As if they have something to tell me that neither my head nor my heart want to acknowledge, my feet take me to the doors of Michelson’s MMA. Conner is inside, chatting animatedly with a few customers. It’s impossible not to smile at him. There’s something different about me when I’m with him. When we’re together, the future no longer looks like something I’ll have to endure. Rather, it’s something I’m anxiously anticipating. The death and sadness that plague my past don’t disappear altogether, but the endless possibilities of what my life will be like with Conner in it have me looking forward rather than backward for the first time. The pain isn’t gone completely, but it’s less intense.
He’s been nothing but open and honest with me, and all I’ve done is try my best to keep him at arm’s length – off in the distance where not dealing with my emotions is easier. Like a train blaring its horn as it passes an intersection, the answer to Dr. Baker’s homework runs me over as I stand there watching Conner.
Spurred on by some mysterious newfound courage, I walk through the doors. A warm sensation of familiarity bathes over me as the bell jingles over my head. Rachel shoots me a death-ray stare from her seat at the front desk. “Can I help you?” Her icy tone tells me that Conner must have talked to her about my epic fuck-up. It also catches Conner’s attention.
Once he sees it’s me, he excuses himself from the conversation in which he was just engaged. “What do you want, Dylan?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t have time for you right now. I’ll call you when I do.” Without another word, he stalks away, leaving me alone with Rachel and her fury. Knowing I can use Rachel as a way back to Conner helps soothe the sting of Conner turning his back on me.
“Let me explain.”
“You have two minutes.” She taps the face of her non-existent watch, making her take-no-prisoners attitude clear as day.
“I screwed up and I want to make it right. I don’t know what he told you, but I’ve sorted out some shit in the last few days and I just want to have a chance to explain it to him. If I’m lucky enough, he’ll understand and maybe give us another chance.”
“And if you’re not lucky?”
“Then at least I tried.” I let out a sigh, pissed off at myself for even putting us in this situation.
Us. Using it to describe Conner and me isn’t as scary as I thought it’d be.
“He gets off at five today. Usually works out for an hour after that. Depending on how busy it is, he might stay to help close up with me, so I can’t guarantee what time he’ll be home.”
Reading between the lines, her dismissal of me is clear. “Okay,” I mutter, resigning myself to the fact that I’ll just have to keep trying.
“However, Icanpromise that he’ll go home by himself.” I turn back to her, a confused look on my face. “I’ll make plans with a friend. You can have some time alone to figure things out.”
Her concession is sudden and it takes me more than a second to wrap my head around it. When I ask her why she decided to do that for me, her eyes narrow and she points an accusing finger in my direction. “I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for him. Even if he decides to never see you again, he at least deserves your apology.”
I nod, agreeing wholeheartedly with what she’s just said. “Thank you.”
She nods, and dismisses me as she answers a ringing phone.
Since I don’t know for certain what time he’ll be home, I decide to take up residence on his crumbling stoop around four thirty in the afternoon. I’m prepared to stay all night. I’m pretty sure that Rachel won’t tell him I’ll be here. She seemed like she meant what she said.
All I can do now is wait.
An hour later, my ass is more numb than I ever thought possible. Pins and needles shoot through my legs as I stand. Trying to bring them back to life, I take a short walk up the block. The loud rumble of a familiar motorcycle vibrates through the air, pulling my attention back to Conner’s building.
Covered in denim and leather, he’s the definition of a bad boy. But knowing what’s underneath that gruff fighter exterior, that the tattoos and piercings are nothing more than for show, that he’s an honest and sincere man who is kind, caring and playful underneath it all, alters something deep inside of me. The need to apologize, to get to know him even more, to give us a chance becomes so overpowering that rather than walk to him, I have to run.
As I approach him, he pulls off his helmet and shakes his head. “I already told you. I don’t want to talk.”
“You don’t have to talk.” Out of desperation, I reach for his hand, hoping he won’t shove me away. A sliver of hope comes alive as he looks at me. There’s something in his mocha eyes that tells me he might not have anything to say, but at least he’ll give me a chance to speak.
He doesn’t take my hand, but he doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t say anything, but he lets me speak.
“I’m sorry.” The rest of my words get stuck in my throat. I had them all planned out, but standing here in front of him, I can’t get any of them to function.
“Is that all?” His curt tone is icy. It cuts through me, making me realize just how much I screwed up.
I shake my head, frustrated with my own silence. “No, it’s not, but it’s a start. Can we go inside, please? The things I want to say don’t deserve to be said on a busy street corner.”
He nods, his body language suggesting he’s not thrilled with the idea. In stilted silence, we walk up the stairs and into his apartment. He ushers us into the living room where we sit across from each other on a small couch.
“You said you had something to say.” Coldly, he motions for me to start.
