Seven

 

Conner

 

My phone is ringing.

At 3AM.

Fuck.

Someone better be dead because, Jesus Christ, just because I’m awake doesn’t mean I want to talk to anyone right now.

Looking at the screen, I feel my shoulders tighten. I recognize the number. It’s my friend, Ryan. We haven’t talked in months, and the last time we did talk, he asked me for a favor I wasn’t too keen on giving.

Henley’s coming to Boston. She wants to see my dad—can you go with her? Make sure she’s okay.

Not our dad. My dad. It’s an accurate statement. Jack O’Connell hasn’t been Henley’s dad since she was sixteen.

Not that he ever really was.

As soon as Ryan said her name, I’m glad I decided to step into the hallway to take the call. I felt my chest constrict. My palms started to sweat. I had a hard time swallowing. I opened my mouth to tell him no. No, I can’t help you. I can’t help her. Ask Declan. Patrick. Fuck, ask Mrs. McGintey and her shit dog to go with Henley to see your dad. Anyone but me. Because I’m not doing it.

I can’t.

When I open my mouth that’s not what comes out. “When?” I say, squeezing my eyes shut the second it comes out and contemplate ramming my head into the nearest wall just to shut myself up.

“Not sure, really,” Ryan answers. “She’s got a bug up her ass about it, but if I know my mom, she’s throwing up every roadblock she can to keep her from coming. Doesn’t want her consorting with us dirty commoners.” There’s no mistaking the trace of bitterness in his tone. I pretend not to hear it. “Anyway, it might be awhile.” He pauses, the line between us filling with static before he continues. “I’m heading out on a thing, and I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to call again. I just wanted to make sure she was taken care of before I leave,” he says, talking in code as usual.

Ryan’s an Army Ranger. A thing could be anything from a routine patrol to toppling a small government. I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to call again means it might be never. Every time one of us talks to Ryan, we are acutely aware that it could be the last time we ever hear his voice.

“I’ll take care of her,” I say, my mouth making sound without my permission again.

Fuck me.

“Alright man,” he says, clearing his throat. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” I say before he has the chance to hang up. “Why me? Why not Declan or Patrick?”

He could’ve pretended to not understand what I was asking. Feign ignorance. Run some bullshit excuse on me. But he didn’t.

“You know why,” he said, hanging up before I have a chance to say anything else.

Yeah. I knew why.

Now, it’s five months later, and he’s blowing up my phone at three o’clock in the morning.

“Who is it?”

I shoot the mass of dark hair and spray-tanned limbs in bed next to me a quick look. “My brother,” I say, which isn’t a lie really. Ryan is my brother, in all the ways that count. “What’s up?” I say into the phone, passing a rough hand over my face. I need to get out of here.

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” Ryan says, his voice faint and tinny. Makes me wonder where he is.

“Nah, It’s all good—what’s up?” I say, clenching my teeth while the woman next to me, turns over and scoots closer, wrapping her arm around my waist. I look down at her dark head tucked into my shoulder and sigh. Reaching down, I lift her arm and slide out from under it before letting it flop back onto the bed.

“Hen just called me,” he says. “Says she’s finally making it to Boston. Just wondering if you’re still available to go with her to see the old man.”

“Yeah,” I say, tucking the phone against my shoulder. “Whatever you need.” I reach down, immediately finding my pants. I know exactly where I left everything, right down to my socks. Makes for a quicker getaway.

“I gave her your number. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Sure—okay,” I say trying to sound as casual as I can. “Listen, I gotta go—I’m in the middle of an extraction.”

Ryan laughs. “Pretty sure your idea of an extraction and mine are pretty goddamned different.”

“Don’t bet on it,” I say, thinking about the woman in bed behind me. As soon as she realizes I was serious about not sticking around for the post-fuck wrap-up, shit is going to get dicey.

“Wish I had your life,” he says, his tone heavy with humor.

“You want it? Come home and it’s all yours,” I say, hanging up on the sound of him laughing his ass off. I pull my jeans up, not bothering to zip them before shoving my phone into the back pocket.

“You’re leaving?”

What? She wants me to take her out for pancakes or some shit? There’s only one girl I eat pancakes with, and it’s not the one I just fucked. “Duty calls, Candy,” I say, shooting her a quick smile over my shoulder before pulling my shirt on over my head.

She’s glaring at me. I can feel her narrowed eyes digging into my back. “My name’s not Candy,” she hisses at me.

I know her name’s not Candy. Not even close. It’s Donna. She flies for Delta. She has a birthmark on her left hip and likes having her hair pulled during sex.

I’ll remember it for the rest of my life, but I’ll never think about it again. That’s how my brain works.

I shoot her another grin, giving it a careless edge. “Sorry.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I lean over to pull on my socks. I immediately feel her hands on my back. “Are you sure you I can’t convince you to stay?” she purrs in my ear, her mouth sliding along my jawline, looking for a place to land. I angle my face away before she can make contact.

I don’t let her kiss me on the mouth.

Matter of fact I don’t let her mouth anywhere near me. I imagine I’m the only guy on the planet that regularly turns down blowjobs.

Instead of getting the message, she seems to take my disinterest as some sort of invitation. Reaching into my open fly, she wraps her hand around my dick and starts trying to convince me.

I jam my foot into my boot and jerk my laces tight, tying them while Donna gives me what just might be the most awkward handjob I’ve ever received. Not because she doesn’t know what she’s doing but because I am 100% not into it.

At all.

Boots laced and tied, I sit up, and as gently as I can, remove her hands from my cock. As soon as I stand, she starts grumbling. I don’t have to look at her to know she’s pouting.

“I have another layover next week...” she says, even though I told her the rules.

“No,” I tell her, shrugging into my jacket. “That’s not how this works, remember?”

“I remember.” She flicks her hand dismissively. “It’s fine,” she says, even though it’s obviously anything but. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

“Sure,” I say, shooting her a vague smile on my way out the door. She’s saying something as I pass through it and shut it behind me but I can’t make it out, and I don’t really care.

I’m thinking about a girl with bright orange hair and a chipped tooth. A flat, crooked nose and too many freckles to count. A girl I haven’t seen in almost ten years.

Ryan gave Henley my phone number.