for her. “Just like you couldn’t deal with being a mother, right?” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Was I that bad of a kid?” It was supposed to come out harsh, but my true emotions fly out with my words, taking my insecurities with them.
“Connor, no,” she whispers through a wobbly exhale. “It was never about you.” She reaches across the table, her hand covering mine, and I let her. I fucking let her. “When everyone was gone… I saw your toy cars sitting there. Remember those, sweetheart? You loved them so much, you couldn’t go anywhere without them.”
I claim back my hand, rest it on my lap, and keep my eyes downcast. “I remember.”
“You’d watch those movies for hours, and the soundtracks were always going in my car…”
I don’t have anything to say, so I stay quiet.
“Do you still like cars?”
“Not really.”
She sighs. “It’s all about basketball now, right?”
I nod.
“Or it has been for a while. I think the first time I saw your name pop up you were around twelve.”
I look up at her now, my eyes wide in surprise.
“I’ve been following you for years, watching you grow up from afar.” There’s a wistfulness in her words, and my heart aches in ways I never thought possible. She’s cared about me… but never enough to claim me back.
“Where have you been? And what do you want from me now?” I pause a breath, my voice quiet when I add, “We don’t have any money—Dad and me—and if you think you can somehow get some because I’m heading to the league, then… I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“I don’t want your money,” she’s quick to reply. “And your dad—shit, Connor, no one can know I’m here. If anyone finds out that I exist, I could…”
“I know what could happen to you.” And I hold all the cards.
“I mean it, Connor. Not your dad, not your girlfriend. No one.”
“Why should I give you grace? Did you somehow forget what you did to me?”
“No!” she almost shouts. “I’ve been hiding out in a cabin in the woods, never leaving my house, living every day with the pain of knowing what I did to you!” She ends on a sob, one so harsh and so loud it has people’s heads turning. She cowers, grabs a napkin from the dispenser to wipe at her tears. Barely a whisper, she adds, “I’m protecting you and everyone you love when I tell you that they can’t know. I’m still a… a fugitive.” She says the word as if it’s acid on her tongue. “And having them know means they could get in a lot of trouble if…” she trails off, and I know where she’s going, what she means. I’ve watched enough true crime documentaries to understand the consequences, but it still doesn’t answer my question of what she wants.
Confusion fills every nerve of my being, and I hate that I can’t control my emotions. I hate that seeing her upset makes my heart ache, but seeing her smile makes me angry. “So why risk it all now?”
She takes a moment, trying to slow her breaths. “My mom’s sick.”
“Okay…?”
“Do you remember her?”
I shake my head. “Not even a little bit.”
She nods slowly. “She’s the only person I have contact with, and she’s always asking about you. She knows what I did… and she makes it known every day how she feels about it. But…” A frown tugs at her lips. “She’s dying, Connor. Cancer. And she doesn’t have long. She wanted me to reach out to you, and I had to. For her. And maybe even a little for me.”
I blow out a breath, stagnant, as I let her words dig deep inside me.
“She’s done nothing wrong in any of this, so if you want to punish me, I understand. But don’t do it to her, Connor. She’s your grandmother, and she loves you very much.”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“She just wants to see you again, before… before she dies.”
I rub the back of my neck, my mind swarming. “I have to think about it.”
“I know. And you have my number. Just… it’s time sensitive, you know?”
“I get that.”
She smiles.
I start to get out of the booth. “I’ll let you know?”
“Okay.” She stands, too. “I assume a hug is out of the question?”
I still, bewildered, and find myself lifting my arms, letting her close the distance. Her arms wrap around my torso…
…while mine fall to my sides.
I tell