Anything for You

“Actually, we’ve never had this conversation.”

Her cheeks were getting pink. Finally, something more than calm, cool and collected.

Good. It didn’t seem fair that he was the only one feeling something here.

“Well, I thought you knew,” she said. “I’ve always been very clear.”

Blood thrummed through his temples, too hard, too fast. Another slow breath. “You’re using your brother as an excuse. He’ll adjust. He’s held you hostage for years now.”

“Do not go there, Connor.”

“What I mean is—”

“What you mean is, put him in a home.”

She was really digging in now. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I bought this house with you in mind. There’s an apartment upstairs, in case you forgot. It’s for him. I love your brother.”

“No, you don’t. You’ve never even had a conversation with him, and he certainly doesn’t love you. And let’s not rewrite history. You decided to buy a two-family house without even talking to me.”

Fair point. But it had seemed like a perfect solution; him and Jess downstairs, Davey upstairs. Instead, his sister had moved in after Jess turned him down.

Jessica sighed, some of the steel leaving her posture. “Connor, look. I think it’s sweet that you made this gesture. Maybe it’s because your sister’s pregnant and you’re feeling sentimental, but this just can’t work. And I also think you’re saying it because you’re sure I won’t say yes, and you’re right. I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to say yes, Jessica.”

Her phone buzzed again. She looked at the hateful device. “Great. Davey clogged the toilet, and Gerard can’t get the valve to shut off. The last time the bathroom flooded, and I had to pay to replace the whole floor.”

“Jess, I want you to marry me.”

“I have to go. I’ll see you Thursday, okay? This was a nice thought, Connor. I appreciate it. I really do.” She stood up, kissed him on the head like he was a dog—which he basically was, just some half-brain Labrador retriever you could ignore until you were lonely, and it was always happy to see you and would cheerfully forget the fact that you’d locked it in the cellar for a year or so. She grabbed her denim jacket from the hook by the door.

“Jessica.” He didn’t look at her, just stared at the candles flickering on the table. “This will be the last time you break up with me.”

Well, shit. He hadn’t really planned on saying that, but now that the words were out, they sprang up between the two of them like an iron door.

She froze for a second. “What do you mean?”

His head was killing him, every heartbeat stabbing behind his eyes. “I’m talking about all the times you’ve broken up with me, all the times you said life was too complicated, and you couldn’t make any changes. I want a wife and kids and to be able to kiss you in public. If you leave now, make sure you mean it.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” She actually sounded indignant.

“I’m proposing!”

“Well, I have no idea why!” she snapped back. “You know this is the best I can do.”

“Okay, then.” His jaw clamped shut.

Her mouth opened a little. “Really.”

“Yep.”

“Fine,” she said. “Do what you want.”

“Thanks. I will.”

“Good.”

“Fine.”

She gave him a long look. “Have a nice night, Connor.”

And with that, she left, and he picked up the stupid little black velvet box and threw it across the room.

CHAPTER TWO

Twenty years before the proposal...

CONNOR MICHAEL O’ROURKE fell in love with Jessica Dunn when he was twelve years old.

The feeling was not mutual.

He couldn’t blame her. After all, he killed her dog.

Well, he didn’t actually kill him. It just felt that way.

The fateful, terrible day had been a Friday afternoon in April, and he and Colleen had been riding their bikes home from school, a new privilege, and one their parents gave only if they rode together, which took away much of the thrill. It was the curse of being a twin, Connor often thought. It would’ve been so much cooler if he could’ve ridden to the village, maybe bought some candy at Mr. Stoakes’s store or found a snake by the lake to put into Coll’s bed.

Instead, they were together. Colleen talked all the time, usually about things he didn’t have much interest in—which of her friends had gotten her period, who flunked the math test, who liked whoever else. But that was the way it was—Coll talking, him half listening, the occasional mild sibling violence that marked a healthy childhood.

But even if she drove him crazy most of the time with her talk of magical twinsy bonds, which yeah, they did have, and the way she followed him around all the time, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. And he did have to look out for her; she was his little sister, even if they were only three minutes apart in age.

Connor and Colleen had about as normal a life as could be had. They had a nice house, a two-week vacation most years, and recently, Connor had become aware of the fact that they were pretty well-off, something you didn’t really notice when you were little. But his father drove expensive cars, and if Connor wanted the latest Nike running shoe, his mother never suggested he get something a little less expensive. He was his mother’s favorite. His father... Well, his father was kind of tricky. Tense and—what was that phrase? Full of himself, that was it. Only happy when he was the center of attention and admiration, and even then, only happy for a few minutes.

If Connor was Mom’s favorite, Colleen seemed to get all of Dad’s approval. These days especially, it felt like Connor was either at fault or invisible, his only value coming from his role as Colleen’s protector. “Watch out for your sister,” Dad had said just this morning, giving Colleen a hug. There was no hug for Connor. Which was okay and all. He was a boy. A guy, even. He wasn’t supposed to want hugs anymore.

But today was a good day. The apple blossoms had popped, and the breeze was warm, finally. He’d gotten three tests back, A+’s on all of them, much to Colleen’s chagrin; Connor never studied. And all day, there was the thrill of the bike ride home. Friday afternoon meant they could take their time, maybe stop at Tompkin’s Gorge and climb up the top and listen to the roar of the waterfall and find bits of mica and quartz.

Colleen rammed his back tire. “Whoops, sorry, brainiac,” she said, not sorry at all.

“Not a problem, simpleton.”

“Did you eat the pizza at lunch today?” she asked, pulling alongside him. “It was nasty. I mean, you could wring out the oil, it was so wet and disgusting. You should show them how to do it, Con. Your pizza is the best.”

He suppressed a smile. Whenever their parents went out, Connor cooked for Colleen. Last weekend had been pizza, the dough made from scratch. They ate a pizza each, it was so good.

He heard a car coming behind them and pulled ahead of his sister, his bike wheels hissing on the damp pavement, the wind in his face. He and Colleen had taken the long way home, the better to enjoy their freedom. Once you left the Village section of town, there wasn’t much out here, mostly woods and fields. West’s Trailer Park was just up ahead, and then nothing for a good mile. Then they’d round up the back side of the Hill, where all the vineyards were, and wind their way home.