Page 47 of Conor
“When is Archer coming?” I croak. My throat is raw from screaming, and I barely have a voice left, but I won’t be able to rest until I know he’s here and he’s safe.
Conor dabs at my face with a wet cloth, cataloging every scratch and bruise with an agony I’ve never seen in him before. “Rory will bring him shortly. But I think you would agree that we need to get ye cleaned up first. He shouldn’t be seeing his mother in such a way.”
My eyes water, but I agree. I wouldn’t want Archer to see me this way. Conor goes about the task of cleaning my body with a gentleness he doesn’t often show. These same hands took life tonight. They shed the blood of Animal and the other Locos, and probably many others before. But when I look up into his soft green eyes, I realize that I don’t even fucking care. I don’t care about any of it. Not when I know Conor to be good and kind and pure in his own way. This is the man I fell in love with. The one who tends to my wounds and makes everything okay. My love for him is savage and completely irresponsible, but it can’t be tamed.
I almost left him, and I almost paid for it with my life.
There is too much space between us, and not even a single inch will do. I want to crawl into his lap and force him to say pretty words and make me promises he will keep. I need him to tell me that he will keep us and love us and never let anything come between us again.
“Is this okay?” His fingers edge the torn hemlines of my sweatshirt, slowly dragging it up to remove it.
I tell him it is, and he busies himself with removing the rest of my tattered clothing, throwing them into the trash where I hope he will burn them. As my eyes wander over him, it occurs to me that he’s been so busy taking care of me, he’s forgotten to take care of himself.
“Your ear is bleeding.”
He brings his fingers up to the wound and shrugs. “Just a flesh wound. I’ll live.”
“Please put something on it. At least stop the bleeding.”
Conor reluctantly agrees, ripping into a fresh pack of gauze and securing it over his ear. It’s not the best job, but for now it will have to do. I want to help him, but I’m too sore to move on my own and the pain is catching up with me now. I realize it when he walks to the bath and tests the water and I’m left to support myself on the edge of the sink.
“Feels good,” he says. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I can’t,” I whimper.
Conor turns to me, and when he recognizes the pain in my eyes, he comes back to me without delay. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you.”
I fall against his chest, too weak to wrap my arms around him. But it doesn’t matter. His skin against mine is all that I need. I need him to stay with me like this all night, and I hope that he will.
Conor unbuttons his jeans and kicks them off, and then holds me upright with one arm while he strips off his shirt. He doesn’t bother to remove his briefs before gathering me up into his arms and carrying me to the tub.
“That’s it, love.” He lowers us both into the tub and settles us into the warm water. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”
I melt into him, and even though I’m still a fucking mess, a deranged smile curves my lips. I can only imagine what we must look like. This big, burly man crammed into the tiny bathtub with me. It can’t be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t seem to give it any thought at all as he soaps a cloth and scrubs it over my skin, pausing to ask if the pressure is okay. He asks me where I hurt, and then he feels those places with his fingers. When it’s all said and done, his level of care says everything words can’t. He touches me like I’m his salvation. Like he couldn’t live without me, and it took us almost losing each other for him to understand that.
He massages me, strong fingers kneading the tension from my back and shoulders. Then his lips are on my neck, kissing me, breathing me in. We’re melded together, and all the wrong from the night is somewhere else, in another time and place where we don’t exist. And when he finally does choke out some words, it’s all I ever need to know.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you, Ivy. You can’t ever leave me like that again.”
“Mommy!” Archer cries out.
My beautiful girl can barely move, but she musters every last ounce of strength left in her to wrap her arms around her son. “I’m here,” she tells him. “I’m here, my love.”
They hold each other for as long as Ivy can handle, but when it becomes too much for her, I intervene. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t we all go to bed.”
Ivy nods, and I help them both settle into our bed. But when I stand up, her arm shoots out to catch me. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere, love,” I assure her. “I’m just taking off my shirt.”
Her eyes never leave me until I’m tucked in behind her, an arm wrapped around her waist while Archer curls against her chest. In this space between darkness and dawn, I have a clarity I’ve never felt before. A purpose in life that is so much more than my brotherhood, or proving myself, or anything else that ever seemed important before.
My whole life is in this room. This is my family, and I’ll never let myself forget how close I came to losing them because of my own ignorance and pride.
I bury my face against Ivy, breathing her in as I kiss her hair. “I love you, baby girl. I love you both.”
“Conor?” Ivy’s panicked voice escalates from inside the bedroom, and I fling open the shower door, barely managing to cover myself with a towel before I make it back to her.
“What’s wrong, love?”
