been with him eight years ago. He couldn’t get enough of Penny, and I couldn’t get enough of watching them interact.
No one showed up at the house. I appreciated the privacy, because I genuinely thought at least Jem would be pounding at the door. Seemed like everyone understood Conor needed time out.
I let Penny stay up, and then I did her bedtime routine with Conor shadowing us. I spot checked her teeth after she brushed them, and because she’d still been in her pyjamas the whole day, she cuddled into bed with her stuffy to her chest. I read a chapter of Harry Potter, and she fell asleep half-way through. All the while, Conor was leaning against the doorway, watching every second like it was the most important thing in the world.
Right before she fell asleep, she murmured, “This was the best day of my life, Mommy. I got to meet Daddy. I’m so happy. He’s staying, right?”
I nodded, planting a kiss on her head while I saw Conor stiffen from my peripheral. “He is staying for good.”
When we retreated to our bedroom, he was quiet. He undressed for a shower, and I stood at the door, watching him closely.
“Are you okay?” I asked him tenderly.
He nodded, giving me a reassuring smile. “Yeah, dove, I’m okay. Just thinking.”
“Can I ask what?”
He paused, tapping the counter of the sink a few times, thoughts blazing. “I missed all of this, Char,” he said. “I missed out on everything.”
I swallowed thickly. “But you’re here now.”
“I know, but…it feels like I’m grieving what could have been. It feels like a death somehow. I’m…angry at myself.”
“Why are you angry at yourself?”
He turned to look at me, standing in only his briefs. His eyes looked haunted, the pain from before creeping back in. “I didn’t have to kill him.”
I stiffened from surprise. “Conor…”
“It’s true, pup. Our lives would be vastly different right now.”
“Billy was unhinged.”
“He didn’t deserve to die.”
I felt gobsmacked. I gave him a peculiar look. He wouldn’t meet my eye now as he turned around, fetching the towel from the back of the door and throwing it over the shower stall. Then he stood there, awkward, looking like he was out of his depth.
I approached him, lightly touching his arm. He peered down at me, shutting his eyes briefly at my touch. So starved of affection, he didn’t know how to handle these little moments.
“This is a slippery slope you don’t want to go down,” I told him softly. “It is self-sabotage wondering what would have been. I went down it for the longest time, Conor, and it is endless. It does nothing for your soul. You must let go. You can’t change what happened, but you can start new every day.”
With a frown, he listened closely to my words, nodding once at the end. I traced the lines of muscle down his arm, trying to comfort him. He twitched slightly when I reached his wrist. I glanced down by reflex, wondering what the numbered tattoo meant. I wasn’t going to ask because of the way he flinched.
I realized getting to the bottom of what happened in prison was going to be a very long journey, and I might never fully know. It was too soon to ask, and I was sure he didn’t need to be reminded.
“Shower with me, Charlotte,” he said, taking my hand into his own. “Keep me grounded. I’m not feeling right.”
We showered, holding each other. He drew the lines of my face, of my body, learning me slowly. Then he dried us off, picked me up and carried me to the bed. His body was my cocoon, covering me whole as we lay on our sides. He nuzzled his face into the back of me, holding me tightly, shaking as he overrode whatever horrible feelings he was under.
He didn’t initiate sex, nor did he kiss me. He just kept me pressed to his chest, his breathing broken and shaky.
I stayed up most of the night with him. After three in the morning, his body gave out and he slept hard, relaxing his hold on me. I managed to squirm around to face him. I traced his face, worry etched in mine. Pressing my forehead against his, I kissed his lips tenderly and let a tear slide down my nose.
I just wanted him to be okay.
Because I knew, despite his words, he was lying when he said he was.
Thames
There was no greater contentment than waking up to his love wrapped