скачать книгу бесплатно
His knee was getting sore. “I know how things are with your brother, Jess. I don’t think you’re supposed to martyr yourself because of it.”
“Don’t go there. I love my brother. He comes first.”
“So you basically have a life sentence.”
“Yes,” she said, as if she was explaining it to a two-year-old. “Davey’s life. My life. They’re inseparable. You think I should put him in a kennel for you?”
“Did I say the word kennel? No, I didn’t. But I think you could tell him you’re getting married and he can come live with us.” Or in the group home in Bryer, which seemed like a very nice place. Yes, Connor had checked it out.
Her phone buzzed again. Again, she checked it. “Iron Man can fly.”
“Jessica. I’m asking you to marry me.” His jaw was getting tight.
“I know. And really, thank you. It’s very sweet. Are we going to eat?”
“So you’re not saying yes, is that it?”
“Yes. I’m not saying yes.” She pushed a strand of silky blond hair behind her ear.
Jaw at one hundred percent lockdown. “Then it’s a no.”
“Sadly, yes, it’s a no. Which I’m sure doesn’t come as a huge surprise to you.”
She was really turning him down.
Somehow, he’d seen this all going a bit differently.
Connor stood up, his knee creaking a little. Closed the little black velvet box and set it carefully on the table. He’d gone into Manhattan to buy that ring—a simple and flawless emerald-cut diamond that suited her, because she was simply, flawlessly beautiful, too. Not a drop of makeup on, her long blond hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a faded T-shirt that said Hugo’s on it, she was still the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen.
“Shall I call for pizza?” she asked.
He sat down across from her. In the fridge were two lobsters, scallops, potatoes au gratin, artichoke and arugula salad, a bottle of Dom Perignon and pots de crème au chocolat, since his plan was to slide the ring on her finger, make love to her and then cook her the best meal of her life.
He did not want pizza.
He did not want a rejection.
His pulse was throbbing in his temples, a warning sign that he was mad. Brain-Vein, his irritating twin called it. He took a slow breath, looked around the room, trying not to lose his temper. The dining room...maybe that had been a mistake. It wasn’t exactly warm and romantic. No pictures on the walls. His whole house looked like a furniture showroom, now that he thought about it.
Certainly, there were no pictures of him and Jessica.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “How do you see us going forward, Jess?”
She was as cool and still as a stone in Keuka Lake. “What do you mean?”
“You and me, our future, our relationship, not that you can really call sneaking around at the age of thirty-two a relationship.”
“I see us doing this. Getting together when we can. Enjoying each other’s company.” She wasn’t the type to be goaded into an argument, that was for sure. Pity. A little yelling and some Olympic make-up sex would be more Connor’s style. And that ring on her finger.
He made sure his voice was calm. Jess didn’t do anger. “Do you ever think about us living together or marrying or having kids?”
“No. This works for me.” She twisted the silver ring she wore on her thumb and gave him a pleasant smile.
“It doesn’t work for me. Not anymore, Jess.”
A person would need a magnifying glass to see any reaction from Jessica Dunn, but Connor was something of a student of her face. Right now her lips were pressed together the tiniest bit, indicating a disturbance in the Force.
“Well, thanks for letting me know,” she said smoothly. “I’m sorry to hear that. You said you understood how things were and how they had to be. Nothing in my life has changed, so I’m not sure why you thought things would be different now.”
“Davey can adjust.”
“No, he can’t, Connor. He has an IQ of fifty-two. And he hates you, or have you forgotten that? He can’t even see you in the grocery store without having a meltdown. You remember the head-banging when he saw you with our dog?” Yes, Connor remembered. It had been one of the scariest moments of his life, as a matter of fact. “I don’t have room for marriage and kids,” Jess continued. “My brother is my responsibility in more ways than you could ever know. I’m surprised you brought marriage up at all. We’ve had this conversation a million times.”
“Actually, we’ve never had this conversation.”
Her cheeks were getting pink. Finally, something more than calm, cool and collected.
Good. It didn’t seem fair that he was the only one feeling something here.
“Well, I thought you knew,” she said. “I’ve always been very clear.”
Blood thrummed through his temples, too hard, too fast. Another slow breath. “You’re using your brother as an excuse. He’ll adjust. He’s held you hostage for years now.”
“Do not go there, Connor.”
“What I mean is—”
“What you mean is, put him in a home.”
She was really digging in now. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I bought this house with you in mind. There’s an apartment upstairs, in case you forgot. It’s for him. I love your brother.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve never even had a conversation with him, and he certainly doesn’t love you. And let’s not rewrite history. You decided to buy a two-family house without even talking to me.”
Fair point. But it had seemed like a perfect solution; him and Jess downstairs, Davey upstairs. Instead, his sister had moved in after Jess turned him down.
Jessica sighed, some of the steel leaving her posture. “Connor, look. I think it’s sweet that you made this gesture. Maybe it’s because your sister’s pregnant and you’re feeling sentimental, but this just can’t work. And I also think you’re saying it because you’re sure I won’t say yes, and you’re right. I won’t.”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to say yes, Jessica.”
Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the hateful device. “Great. Davey clogged the toilet, and Gerard can’t get the valve to shut off. The last time the bathroom flooded, and I had to pay to replace the whole floor.”
“Jess, I want you to marry me.”
“I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday, okay? This was a nice thought, Connor. I appreciate it. I really do.” She stood up, kissed him on the head like he was a dog—which he basically was, just some half-brain Labrador retriever you could ignore until you were lonely, and it was always happy to see you and would cheerfully forget the fact that you’d locked it in the cellar for a year or so. She grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door.
“Jessica.” He didn’t look at her, just stared at the candles flickering on the table. “This will be the last time you break up with me.”
Well, shit. He hadn’t really planned on saying that, but now that the words were out, they sprang up between the two of them like an iron door.
She froze for a second. “What do you mean?”
His head was killing him, every heartbeat stabbing behind his eyes. “I’m talking about all the times you’ve broken up with me, all the times you said life was too complicated, and you couldn’t make any changes. I want a wife and kids and to be able to kiss you in public. If you leave now, make sure you mean it.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” She actually sounded indignant.
“I’m proposing!”
“Well, I have no idea why!” she snapped back. “You know this is the best I can do.”
“Okay, then.” His jaw clamped shut.
Her mouth opened a little. “Really.”
“Yep.”
“Fine,” she said. “Do what you want.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
She gave him a long look. “Have a nice night, Connor.”
And with that, she left, and he picked up the stupid little black velvet box and threw it across the room.
CHAPTER TWO (#u35858232-d678-5d71-a40c-6472286960e7)
Twenty years before the proposal...
CONNOR MICHAEL O’ROURKE fell in love with Jessica Dunn when he was twelve years old.
The feeling was not mutual.
He couldn’t blame her. After all, he killed her dog.
Well, he didn’t actually kill him. It just felt that way.
The fateful, terrible day had been a Friday afternoon in April, and he and Colleen had been riding their bikes home from school, a new privilege, and one their parents gave only if they rode together, which took away much of the thrill. It was the curse of being a twin, Connor often thought. It would’ve been so much cooler if he could’ve ridden to the village, maybe bought some candy at Mr. Stoakes’s store or found a snake by the lake to put into Coll’s bed.
Instead, they were together. Colleen talked all the time, usually about things he didn’t have much interest in—which of her friends had gotten her period, who flunked the math test, who liked whoever else. But that was the way it was—Coll talking, him half listening, the occasional mild sibling violence that marked a healthy childhood.
But even if she drove him crazy most of the time with her talk of magical twinsy bonds, which yeah, they did have, and the way she followed him around all the time, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. And he did have to look out for her; she was his little sister, even if they were only three minutes apart in age.
Connor and Colleen had about as normal a life as could be had. They had a nice house, a two-week vacation most years, and recently, Connor had become aware of the fact that they were pretty well-off, something you didn’t really notice when you were little. But his father drove expensive cars, and if Connor wanted the latest Nike running shoe, his mother never suggested he get something a little less expensive. He was his mother’s favorite. His father... Well, his father was kind of tricky. Tense and—what was that phrase? Full of himself, that was it. Only happy when he was the center of attention and admiration, and even then, only happy for a few minutes.
If Connor was Mom’s favorite, Colleen seemed to get all of Dad’s approval. These days especially, it felt like Connor was either at fault or invisible, his only value coming from his role as Colleen’s protector. “Watch out for your sister,” Dad had said just this morning, giving Colleen a hug. There was no hug for Connor. Which was okay and all. He was a boy. A guy, even. He wasn’t supposed to want hugs anymore.
But today was a good day. The apple blossoms had popped, and the breeze was warm, finally. He’d gotten three tests back, A+’s on all of them, much to Colleen’s chagrin; Connor never studied. And all day, there was the thrill of the bike ride home. Friday afternoon meant they could take their time, maybe stop at Tompkin’s Gorge and climb up the top and listen to the roar of the waterfall and find bits of mica and quartz.
Colleen rammed his back tire. “Whoops, sorry, brainiac,” she said, not sorry at all.
“Not a problem, simpleton.”
“Did you eat the pizza at lunch today?” she asked, pulling alongside him. “It was nasty. I mean, you could wring out the oil, it was so wet and disgusting. You should show them how to do it, Con. Your pizza is the best.”
He suppressed a smile. Whenever their parents went out, Connor cooked for Colleen. Last weekend had been pizza, the dough made from scratch. They ate a pizza each, it was so good.
He heard a car coming behind them and pulled ahead of his sister, his bike wheels hissing on the damp pavement, the wind in his face. He and Colleen had taken the long way home, the better to enjoy their freedom. Once you left the Village section of town, there wasn’t much out here, mostly woods and fields. West’s Trailer Park was just up ahead, and then nothing for a good mile. Then they’d round up the back side of the Hill, where all the vineyards were, and wind their way home.
After the long winter, it felt so good to be outside. He pushed harder, lengthening the space between him and Coll. He’d had a growth spurt over the winter, and it was easy to outpace his sister. He felt the satisfying burn in his muscles and answered the call for more speed. He’d wait for Coll at the top of the hill. She was lazy, after all.
And then he heard a noise he couldn’t place—was Colleen coughing? Was it a motor? No, that wasn’t—
Then there was a brown blur streaking at him, and he was falling before he even realized it hit him, his bike on top of him. It wasn’t Coll making the noise, it was a dog. The brown thing was a dog, and it was furious.
There was no time to react, no time even to be scared, just hard pavement under his shoulder and hip and his hands trying to keep the dog’s head away from his throat. The world was full of sound—angry, raging snarls and Colleen’s screams. Was she okay? Where was she?
All Connor could see was the dog’s mouth, huge, gaping and snapping, its neck thick and strong, and that mouth went way, way back like a snake’s, and he knew once those teeth bit into him, he’d be dead. It was trying to kill him, Connor realized distantly. This might be the way he died. Not in front of Colleen. Please.
Before the thought was even finished, teeth sank into Connor’s arm, and the dog shook its head, and Jesus, it was so strong, Connor was just a rag the dog was whipping around, and he couldn’t yell or fight; he was nothing compared to the muscular fury of the dog. Colleen was screaming, the dog snarling, Connor silent as he tried to hold on to his arm so it wouldn’t be torn off.
Then Colleen was hitting the dog with her backpack and kicking it, and no cars were anywhere. It would’ve been so great if someone stopped and helped; he wanted a grown-up so badly right now. His arm was on fire, and there was blood, and still the dog pulled and shook, as if Colleen wasn’t even there.
The dog finally released his arm and turned toward Colleen, who kicked it square in the face. God, she was brave, but what if it bit her? And then in a flash, it seemed to do just that, and Connor kicked it in the leg, and it turned back toward him—good, good, better than Colleen—and then it was on him again.
His face this time, and this was it, he was going to die. Those huge jaws clamped down, and a searing burn flashed and throbbed, the whole left side of his face. The dog didn’t let go. Colleen was hysterical now, kicking and kicking the dog, and Connor could see her eyes, open so wide he could see the whole gray circle of her irises.
Get out of here, Collie. Run.
He was passing out. Colleen’s screams were fainter now.
Then there was a yelp, and the dog was gone, and Connor instinctively held his hand up to his cheek, which was hot and throbbing and way too wet.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Colleen sobbed, dropping to her knees to hug him. “Help us!” she screamed to someone.
“Are you okay?” Connor asked, his voice odd and weak. Was his face still on? “Coll?”
She pulled back, shaking. “You’re bleeding. It’s bad.”
They were in front of West’s Trailer Park, where the poor kids lived. Tiffy Ames and Levi Cooper and Jessica Dunn.
And there was Jess now, holding the dog by its collar, trying to lift it up. Her brother, who had something wrong with him, had latched on to the dog, sobbing and saying one word over and over. Cheeto or something. “Is she okay?” Connor asked, but his voice was too weak to be heard. “Is her brother okay?”
“Call the ambulance,” Colleen yelled, her voice high and wobbly.
“Are you all right, Collie?” he asked. The gray was back.
