Up in Smoke - Tessa Bailey Page 0,107
changed to fun.”
Her excited response did nothing to help his cause. His imagination was already running wild with possibilities for when they got home. Erin had not only embraced his tastes in the bedroom, she’d inspired newer, better ones. Just yesterday, he’d come home from the store to find her gone. Before panic could set in, he’d heard a gentle rap on the door. When he pulled it open, Erin stood on their doormat, wringing her hands. My car broke down across the street. Can I use your phone to call a tow truck, mister? He was now convinced she’d missed her calling as an actress, because she’d kept up the ruse so long and so convincingly, he’d been ready to move heaven and earth to fuck her when the time came. She’d ended up facedown on the kitchen floor with her ass in the air, still calling him “mister” as he pounded into her like a madman.
Dammit, if he kept thinking about it, they would have to leave. And he kept her to himself too often to drag her away once again.
Suppressing his growing need, he jerked his chin toward the backyard full of cops they’d just escaped from. “How are you doing with all the people?”
“Pretty well, I think.” She dragged her fingers lightly down his arm, making his muscles jump beneath her touch. “Anyway, if anyone tries to corner me, I’ll just hop the fence.”
He smiled, secure in the knowledge that she was joking. “How many steps to the street?”
“I have no idea,” she whispered, giving him the same answer she gave him every day now. “All I need to know is if I jump the fence, you’ll come with me.”
“Damn right.” Connor leaned in to kiss her again. How could he help it?
After a slow-burning kiss, she pulled back. “I have to tell you something.”
She looked nervous, so he smoothed a thumb between her eyebrows. Didn’t she know by now there was nothing she could say that could hurt them? “What is it, sweetheart?”
“You asked me a while ago what I wanted to do with the money. Well, I decided.” She wet her lips. “I kept thinking about the schoolteacher…the one you told me about? The one who smiled every day and the children loved her?”
Connor nodded, unable to speak. What was she saying?
“I asked Polly to look into your military file. Find out the name of the village you were in when…the incident happened.” She seemed to be searching his eyes for a reaction, but he couldn’t give her one yet. He was too stunned. “It was easy from that point on since there’s only one school in the village. She…Ashira…still teaches at the school. I sent her half the money and the rest to the school.”
So many feelings were at war inside him, he didn’t know which to address first. Gratitude, awe, love for this amazing girl. There was another part of him that wished he’d done a better job convincing her to keep some of the money for herself. Convincing her she deserved it, that it might come tainted but if it was hers, it could never remain that way.
“I don’t know what she’ll do with it,” she continued. “Maybe she’ll give it to her husband. Maybe she’ll leave and find a better life. But if you saw the good in her, then I know it’s there.”
In the end, all he could do was grasp her face between his hands and attempt to fight the emotion clogging his throat. “Erin, I don’t know what to say.”
“You gave me a place to feel safe. You made me feel safe. I just wanted to pass that feeling on to someone else.” She turned her head and kissed his hand. The hands that were the first to touch her without pain. Thank God. “Connor, you freed me.”
The weight of his love for her closed in around him until all he could see was her, the center of his universe. His breath. His sustenance. “No, Erin.” He buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “We freed each other.”
Austin settled back against the brick wall with his newspaper, pretending to peruse the finance section. He’d gone with the reliable hipster businessman look today, one of his favorites because it only required thick black-rimmed glasses, a fake beard, and a unique suit. The suit in question was camel-colored, with an eagle embroidered on the breast pocket. He’d picked it up years ago at a thrift shop in London, knowing it would come in handy, but also because it appealed to his sense of humor. The mannerisms for this particular character were easy enough to carry out. Look bored, pretend you don’t notice everyone eyeballing your silly throwback attire, turn the newspaper page with efficiency. Try to impress on everyone passing by that you are interesting. You are special. But you don’t feel like talking.
He tilted his wrist and consulted his watch, once again casting a look across the street toward the dance studio. Five more minutes.
Really, he shouldn’t be here. He should have stayed at the damnable barbecue and listened to cops swap potato salad recipes. That’s where he should be, but instead he was here. Somewhere he’d promised himself he wouldn’t go. It only made matters worse each time. Then again, hadn’t his entire move to Chicago been about this place? This person? Oh, he’d told himself moving here had been about the job, but he didn’t care a whit for the job. Might have quit after the first day, if it weren’t for the girl. Polly. Keeper of secrets. Secrets he wanted to know, if only to figure out what was taking place behind her green eyes. Watchful eyes that saw right through him as if he were invisible.
Or so she tried to pretend.
He knew all about pretending, though, so he was supremely qualified to call bullshit.
She’d been the only one who didn’t laugh that afternoon at the barbecue when he’d proven himself a shitty babysitter. One single minute. He hadn’t been able to hold the captain’s baby a single minute while Ginger, his wife, refreshed her guests’ drinks. Not because he didn’t know how to hold a baby. But because it was too hard. It had conjured memories to the surface like a sorcerer and landed him here. Where he shouldn’t be.
Across the street, the dance studio door opened. A smiling woman in an oversize sweatshirt stepped out and propped the exit open with a block of wood. Two tiny girls in ballerina costumes skipped out holding water bottles, their chatter audible all the way where he stood. His gaze remained glued to the open doorway, waiting, the breath frozen in his lungs.
There. A redhead he knew to be three, almost four years old walked out, much slower than the other girls. She looked serious. Too serious. Her head was bent over a cloth doll, her mouth moving as if speaking to the inanimate object. What was she saying? As if he’d asked the question out loud, as if she were close enough to hear it, her chin lifted up and she looked directly at him.
His daughter was looking right at him.
Time started to crawl. The newspaper in his hands started to feel like a prop, which meant he was dropping character. Bored. You don’t see her. She’s just an extra in your movie.
The prompts didn’t work this time. His palms were sweating so profusely, the newspaper turned insubstantial in his hands. Quickly, he dropped to one knee on the sidewalk and shoved the newspaper into his leather satchel. He needed to sling the bag over his shoulder and disappear into the train station, but he couldn’t force his legs to move, knowing she was so close after all this time.
One more look. Just one more.
But when he looked up, she was gone.
Austin nodded jerkily. For the best. It was for the best. Ignoring the looks from passersby, this time centered on his off behavior more than the blasted eagle on his pocket, he shoved his headphones into his ears, turned up Zeppelin to full volume and ran in the opposite direction of where he’d seen her.
Old habits died hard.