Page 31 of Under Pink Skies

I needed this. Even if there was no spark between us anymore, even if we were both changed people, I could no longer deny the part of myself that screamed to be near him.

Connor’s smile threatened to break me down to my seventeen-year-old self, exposing all the raw nerves I’d worked so hard to cover up in the years since his departure.

Chapter 10

Connor

Abbiesteppedtothebackroom to retrieve her purse, while Imogen slinked further back into the aisles, restocking various items from her homestead goods and rearranging some of the more disorganized shelves.

At that moment, someone came sprinting down the stairs from the loft, making a beeline for the cash register, when he realized Abbie wasn’t behind it.

It took me several moments to understand that the man was Malcolm Collins. He looked like he’d been to the deepest part of hell and back, which I supposed was true. His long black beard was unkempt, and his hair was an oily, greasy, and matted mess.

“Connor fucking Harvey?” he spat, and I squared my shoulders. This would not be a fun conversation. “What the hell are you doing back here? Did you bring that no-good uncle with you?”

My jaw twitched. Of course, he would be less worried about my presence and Watford, and more about where Ellis had run off to. Abbie’s parents never liked Ellis. While they never said so directly, I always suspected that they were worried about Ellis’s potential presence in their daughter’s life.

As if I ever allowed Ellis within two hundred feet of Abbie.

“Ellis is dead,” I said bluntly.

“Good riddance,” Malcolm grumbled, grabbing a wad of cash from the register and shoving in his chest pocket. I frowned.

“Seriously, Malcolm?”

“You better shut the hell up, Harvey,” he growled, wagging a finger in my face. “This is none of your damn—”

“Connor. Dad,” Abbie’s voice rang out in the tense silence as she appeared from the stockroom, clutching her purse with both hands. “I didn’t hear the doorbell. What are you doing?”

“He was rifling through the cash register,” I said before Malcolm could deny anything, and Abbie’s face crumpled.

The utter defeat and embarrassment on her face ignited a rage in me I hadn’t felt since I left Watford the first time.

Malcolm Collins had been through something unimaginable to most—no husband should have to bury their wife so early. But seeing him actively undermining Abbie, actively ruining her life and her self-esteem, made me want to grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall.

If he wanted to act like that toward his daughter, I’d make sure he could go toe-to-toe with someone who wouldn’t put up with his crap.

“Come on, Dad, let’s go upstairs.”

“I need to get some liquor from the Roadhouse,” he spat, shoving her hand away. “You already poured the last of my beer down the drain, you absolute—”

Abbie inhaled sharply, and the edges of my vision tinged red. I stepped forward, gently grabbing her shoulders and pushing her behind me. I snatched his wrist and gripped it tightly in my hand, walking him backward a step. Malcolm winced, meeting my eyes as I towered over him.

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence. Touch her like that again,” I said, “and I will snap your wrist.”

“What a respectful man you’ve grown into, Harvey,” Malcolm snapped, and I gripped tighter.

“It has nothing to do with respect, Malcolm. I simply won’t let you touch her like that. Are we clear?”

Malcolm sneered up at me, attempting to jerk his wrist from my grip. I smiled darkly. It was a feeble, drunken attempt that didn’t so much as budge my fingers.

“You Harvey men are all the same. Mean sons of bitches.”

I laughed, and it was a dark, hollow sound.

“Try me, and you’ll find out exactly how mean I can be.”

“Connor, stop,” Abbie said, pushing past me to her father. “You already went once this week, Dad. Willie won’t give you more until your clock resets.”

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