Page 146 of Almost Ours
My mouth fell open, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, Kelly,no comment.”
The laughter bubbled over as they bombarded me with more questions, their excitement palpable. I couldn’t be annoyed, though. Not really. I knew by tomorrow morning, the entire town would know, though somehow, I didn’t care.
Because as public as that kiss had been, Ryan’s message was clear: we were in this together.
It had beenover a month since everything happened–since the chaos, the fear, and the uncertainty that had shaken us all to our core. Slowly, things were starting to feel like they were getting back to normal. Harper was healing, physically and emotionally, and Connor was beginning to show signs of his usual, spirited self. But today, something felt off.
The engine hummed softly as I pulled up to Harper’s house. The late afternoon sun cast warm golden rays across the yard, and I spotted Connor’s bike lying on its side near the porch steps, a familiar sign of his busy afternoon. When I knocked and Harper opened the door, she greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Hey,” I said, stepping inside. “Where’s the little hockey star? We’re gonna be late for tryouts if we don’t get a move on.”
Harper sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s the thing. He says he doesn’t want to go.”
I frowned, glancing toward the staircase. “Doesn’t want to go? This isConnorwe’re talking about. Hockey is his favourite thing in the world.”
“I know,” she said, her voice tinged with worry. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
Her eyes searched mine, full of concern. I could see how much this was weighing on her. Connor had always lived and breathed hockey–him backing out of something he loved didn’t sit right with either of us.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze before heading upstairs.
I knocked gently on Connor’s door before pushing it open. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at the floor, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. He didn’t look up when I stepped inside, though his shoulders stiffened slightly, as if he’d been expecting this conversation.
“Hey, bud,” I said, easing myself onto the edge of the bed. “What’s going on? Why don’t you want to go to tryouts?”
He shrugged, still not meeting my eyes.
“Connor,” I said softly, leaning forward so I was in his line of sight. “Come on, talk to me. You’ve been buzzing about these tryouts for weeks. What changed?”
For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he mumbled, his voice so quiet I almost missed it, “I don’t want to leave Mom.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“You don’t want to leave her?” I echoed gently, coaxing him to explain.
He nodded, his head still down. “What if… what if he comes back?” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “I wasn’t here last time, and he hurt her really bad. What if it happens again, and I’m not there to stop him?”
My chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath the surface–not at Connor, but at Reid, for leaving this kid with such a heavy burden to carry. I reached out and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Connor,” I said softly, “look at me.”
He hesitated, then finally lifted his gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face etched with worry far beyond his years.
“I get it,” I said, keeping my voice calm and steady. “I understand why you feel this way. I really do. Because, I feel the same.”
His bottom lip trembled, and he blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears.
“But you know what?” I continued, my voice gentle yet firm. “It’s not your job to take care of your mom. Your mom? She’s strong–one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. She’s been through so much, and she’s still standing, still smiling, still being the amazing mom you know. She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her all the time because she’s that strong.”
Connor looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed my words.
“But,” I added gently, “even strong people need help sometimes. And that’s where I come in. I’m here to help take care of her when she needs it, just like I’ll be here to help take care of you. That’s what we do for the people we love–we look out for each other. So while your mom doesn’t need you to protect her, she does need you to just be you. To be her kid. To laugh and play hockey and do all the things that make her proud of you every single day.”
His frown eased slightly, and he blinked back tears. “But what if something happens again?” he asked, his voice trembling.
I squeezed his shoulder. “Then I’ll be here to make sure she’s okay. I promise you, Connor, I’ve got her back, and I’ve got yours, too. You don’t have to be the protector. That’s not your job. You’re ten years old–”
“Almost eleven,” he corrected, his voice barely a whisper.
