“This town will want him gone, Charlotte,” he told me. “We don’t take kindly to murderers.”
“Kind of the wrong town to be in then,” I said, flatly.
His face twisted. He looked like he was about to bite my head off again before he froze still, his gaze now trapped to the front door. I looked back and felt my stomach twist. Conor stood in the doorway, nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. Skin flushed red and wet, his hair was soaked and soapy, his lips were pressed firmly shut. With nostrils flared, his face was cold to the bone as his eyes bore into Paul’s.
He looked terrifying.
“What’s going on out here?” he demanded slowly.
There was no response.
By the time I was looking back at Paul, he was walking briskly to his truck parked on the side of the road with the most spooked look. I warned him, didn’t I? Did he think Conor was going to be any less menacing than he was before? If anything, he was more menacing than ever, even in just his towel. Paul practically soared into his seat, even Mom was agape at the sight of Conor. Moments later the car took off down the street, wheels screeching the whole way.
I ducked my head the second I saw heads poke out of neighbouring homes. I was sure they’d heard the whole altercation. Everyone would know with certainty now that Conor was inside my house. My skin flushed from the attention, but I refused to budge or hurry inside. I simply turned around and met Conor’s eye. We stared at each other for a few moments. I knew something was wrong by the way his shoulders slumped. He turned and disappeared back inside. I went in after him, catching him just as he collapsed on the staircase steps, looking vacantly down at his scarred hands.
“Hey,” I said, stopping in front of him. I ran my fingers through his wet hair, noticing there was still shampoo residue from him rushing out of the shower.
He wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me to him as he buried his face into my stomach.
“I think being here is going to be a problem,” he whispered, finally pulling away to look up at me with those pulsating blue eyes.
“I think everyone can mind their own business,” I replied firmly.
“I still have that room at the motel Locke dropped me off at.”
My heart jumped in my chest. I gave him a hard look. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I don’t want to bring any more trouble into your life, especially with Penny around.”
“What’s the solution then?” I quirked a brow, challenging him. “You want to leave the house – no, actually, the town because clearly it isn’t just the matter of being in the house that’s the issue – all to appease a few assholes who want to rustle our nest?”
He answered swiftly, “I don’t want to go anywhere, Charlotte.”
I paused, savouring the way he said those words, spoken right from the soul. Stark honesty, that tone soft, a delicate caress on my skin. I lost my balance for a moment because it was so unusual to hear words laced with that much soul directed at me. I supposed he wasn’t the only one getting used to the changes happening around him.
Eventually, I found my voice, softly telling him, “Don’t talk about being a problem, Conor, because you’re not.”
“I’m the black sheep.”
“And they love that,” I cut in quickly before he started to talk himself into leaving the house. “They always have someone to pick on, but that’s not the whole town speaking, Conor. It’s a bunch of these redneck jerks who think they’re behaving in the name of vigilante justice, but they’re bored and pathetic and they’ll move on to other things. You’re not going anywhere. We’ll weather this storm together. I don’t care if a million of them show up at the door. I didn’t wait eight years just to see you driven out of our house by a bunch of Blackwater junkie morons.”
His lips bunched up to one side. “So fiery, dove.”
My face hardened. “I had to be, Conor. Blackwater either drives you out with your tail between your legs or forces you to toughen up.”
“It does have that tendency.”
I nodded. “Then I need you to stand your ground. You’re a Blackwater boy. You never took anyone’s shit.”