but his weight is pinning me beneath him. Frustrated, I move against him, seeking some form of release.
Drawing me up with him, he only breaks our kiss when he raises my arms above my head. In one swift move, he removes my tank top and drinks in my appearance. “That bra,” he murmurs, running his palms over the cups. It’s the fuchsia one that drove him wild during our first grope session. This time I want him to take it off, all the way off. But something about the memory triggers a reaction in him. He moves away from me.
“What’s wrong?” Missing the heat of his body, I pull the sheet closer.
“Michelle, I can’t…”
A wave of anxiety washes over me. “Aren’t you feeling well?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what the hell is it?” My anger cuts through. Why does he always end up rejecting me?
In the light of day, he looks terrible. The area around his stitches is inflamed. The skin surrounding his eye is purplish blue. The scratch marks on his face have reopened and are starting to bleed. He appears on the outside how I feel on the inside. We shouldn’t be doing this, not now.
Not waiting for his answer, I get up and fumble for my shoes. I can’t find them. They must be under the bed. I’ll get them later. Leaving half my clothing behind, I head for the door. At least this time I’ll be the one walking away from him.
“I promised your parents that I wouldn’t touch you, and I’m not going back on my word.”
His declaration roots me to the spot.
WTF? My parents?
He continues. “They put their trust in me when they allowed you to come here. Maybe if things were different, but…”
“Things
are
different! Don’t you see?” I spin around, eying him wildly. “I’m not a little girl who needs protecting. I’m a grown woman who knows what she wants.” In three strides I’m back on the bed with him. “I want you.” Kissing him with all the passion I possess, I claim him for my own. Sitting astride him, I push him back against the pillows, but again he sits up, releasing himself from my embrace.
“I’m not right for you, Michelle. I’m not the kind of guy you need in your life.” His voice sounds strained, like he doesn’t want to be having this conversation, but there’s no getting around it. I pushed the issue, and now he’s going to settle it, once and for all.
“I know who you are, Connor. You’re not fooling me. I’ve seen every side of you there is.” Annoyed, I sit beside him.
“But you’re nineteen. You’re not going to stay here for the rest of your life. You’re going to move on to bigger and better things.” The hope radiating from his eyes turns my stomach. Who is he kidding?
“Yeah, like back to Pennsylvania, where I’ll make a great wife and pop out a couple of kids? Give me a break.” Placing a pillow in my lap, I knead it with my fingers.
“That’s not what I meant. You’re going to go back to school in the fall and get your life back on track.” The enormity of his delusion floors me.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You are suffering from a major head injury, you know?”
He frowns, determination emanating from him. “You’re going back to school, and that’s final. Your parents spoke with the dean. They’re accepting you back into the program, no questions asked.”
“Well, I’m glad somebody decided to consult me to see if that’s what I even want!” I’m beyond livid. The glare I give him forces him to retreat a bit.
“You can still live here, if you want, if it’s where you feel comfortable. You can always pick up a shift here and there on the weekends.” He’s really serious about all of this. He and my parents have it all mapped out.
“Connor, you need to get this straight. I have no intention of going back to school. I’m trying to build a new life for myself, and…”
He interrupts me, his voice firm. “Michelle, bottom line, you can’t stay here if you don’t go back to school. End of story.”
I whack him hard across the face with the pillow. I want it to hurt.
“Michelle, what the fuck?” He’s angry now, too. Good. It’s about time.
“So how long do I have, huh? Until the end of August, then you’re kicking me out? I need to know so I can start making plans.” If he’s going to play hardball, then so am I.
“I told you, you don’t have to go anywhere…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Cut the crap. As long as I abide by Mommy and Daddy’s rules, then I can stay. Well, I’m not. So get used to it.” I hurl myself off the bed. I can’t stand to be near him any longer.
“You’re not going to hide behind 9/11 as your excuse anymore, Michelle.” How dare he go there.
I turn on him. “But you can, right? Sleeping around, smoking three packs a day, acting fucking erratic all the time…”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about…” He kneels forward on the bed, enraged.
“Jeez, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even have gotten the bar back up and running again, and don’t try to deny it, Miguel told me exactly what happened.”
He raises his hand to slap me, and I brace myself against the impending blow. But it never comes. Warily, I open my eyes. He looks stricken, like he can’t believe what he almost did.
“I didn’t sleep with those girls you saw me with.”
Holding my ground, I question him. “But you went home with one of them.” “Yeah, and left before anything happened.”
“But you didn’t come home until the next morning.”
“No kidding. I drank about eight cups of coffee at the twenty-four hour diner on Eighth Avenue.”
“Why didn’t you just come back to the pub?”
“Because I was still trying to deal with you finding out about Danny.”
“So you wanted me to think you spent the night with her.”
“Yeah, so?”
“That’s fucked up.”
I have no energy left to fight. I end up back where I started—sitting on the bed next to him.
“And what about that other chick from my first morning here?”
“Same thing.”
“You mean you didn’t even…”
“No.”
“Then why…?”
I’m so confused. Tears are threatening to spill forth. I cover my face with my hands, willing them back.
I can tell he’s disgusted with himself for making me feel this way. He really botched this one up. He owes me a full explanation, so he keeps going. “Because I had to set the ground rules from the get go. Send the message that I was off limits. That I was just some prick who went after anything in a skirt.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“Then why fight it?” I challenge him head on. He can’t deny the level of attraction between us.
“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a fucking mess.” He swallows hard. “And you deserve better than that.”
“Can’t I decide that for myself?” This time, the tears run down my face unchecked, and I swipe them away.
“Michelle, you’re not meant to be a waitress in some bar. Of that, at least, I’m certain.” My heart breaks a little when I see he’s not going to give in. His mind is made up.
“Then why lie to me to get me to come back to New York? Making me think you wanted me working for you?”
He looks uncomfortable. “It was never going to be permanent. It was just a way to get you back on your feet. Honestly, I thought you’d be sick of it by now.”
“How shallow do you think I am?” I ask bitterly.
“Last night was your first bar fight. How many more of those do you think you can take?” He levels me with his gaze knowing he has me.
Contemplating his words, I pause, licking my lips. “So you’re sticking to your ultimatum, then?”
“Yes,” he says without a second’s hesitation.
Reaching across the bureau, I grab his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Pulling one out, I light it and take a drag, remembering not to inhale. I don’t want to have a coughing fit in front of him.
“What are you doing?” He’s pissed but also a little amused.
“I’m thinking about what other bars might be looking for a new waitress.”
“Michelle…” There’s no mistaking the warning in his tone.
“It’s the only employable skill I have. I’m sure somebody will hire me.” I tap the lighted end into the ashtray. “Tammy did say I’m a hot piece of ass. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“So you’re determined to go against me?” Incredulous, he pries the cigarette from my fingers, lifting it to his own mouth.
“Nervous, are we?”
He exhales in my face. “You don’t want to take me on.”
“Oh, and why is that?”
“Because I always win.”
I keep my eye on Connor despite the fact that I’m mad as hell at him. He seems unsteady on his feet, constantly gripping the edge of the bar for support. He shouldn’t have opened the pub, but he didn’t want to lose out on the lucrative Saturday crowd, by far our busiest night of the week. He’s dispatching the drink orders at his usual pace, but he’s not himself.
I wish there was someone I can talk to about what happened between us. Maybe an impartial third party can help me make sense of our showdown this morning. But Tammy actually slept with Connor. She wasn’t one of his pretend flings to put me off him. It’d be too weird. And I don’t want to go there with Emily. She’s one of his vendors, and it’d be uncomfortable revealing intimate details of his personal life with her. I might be furious with him, but I won’t betray him like that either.
I’m left with one other option.
“Hey, Tammy, can you cover for me for a minute?” She gives me a thumbs up as she hustles by with a tray brimming with brightly colored margaritas. She’s no worse for wear after last night’s drama. I wish I could say the same.
Stealthily, I shoot a quick glance in Connor’s direction. He’s massaging his temples, half-listening to a guy at the bar drone on about how his wife cheated on him. His head must be throbbing. I don’t want to stress him out even more, but I’m not going down without a fight. It’s time to call in reinforcements.
I fumble for the key I swiped from Connor’s keychain earlier this morning after he threw down the gauntlet and went to take a shower. Mistake number one: leaving me alone in his room. It’s almost too easy.
I twist the knob and enter Connor’s office. There’s a computer on the desk and a set of manila folders hovering near the edge. Paperwork is everywhere, sprawled across the desk, spilling out of cardboard boxes. It appears messy, but as I take a closer look there appears to be some semblance of order in the midst of the chaos. Opening the top drawer, I’m immediately greeted by an envelope emblazoned with an angry red stamp: ‘final notice.’ Against my better judgment, I pick it up and find a dozen or more underneath. Some say ‘past due,’ and others are labeled ‘extension denied.’ They’re from a variety of sources, everyone from the New York City department of finance to credit card companies. There’s even one from the beer distributor that Emily works for.
And they all indicate one thing: the bar is in trouble. Connor isn’t paying his bills, but why? Business is steady. The weekend numbers are strong. I’ve even made a substantial dent in what I owe my parents thanks to the tips I’m raking in. So why is he buried in debt? Is he going to end up losing the pub? Is that the real reason why he’s pushing me to go back to school?
I recline in the vinyl chair that’s patched together with duct tape. How can this have happened? Connor cares about the bar. I know he does. It’s practically his whole life. I have to get to the bottom of this. The illuminated clock on the wall featuring the Guinness brewery logo shows that fifteen minutes have passed. I better get what I came for.
Stuffing the incriminating envelopes back into the drawer, I lift up the phone and pull out the spiral notebook beneath it. Flipping it open, I know I hit the jackpot. Scrolling through the list, I find what I’m looking for.
The unlisted phone number of Connor’s parents.