I would’ve promised him anything at that point. He was so ill and tired, and the last thing he needed to worry about was his convict cousin getting a ride to our home. But after Blake left us, his heart having failed before a donor was found, I committed to keeping that promise. Taking Connor home will be my thank you to Blake for loving me and fighting so hard to stay here with me. A lesser man would’ve left this world long before he did, but I asked him to fight, and he did. It was circumstances that weren’t in our favor.
And so, I’ve swallowed my fears, doubts, and any apprehension—or at least I’m trying to. I trust Blake; I have to. I have no idea what to expect when I see Connor. Blake had very few photos of him, and the ones he had were from when they were younger. They didn’t favor each other much. Blake was a thin man, lean and tall, but his pale coloring cued the world he wasn’t well. Connor appeared just as tall, but broader and while Blake had a softness about him, Connor’s photos portrayed a young man with a face and body language that displayed a no bullshit type of attitude.
A loud buzz blares from out of nowhere, causing me to jump, and the large gate just before the gate I’m standing in front of begins to slide open, screeching and groaning as it does. Wiping my palms on my jeans, I try to calm my nerves, reminding myself I’m doing this for my late husband who I loved dearly. But even that reasoning isn’t helping me swallow this pill. I’m about to ride twelve hours to Colorado with a released felon who killed a man. When the brown metal door from the processing office flies open, slamming against the brick of the wall behind it, my heart almost stops, and my eyes go wide.
A black, heavy-set security guard emerges first, his eyes squinting from the sunlight. Connor follows, and I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing. The man walking toward me is not the young man in the photos Blake showed me. The man walking toward me is someone else entirely. Gone is the shaggy blonde hair and lean body of the former Connor Stevens. Now . . . he’s huge. Wide shoulders and chest and arms so big I’m not sure I could wrap both hands around them. His head is shaved, cut close and tattoos cover almost every visible part of his skin. If there’s a stereotype for convicts, he fits the bill. A cigarette hangs from his mouth as he smiles and shakes hands with the guard that walked out ahead of him.
With a pat on the back, the guard sends him on his way and Connor nods as he heads in my direction. Once he passes through the first gate, his gaze meets mine.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t grimace.
In fact, he does nothing.
He just . . . looks at me.
It occurs to me maybe he had no idea that I’d be here. Maybe he didn’t get my letter. But when the final gate is opened and he steps through, he heads straight for me and I realize that I seriously underestimated his size from a distance. He’s much bigger than I originally thought; the closer he gets, the smaller I feel.
I don’t move as he approaches. Instead, I battle with what to do once he reaches me. I’m not sure what the proper protocol is in this situation. I mean, we’re in-laws—sort of. The man he thought of as his brother was my husband. Should I hug him?
No.
Definitely not.
He doesn’t quite strike me as a hugger.
When he’s four feet in front of me, he stops, and I give him an awkward smile.
“Demi,” he says my name and I’m stunned silent. He’s attractive; incredibly attractive. Flicking his cigarette away, letting the last drag of smoke roll out of his mouth in a smooth exhale, he takes another step toward me and smiles.
“Those things will kill you, ya know?” I blurt out. Smooth. Real smooth, Demi.
His smile widens until I see his teeth and the little canine on the lower left of his mouth that’s a bit crooked. It’s an imperfection, yet it only amplifies his attractiveness. “That was my last one,” he replies, his voice husky. “Promised myself I’d quit the day I got out.”
“Oh,” I reply, not sure what to add.
Luckily Connor doesn’t allow me time to find something else stupid to say. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he tells me.