Up in Smoke Page 12

  The night his father died, Connor had walked into the house after one such date and stopped cold in the entryway. It wasn’t even late, but all the lights were off, except for in the kitchen. He could see it emanating from beneath the still-swinging door. Silent. So silent. He’d known before he even entered the kitchen that he’d find his mother. She sat with her back against the refrigerator door, knees pulled up to her chest, pressing a bag of frozen carrots to her eye.

  “How was your date?” she’d asked him, words muffled because of a busted lip. Then she’d promptly burst into tears.

  Connor could remember mentally checking out, almost as if there’d been an audible click. He’d left his mind in the kitchen and taken his rage-filled body elsewhere. Operating on pure testosterone, he’d stormed back through the house to find his father attempting to sneak down the stairs with his jacket. They had both frozen for a split second, long enough for Connor to communicate what he was going to do. But his father fell out the door first, fast on his feet despite his obvious inebriation. Connor had sprinted after him out onto the sidewalk.

  What happened after that remained clear in his head. It might as well have happened last night. Or this morning. It was his greatest shame and yet only the beginning of what the following years would bring.

  He turned his attention to Erin, who sat beside him silently, pressed up against the window of the bus. So petite, yet so bold. Some of the time. Her sadness was seeping into his bones with every passing moment, and he needed to fix it. There was a part of him that wanted to shout and put his fist through more glass, but it would only confirm to her that they’d failed. And he didn’t think they had. Not by a long shot. How could he when she’d shaken from pleasure on his lap? It was a sight he’d be replaying in his head for a long, long time. What happened afterward didn’t have to take away from it.

  “I want to take you somewhere.”

  She met his gaze in the window. “Okay.”

  Just like that. She trusted him not to take her somewhere she’d be uncomfortable. It made him even more determined to prove today had been amazing. Because, Jesus, he was still hard as fuck in his jeans just thinking about it. Suspected he would be for a good, long while. Sex wasn’t the answer right now, though, badly as he wanted it to be. Badly as he needed her. No, she’d been vulnerable in front of him this afternoon, and for people like them, that was a tough pill to swallow. So he’d make sure she didn’t have to do it alone. Even if the thought of exposing himself made his head pound.

  “I was discharged from the SEALs for beating a civilian.”

  Very slowly, Erin straightened. She blinked a few times, as if trying to figure out why he would reveal something like that. On a bus. Out of nowhere. “Why?”

  Connor fought the urge to yank her onto his lap, bury his face in her hair while he told the story. “We were on a mission. I can’t tell you where.” He cleared his throat. “For days, we were in a safe house, waiting for our target. Just…waiting. Not moving or talking. We couldn’t.”

  “I’d go crazy.” She frowned. “Crazier, I mean.”

  He shook his head at her. “My vantage point overlooked a school. This teacher, she…reminded me of my mother. Always fussing with the kids’ hair or making sure they had enough to eat. I didn’t need to speak the language to know they all loved her.” The view from the window was still painted on his memory. “One day, she wasn’t smiling when she got there. She limped into the damn building. During recess, I saw that she had two black eyes. I just knew.” He met her gaze, but couldn’t hold it. “And it was like seeing my mother like that all over again. I couldn’t…separate it.”

  As if she could sense he needed contact with her, Erin scooted closer and pressed the sides of their bodies together. “Your dad hit your mom,” she said, not asking a question.

  “Yeah.” It felt hard to swallow. “He did. And then he couldn’t anymore.”

  Erin seemed to process that, her face solemn. “What happened to the teacher?”

  “We got orders to move that night. Just to the opposite side of the village. Our target had become paranoid and changed locations.” He closed his eyes and remembered that night how it happened. “We were on the move when I heard a man yelling. A woman crying. We all wanted to investigate, even if it countermanded orders, but I was the only one who couldn’t make a decision one way or another. I didn’t think. I just went. I saw him beating my m—the teacher, and I just reacted.”

  She stroked a hand up the side of his face, into his hair. He leaned into her touch like a lifeline, comforted by the sound of her humming in her throat, her massaging fingers. “The fucker deserved to have the situation reversed, baby. You stood up for that woman when no one else would. I hope she holds on to that when things get rough. I hope she remembers her husband can be beaten just as easily.”

  He felt weightless. Like he’d been carrying around sandbags on his shoulders for the last two years and she’d just slashed them open, allowing them to empty their contents onto the ground. Nothing could excuse what he’d done or how he’d gone about it, but knowing she didn’t judge him was a potent relief.

  “What about your dad?”

  For some reason, he felt no anxiety anymore in revealing this to her. Even though he’d never told a single soul in his life, save his mother who was there that night. At that moment, in the back of the dim, rumbling bus, they were the only two people in the world and no ugly memories could touch them. “When I was sixteen, I came home and found my mom. He’d hit her.” Connor shook his head. “He’d stopped for a while, straightened up, but…this time was bad. She needed stitches, a cast. It was like he’d decided to make up for lost time.” His hand fisted at the image of his mother bleeding on the kitchen floor. “I chased him out of the house and he got hit by a cab.”

  Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry that happened to you. So sorry.”

  “That’s not the worst part. I was—”

  “Glad. You were glad he couldn’t hit your mother anymore.” She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, nuzzling his neck in a way that somehow healed a broken part of him. “You’re human. Sometimes advantages present themselves through death. We can’t beat ourselves up for recognizing them.” A few beats passed before she met his gaze. “You think whatever your father had inside him made its way into you. Maybe it did. But it’s no match for you, Connor. It’s an ember and you’re a beautiful house fire.”

  Humbled by her vehemence, her confidence in him, he didn’t know what to say, so he just concentrated on the feel of her. Savored it.

  “My mother died, too,” she mumbled into his neck. “I’ll tell you about it when I can.”

  “You can’t tell me now?”

  “No. But only because this was your time to tell a story. We have to let it settle.”

  Unbelievable. He felt like smiling. After all the ugly shit he’d dredged up. “One more thing, then we’ll let it settle.”

  She mushed her nose against his skin and inhaled. “Fire away.”

  “Today was incredible, Erin. Maybe we got there because I was, am, a jealous man. And maybe it didn’t end the way we wanted.” He turned his head and kissed the corner of her lips, ordering himself not to do more. Not to sink in the way he craved. Too soon. “But you let me touch you and you’re still here. You’re fine. We’re a damn sight better than we were yesterday. We’re going to keep getting better, too. I want you to stop doubting.”

  “You sound so sure,” she murmured.

  “You’re damn right.” Connor released a slow breath. “Sure enough that I’m taking you to meet my mother right now.”

  Joanna Bannon barely reached Connor’s shoulders without her high heels. The last time he’d seen her without them had been the day she was released from the hospital, following his father’s final beating. She’d clicked out of her bedroom the next morning in four-inch pumps, hefted her purse over her shoulder, and walked out the door without her sunglasses on. Connor had stood at the win
dow holding a bowl of cereal, watching the neighbors turn and stare. He’d stopped her on the way out to ask if she wanted him to come along, but it had been something she needed to do by herself. To show her battle wounds and proclaim herself a survivor. He hadn’t known until that morning what it meant to be proud of someone. The feeling had been like a bowling ball sitting on his chest, but it was a good weight. A welcome weight. He’d wanted someone to feel that way about him.

  When he’d been approached by the cops the previous month and asked to cooperate in bringing down his cousin, he’d told them to go fuck themselves. His cousin might be a murderer. A thief. A liar. But in his world, a snitch ranked even lower. But they knew his weak spot. They’d offered to take his mother out of her dilapidated house in the Bronx and move her to a brand-new high-rise in Chicago. They’d offered them both the chance at a new life. Most importantly, they’d secured insurance for his mother that would cover the bulk of her radiation treatments.

  He’d been overseas when the doctors diagnosed her with breast cancer. True to form, his mother continued to fight like a warrior and made progress with each treatment. His military benefits had been canceled, however, leaving them holding the bag on her medical expenses. Thus, the NYPD had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. His mother needed the best treatment available and he’d had only one way to get it for her. If his admissions regarding his cousin had saved Bowen’s life and earned him a friend—two friends including Sera—he considered that an added bonus.

  Erin appeared shell-shocked as they walked into his mother’s building, but smiled at him gratefully when he automatically bypassed the elevator and went for the stairs. Since his mother lived on the twelfth floor, maybe it would burn off some of his sexual frustration. Maybe, but not fucking likely. Not with Erin’s gorgeous ass swaying in front of him with every step she took on the way up. Or the space between her thighs. Thighs that had been splayed over his lap less than an hour ago as he’d sucked her delicious pink nipples.

  She tossed a saucy look over her shoulder. “What are you thinking about, baby?”

  “Fucking your insane body.”

  Her steps faltered, but she kept going. On the next landing, she turned and pressed her back against the cinder-block wall. He knew he should bypass her and resist the temptation she presented, but he couldn’t. Even looking at her sent his heart rate skyrocketing, made his hands curl into fists with the need to touch. It was more, though. The simplicity of her words on the bus, her acceptance of his past, the vulnerable girl he saw underneath the punk-rock getup. God, he wanted her so bad. All of her. Needed her to be his.

  When she snagged a finger into his belt loop and tugged him closer, he growled. “What are you doing?”

  Mischief lit her eyes as she smoothed a hand over the growing bulge in his jeans. “I can take care of this for you.” Her voice sounded smoky and full in the silent stairwell. “Please, let me.”

  “No,” he panted. “I meant what I said. No relief for me today.”

  She squeezed him in a devastating rhythm, going up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “How tight do you think my pussy is, Connor?” Her hand gripped him lightly. “This tight?”

  “Tighter,” he ground out. “I know it’s tighter, goddammit.”

  He gritted his teeth as her grip closed around him hard. “Like this, baby?”

  “Yes.”

  Her breath heated his neck. “You just say the word. I’ll get on my knees and suck you until you can’t stand.”

  “Fuck.” It would be so easy. Push her onto her knees, brace his hands against the wall and fuck her sweet, pouty mouth. He already knew she could take it into her throat. It would round off the sharpest edges of his need, allowing him to concentrate. No, dammit. He wouldn’t do it. He gave in too much where Erin was concerned. Gave up too much of the control he craved. It was important to him that she realize that when he made a promise, he kept it. If in this case, that promise was to torture her with his own suffering, so be it. Stranger things had happened. “Not today, Erin. No matter how bad I want your mouth on me. I won’t do it. Learn to take my words seriously.”

  Some of her bravado slipped. “I don’t like it when you hurt because of me.”

  “I can take it.” He took a deep breath and smiled through the agony. “Besides, I know you’re just trying to stall on meeting my mother. Nice try.”

  “Caught me,” she mumbled, pushing off the wall.

  Connor forced himself to watch his feet as they continued to the twelfth floor. They exited into the hallway and came to a stop in front of his mother’s door. Erin’s cheeks were red, but he didn’t think it was exertion. More like nerves. Hell, he didn’t blame her. It was early in the game to be introducing her to his mother, but then again, they hadn’t exactly been following the new couple guidelines, had they? They already lived together, for Chrissake.

  “The first time I was in Dade, the television got stuck on one channel for an entire day. Some girl had swallowed the batteries for the remote, so she could get transported to the hospital.” She shifted on her feet. “We watched a marathon of Boy Meets World. Have you seen that show?”

  Connor nodded. “Once or twice.”

  “I’m just going to pretend I’m Topanga. Cory’s parents loved her.”

  He started to say to hell with Topanga, but his mother threw open the door. “My son, I thought that was your voice.” She patted the sunflower-patterned scarf on her head and gave Erin a friendly once-over. “You bring home a girl and I get no warning. Were you raised by wolves? I could have baked.”

  Connor ignored her tongue clucking. “Can we come in, Mom?”

  “You’ve never been one for warm greetings, but I am not even trying to hear that noise. Give your mother a hug.”

  Unable to keep his smile hidden, Connor enveloped his mother with his arms, wishing Erin could experience the same thing without feeling debilitating anxiety. Cheeks flushed with pleasure, Joanna stepped back to let them in. Connor took the opportunity to step between his mother and Erin. Joanna might be perceptive, but he hadn’t had a chance to tell her about Erin’s aversion to touch yet. A simple handshake could spell disaster.

  He guided Erin to the opposite side of the room without touching her. She followed, but her gaze was darting around the apartment, looking for exits. When she finally noticed the fire escape attached to the living room window, her shoulders sagged.

  “Mom, this is Erin. Erin—”

  “Call me Joanna, please.” She clicked across the floor in her heels, pausing on the threshold to the kitchen. “I have lemonade and tap water. Yes, I’m a shitty host.”

  Erin fidgeted. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  “You’ll have lemonade,” Joanna decided. “You need something to do with your hands.”

  When his mother disappeared into the kitchen, Connor turned to Erin, surprised to find her studying him. “This is what they offered you, isn’t it? A place for your mother.”

  He nodded once and glanced away, taking in the renovated apartment, so unlike the shabby house in which he’d spent his youth. “Cancer treatment.”

  Her eyes softened. Before he could ready himself, she curled her fingers in his collar and tugged him down for a soft kiss. “I’m sorry I tried to blow you in the stairwell,” she whispered against his lips.

  “Jesus.” A pained laugh escaped him. “Please don’t apologize for something like that ever again.”

  “Okay.”

  They shared a smile. He couldn’t seem to break eye contact with her. She seemed just as content to search his face. For what, he didn’t know. In his peripheral vision, he noticed that his mother had reentered the room. How long had she been standing there? Reluctantly, he straightened, turning his attention to his mother, who had a strange expression on her face.

  She visibly shook herself and came forward to hand them their lemonade. Erin cupped the bottom of the glass to avoid their fingers brushing and murmured her thanks.

  “So, d
o youse two work together?” Joanna asked, her familiar Bronx accent in full effect. “Let me guess, Erin is the queen in your deck of wild cards.”

  Erin’s brow wrinkled. “Your what?”

  “That’s what I’ve been calling it,” Connor explained while tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Since we’re all…”

  “Cuckoo bananas?”

  “Different from one another,” he amended. “Yeah, Mom, we work together.”

  Joanna took a sip from her own lemonade and Connor could see the wheels turning in her head. If Erin worked with him, she had to be a criminal. He could sense Erin’s discomfort and knew she’d picked up on the subtext behind her mother’s question. God, maybe he’d overstepped by bringing her here. She’d had a hard enough day without this criminal version of Meet the Parents.

  Before he could deflect any more questions in her direction, Erin squared her shoulders. “It’s okay to ask me what I did. I can’t even say I paid for my crimes, because I didn’t. I got out of prison faster than a whore in a convent.” She drained her lemonade. “I’m sorry. I’m not Topanga. Your son deserves a Topanga.”

  His mother arched a meticulously plucked eyebrow at him. “Who the hell is Topanga?”

  “It’s not important,” he said firmly. Christ, this conversation had gotten away from him. “Neither is what Erin did. She’s important. That’s it.”

  “Fine.” His mother held up both hands. “Keep all the fun details to yourself. Don’t entertain a single woman with something interesting for once.” She sucked her teeth. “All I got is Dr. Oz, son. You can’t blame me for wanting the gossip. Damn.”

  Erin’s lips twisted, but Connor could see the smile underneath. “You want to hear about the time I rented a limousine to be my getaway driver?”

  Joanna leaned forward. “Now we’re talking.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Erin glared at Connor from across the squad meeting, twirling a Bic lighter between her fingers. She’d purposefully sat as far away from him as possible. His day of zero pleasure had passed and he still wouldn’t give in. Last night after they’d returned from Joanna’s apartment, she and Connor had traded bedrooms so she could be near the fire escape. Every time they’d passed in the hallway while transferring their things, she’d brushed a hand over his ass or planted kisses on his neck. Any minute now, she’d thought, he’s going to beg for me. Beg for me to take away the visible ache in his pants.