Page 96 of Almost Ours
“No,” I said after a beat. “I don’t think it’s bad at all. Everybody gets scared sometimes.”
Connor nodded, eyes still downcast. “I try not to be. I want to be brave for my mom.”
My chest tightened at the way he said it, like bravery was something he owed Harper. “You’re already brave, Connor,” I said gently. “Being brave doesn’t mean you can’t feel scared, too.”
He was quiet for a moment, then his voice came even softer. “My dad… he’s a bad person.”
The words made me sit up straighter, my stomach twisting. I didn’t want to push, but I also didn’t want to let it pass if he needed to talk. “Why do you say that?”
“He used to yell a lot. At me. But mostly at Mom. And sometimes he…” He hesitated, gripping his hockey stick tighter. “Well, sometimes I get scared he’ll find us.”
A cold weight settled in my chest.
“Hey,” I said, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to keep that to yourself, okay? If you’re scared, you can tell your mom. She’d want to know.”
Connor shook his head quickly, his face tight. “I don’t want her to worry. She works so hard already, and I don’t want her to feel bad.”
I swallowed hard, working to keep my voice steady. “Connor, your mom is the strongest person I know. She’d never want you to carry something like this alone. She loves you more than anything.”
He looked up at me, his big green eyes searching mine. “But… what if it makes her sad?”
I exhaled slowly, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It might. Not in the way you think, though. She’d feel sad knowing you’ve been holding this in all by yourself. You don’t have to do that, okay? And, hey, if you ever need to talk to someone else… I’m here. Anytime.”
His lips pressed together, his small shoulders relaxing just a bit. “Thanks, Ryan.”
I nodded. “You’re a great kid, Connor. I mean it.”
For a moment, I thought he might say something else, but then his gaze shifted past me, lighting up. “Mom! Did you get me hot chocolate?!”
She grinned. “Of course I did. What kind of mom do you think I am?”
The kind of mom that is doing everything to keep her kid safe.
I leaned on my stick, watching them, and a strange mix of emotions swirled in my chest–gratitude, joy, and something else. Guilt.
There was a major part of me that Harper didn’t know yet–things I hadn’t talked about, things I wasn’t sure how to explain. But then, there was a lot about her I didn’t know either. That thought was both comforting and daunting.
The nightmare had comelike a storm–violent, sudden, unescapable.
Connor had been just a baby, barely a year old. I’d packed our things in a frenzy, shoving bottles and diapers into a bag, my heart pounding so loudly I could hardly hear myself think. I’d driven for hours, not stopping until I was sure I was far enough away. I found a cheap motel off the highway, the kind where no one asked questions. I thought we were safe.
I can still feel the way my shoulders sagged as I locked the door behind me, exhaustion flooding my body. Connor had been fussy, confused by the change of scenery, by the cramped room that smelled faintly of bleach and stale cigarette smoke. I held him close, whispering that everything would be okay, that this was just the start of something better.
I believed it, too–until I heard his voice.
I was changing Connor’s diaper on the bed when the door burst open, the chain snapping like it was made of paper. He stood in the doorway, his face twisted with fury, his eyes dark with a rage I’d never seen before. I remember the way my bodywent cold, my heart stopping for a beat before it started racing so fast I thought I might faint.
“How dare you try to leave me,” his voice was low, deadly calm, the kind of calm that made my blood run cold. “You thought you could hide?”
I tried to shield Connor with my body, my hands shaking as I held him close. He was screaming now, his tiny fists waving in the air, his face red with fear and confusion. I remembered begging, my voice cracking, words tumbling out in a jumbled mess of apologies and pleas.
It didn’t matter. He was already in the room, already towering over me, his presence filling the tiny space like a dark shadow. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, yanking me up off the bed. The pain was sharp, though I barely felt it over the rush of panic, the binding fear that I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.
“You think you can just leave?” His grip tightened, his face inches from mine. “You think you can just take my son and disappear?”
I don’t remember much after that. Just flashes–the sting of his hand across my face, the crack of my head against the wall, the way Connor’s screams grew more frantic. I remember feeling like I was underwater, my body heavy and unresponsive, my vision blurring as I fought to stay conscious.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over. He was gone, and I was on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold, dirty carpet, my body aching in places I didn’t even know could hurt. Connor was still crying, his tiny body trembling as I pulled him close, whispering apologies through tears that wouldn’t stop falling.
