21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

Carson

When I enter the apartment with a bag filled with the items from the list Anna sent me to pick up, silence greets me. I quietly place the bag on the counter and then make my way to Connor's room.

The door stands open. A sliver of light from the hallway illuminates the room, revealing Connor nestled under the covers, his brow furrowed slightly. Anna lies beside him, one hand resting gently on his chest, her breathing soft and even. They are both sound asleep. I give a gentle smile at the touching sight that tugs at my heartstrings – they both look so vulnerable.

I quietly leave without waking them, closing the door softly behind me.

I rummage through the bag, finding the medicine Anna had requested. Years of bachelorhood have left me ill-equipped on how to care for a sick child. A strange mix of protectiveness and resentment stews within me. It feels good to be needed, to be doing something for Connor, yet the reminder of my absence from so many years of his life stings. I wasn't the one to pick him up when he fell, to put a band-aid on a scraped knee. So, many years missed.

I glance around the kitchen; I've gotten used to dinner being ready when I get home. Knowing Anna won't feel like cooking, I scroll through options. Finally, deciding which food delivery sounds the most tempting for them, I call it in.

Feeling satisfied that I've done what I can. I head to my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. Emerging later in jeans and a T-shirt, I go to the kitchen.

After years of capably living alone, I'm suddenly at a loss without Anna or Connor around. I frown at the mixed emotions coursing through me.

A sigh escapes me as I sit down at the kitchen counter. A pang of guilt goes through me as the image of Anna's stricken face haunts me. My words were cruel, a knee-jerk reaction fueled by years of simmering resentment.

The real truth is— Anna means a lot to me. Just thinking about her sends a thrilling pulse through my heart. But friends? No, we've never been friends. My feelings for her are too volatile. They're a mix of pure primal lust along with an undeniable attraction that I could never ignore.

I crave her body too much for me ever to try and disguise those feelings under the mantle of friendship. Being her friend would be an impossible act; I am too irresistibly drawn to her.

I grimace because instead of conveying that to her, I allowed her to think the worst. Shame burns in my throat, a bitter aftertaste to the harsh words that tumbled out. I squeeze my eyes shut, the memory of Anna's wounded expression sending a fresh wave of remorse through me.

I run my hand through my hair in frustration. We're locked in a stalemate. Even if I could find it in my heart to forgive her deception, the trust I once had in her is irrevocably gone.

I rub my face with the heels of my hands. It's a no-win situation, a maze with no exit. I trust her with Connor, the most precious thing in my life, but entrusting her with my heart feels like I'm walking on eggshells. One false step and everything could shatter.

The buzz of my phone pulls me from my chaotic thoughts. It's a text that our delivery has arrived. Not wanting to disturb their slumber, I step into the hall to wait for our food.

When I re-enter with dinner, the apartment door clicks shut behind me. I watch as Anna shuffles into the kitchen. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, yet they still show signs of stress.

"Dinner's here," I announce as I lift the bags onto the table. "I ordered Italian."

She nods her thanks and then goes straight to the medicine I purchased. "Is Connor okay? What did the doctor say?" I ask with a concerned frown between my brows.

Anna states quietly, "I spoke with the nurse practitioner at our doctor's office in Ft. Lauderdale." She brings me up to speed on what was advised. "So, do they think there's a good chance it could be pneumonia?" I ask as a knot of worry starts to tighten in my gut.

"Only if the rattle in his chest worsens," she states matter-of-factly, with only a slight concern. I get the sense that she's been through this before.

"I understand. Um… Would you like to eat? I ordered Italian, Connor's favorite." I manage to ask her as she turns around, a few of the bottles of medicine in her hands. "Yes, but later." Then she's gone.

I hear hushed voices, so I move to his bedroom and stand in the doorway.

Connor lies snuggled up in bed. He's awake. His cheeks are flushed a feverish red, and his normally bright eyes are dull.

Anna rubs ointment on his chest, which has a strong medicinal spell. She tucks in the covers as he rests against the pillows.

Anna leans in closer, her voice dropping to a soft murmur, a soothing melody meant only for Connor's ears. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear, a gesture filled with tenderness. I watch as she carefully measures out the medicine and helps him raise the cup to his lips.

"Make sure you swallow all of it, Baby. It's cherry flavored, and you like cherries," she advises gently.

As Connor hesitates, she states, "It will make you feel better." He swallows all of it, but he still grimaces once it's gone. "That's it," she says.

The silence is broken only by Connor's labored breathing and Anna's hushed reassurances. I linger in the doorway, a silent observer of this intimate scene.

A lump forms in my throat as I watch Anna care for our son. My presence feels almost like an intrusion, yet a part of me wants to be closer, to offer comfort to Connor, and to help lift the burden of responsibility off Anna. I shift my weight as I stand hovering in the doorway.

Anna glances behind her and sees me. She then looks down at Connor and asks gently, "Do you feel like eating something? Your dad brought dinner. I have a feeling it's spaghetti and meatballs."

For the first time, Conner's eyes brighten, "My favorite? Okay," a rasp to his voice.

I step forward, "Hey, Son. Heard you aren't feeling well." Connor offers a weak nod, his usual endless energy dampened. I walk over to him and ruffle his hair, and he doesn't even try to duck his head. "I'll get your dinner."

I come back with all three containers. We all sit on the bed and eat together—a temporary truce between Anna and me.

A flicker of his usual grin returns as he eats his spaghetti. Connor doesn't eat that much. Yet, every bite that he finishes is a small victory against how lousy he feels.

Once we've finished the meal, Connor yawns, and his eyes start to droop. Anna and I pick up the containers and quietly exit his room. We leave his door open.

Her shoulders are tense, and her back ramrods straight as she carries the dinner trays into the kitchen. She glanced at me briefly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features.

She finally turns and walks over to the medicine again. "I'll need to find a local doctor," she turns slightly toward me, "Then I'll have Connor's medical records transferred."

"If you'd like, I can ask around for references—" I begin, but Anna quickly shakes her head. "No, I'd rather ask a few of the other parents from his school."

"Fine. Whatever you think is best," I say quietly, unsure how to bridge the chasm my earlier words created. I reach out a hand to gently touch her arm. "Anna…" I start, but she turns away, and my hand falls to my side.

She crosses her arms and turns her back to me, clearly a dismissal.

Shit. Now, what do I do? I probably deserve her cold shoulder treatment, but I don't like it. Not one bit. And I won't put up with it for long. But I know I hurt her. So, for now, I'll give her some space.

"I have some errands to run. I probably won't be back until late," I say in a chipped voice. "If you or Connor need anything, just let me know."

She again nods without turning around. With a frustrated frown and anger at myself for causing this tension between us, I head for the door.

When I get to the parking garage, I take one look at my SUV and decide I'm in the mood for something faster—a ride that matches my reckless mood. I throw the cover off my motorcycle, revealing the gleaming chrome of my Harley. Without a second thought, I hop on and gun the engine. The deep rumble is a welcome sound that helps to dispel the turmoil within me.

As I pull out onto the city street, the amplified roar of the engine seems to mirror my emotions. When I reach the open highway, I increase my speed. The rush of the wind in my hair feels good, and I feel my black mood start to lift.

When I pull into Wild Riders, I look around in surprise that I chose this destination, as I hadn't consciously planned on stopping anywhere.

I nod to the regulars that congregate in the front but don't stop to talk. I walk through the heavy oak doors. The place is usually bustling, but tonight is a weeknight, and it doesn't look that busy. I glance at the booths but then head straight for the bar. As I slide onto a stool, Spitfire, with his red bandana around his biceps, approaches. "Draft?"

"Yes, thanks." As he sets an icy mug down in front of me, "My uncle around?"

"Yeah, Shadows in back. Want me to get him?"

"Nah, If I don't see him by the time I finish this, I'll find him." Spitfire nods and then turns to pour a drink for a customer at the other end of the counter. I sit there nursing my beer as I listen to the bar sounds around me. The low murmur of voices, with the occasional burst of laughter, and behind it all is the sound of pool balls as they clack together from the other room.

I feel a pat on the back, "What brings you in tonight?" I glance sideways as my uncle slides onto the neighboring barstool.

"Just felt like a ride and ended up here." I give a noncommittal shrug, but the tightness in my shoulders and the forced casualness in my voice betray my churning emotions.

"Humph." The sound comes out of Sam's mouth as his eyes narrow on me.

My uncle motions to Spitfire, who sets down a draft in front of him. "So, how are things at home?" He asks casually. I take a deep breath, then admit, "Connor's in bed with a cold. Anna's taking care of him."

A knowing glint enters my uncle's eyes as he offers a slow, deliberate nod. "Ah, I see," he rumbles, his voice laced with a quiet understanding that puts me at ease. He takes another sip of his beer, "That's normally when your dad would come around here."

I raise my brows at him, "Really?"

He grins and gives me a look from under his bushy eyebrows, "Yep. He said he always felt helpless when one of you boys got sick. He said he felt like he was in the way." I nod in agreement. "Your mother normally knew what to do. But you know, Bonnie relied on your dad to be there for her. She said it was a shared responsibility raising you three boys."

We sip our beers silently for a few minutes—no words needed. Then my uncle glances back at me and says with a considering look, "The other times your dad would drop by is when he and Bonnie had a fight. He used to come here to clear his head."

I glance over at my uncle and give a sheepish smile, then just nod and take another sip of my beer. Sam continues, "It was normally some foolish thing he had said that hurt her feelings. Guys can be plumb stupid when it comes to communicating with women." He nods his head sagely.

I glance over at him again, "Then what would Dad do?" Sam smirks, "Well, your dad was a bit of a hot head. Like you." He gives me a nudge, "But, he'd come here to cool off and think things through. Then, after one or two beers, he'd head home." Sam glances over at me with a wink, "He'd say he was sorry and give her a kiss." He shrugs, "Always seemed to work for your dad."

I pick up my glass and drain it. Then I throw a twenty on the bar and turn to my uncle. "Thanks." He chuckles and states, "That's what uncles and bars are for."